Page 27 of The Boss (Straight Men #2)

I walked into Nova Systems the next morning, bracing against the sharp sting of winter air as I stepped through the revolving doors. The office was already alive with movement—phones ringing, the low hum of conversations, the clatter of keyboards filling the space with a familiar rhythm.

Zac had beaten me there. I knew without needing to be told. His presence had a gravity of its own, something you could feel in the air, an unspoken awareness of his authority. Also, I could hear him pacing inside his office, his voice sharp and commanding as he made deals, secured investments. Always in control.

I settled at my desk, powered up my computer. A second later, my intercom buzzed.

“Chris, come to my office, please.”

My pulse kicked up. My body knew this routine, had been conditioned to it. He always called me in first thing, and I’d lock the door behind me before dropping to my knees, hunger burning in his eyes as I took him down my throat. I could still taste the salt of him from Miami, still feel the ghost of his mouth on mine, the weight of his body engulfing me like the ocean. And the aching emptiness inside me where his cock had been.

But the moment I stepped into his office, I knew.

Zac stood in front of the massive windows, back turned to me, hands clasped behind him. He was perfectly put together—tie knotted just right, shirt crisp—but something was wrong. The air felt different. Heavy. When he finally turned, the morning light framed him, gilding the hard lines of his face. His expression was blank. Controlled. But his eyes—cold, distant—they told me everything.

A faint unease prickled at my skin. “What’s up?” I asked, keeping my voice light, casual, like maybe I’d misread the tension in the air.

Zac inhaled sharply through his nose. “It’s over, Chris.”

The words slammed into me like a gut punch. I blinked. “What?”

He straightened, adjusting the cuff of his shirt like this was just another business conversation. “This—” he gestured vaguely between us, his voice devoid of warmth “—whatever this was. It’s done. I’m sorry.”

I heard the words, but my brain refused to process them.

He went on, efficient, ruthless. “From now on, we keep things strictly professional at work. Outside of here… we can be friends. But that’s it.” His gaze locked onto mine, unwavering. “No more sex. No more… anything.”

My throat felt dry. I tried to swallow, but it was like trying to choke down glass.

He wasn’t done. He barreled on, like he had to get it all out before I could argue. “I told you from the start—I’m not gay. Okay, I’m clearly not as straight as I thought, but I love my fiancée, and we’re getting married in a month. And I’m not about to throw everything I’ve worked for away over something that was never going to last.”

Something inside me cracked, like ice splintering under too much weight. I knew all of this. I’d always known. But hearing it, laid out so cleanly, so finally — it fucking burned. I forced my expression into something neutral. Unreadable. If he was going to end this so easily, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.

“Okay,” I said, my voice tight, distant.

Zac’s brow twitched. Maybe he’d expected more of a reaction—anger, pleading. But I had nothing left to give. He exhaled, slow and measured. “Good.” A pause, then softer, almost reluctant, “Chris—”

I shook my head. “Don’t.”

His jaw clenched. He nodded once, then turned back to his desk like that was that.

I walked out without another word.

* * *

The rest of the morning was a blur. I went through the motions, answering emails, sitting in on meetings, pretending like my entire world hadn’t just imploded in Isaac Steele’s office. But it caught up with me eventually. The tightness in my chest, the way my hands trembled when I typed. The growing pressure behind my eyes, like a migraine waiting to break. I felt dizzy, unsteady, like the ground beneath me wasn’t solid anymore. I barely made it to the bathroom before the nausea hit.

Cold water. I needed cold water.

I turned the faucet on full blast, cupped my hands, and splashed it over my face. The sharp sting of it grounded me, yanking me back into my body. I gripped the edges of the sink, breathing deep, forcing air into my lungs. My reflection stared back at me—wide eyes, pale skin, the raw ache quivering just beneath the surface.

I couldn’t do this.

I wouldn’t do this.

I wiped my face dry, squared my shoulders, and walked straight to Zac’s office, shoving the door open without knocking.

He was mid-sentence, phone pressed to his ear, talking numbers and projections. His eyes snapped to mine, irritation flashing across his face. But he must’ve seen something in my expression—something unmovable—because he didn’t throw me out. “Listen, George, I’m gonna have to call you back,” he said curtly, then ended the call.

I shut the door behind me. “I can’t do this.”

Zac released a frustrated sigh. “Chris—”

“I can’t be your assistant anymore.” The words tumbled out, breathless but firm. “I need some space before I can even think about going back to how things were, and I can’t be around you right now.”

Something flickered in his gaze. “I’m not letting you quit. You’ve worked too hard, learned too much. I’m not letting you throw away your entire future on a whim, because you made an emotional decision.”

“Zac—”

“No, damn it!” His voice was harsh, cutting—but then the fire drained out just as fast, his next words softer, almost gentle. “You’re… too valuable to lose.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not quitting.”

His brow furrowed. “Oh.”

I inhaled, steadying myself. “I want to go back to my old position. As a developer. I was happy there. I want to earn my way up through my work, not because I was fucking the CEO.”

He flinched. Just a tiny, almost imperceptible reaction, but I caught it. His voice dipped lower. “Chris.” A pause. “You deserve better than that job. You’re talented. You’ve more than proved yourself. I was going to offer you a promotion—team lead—”

“I don’t want it,” I cut in. “Not like this.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re being stubborn.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well. So are you.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us, thick with unsaid things.

Then Zac nodded, resigned. “Fine.” He picked up his phone. “Alicia? Come to my office, please.” When he hung up, he looked at me, unreadable. “I’ll tell Alicia to make the necessary arrangements and revise your contract. You’ll be back at your old post as of tomorrow.”

And so, with a word from Zac, it was done. We were done.

* * *

The next morning, I packed up my things and moved to my old department. It should have felt like a relief. Like slipping into a well-worn sweater, familiar and safe. And in some ways, it did—my old team welcomed me back with easy smiles, Darren slapping me on the back with a smirk.

“Back from the dark side, huh?” he teased.

“Escaped just in time,” I joked, forcing a grin.

“Guess that makes Isaac Darth Vader,” someone quipped, and the group laughed, rolling with the joke, oblivious to the knife twisting inside me.

I laughed along with them. Pretended everything was fine. That I wasn’t unraveling. That I wasn’t breaking apart inside.

Zac and I rarely crossed paths from then on. I asked him for space, and he gave it to me. Sometimes I caught glimpses of him—striding through the hallways, standing in the break room pouring coffee, his sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to tempt. His presence filled the place even when he wasn’t near, and yet he never looked at me. I told myself I didn’t care.

On the rare occasions we did meet, we were polite. Cordial. Strangers dressed in familiar faces. That should have been the worst part—how easily we played our roles. But it wasn’t. It was the way my chest clenched every time I saw him. The way my stomach twisted when he looked past me like I wasn’t there. The way I still felt the ghost of his hands on my skin, the press of his body against mine, like a phantom bruise that refused to fade. The wound he left behind wasn’t healing. It was fresh. Aching. A hollow where he used to be.

But I kept going. Because that’s what you did when your world fell apart. You picked up the shards, even when they cut you. And you kept moving forward.

* * *

The elevator was crowded when I stepped inside one morning, packed shoulder to shoulder with people rushing to their floors. I didn’t pay attention, lost in my own head, until I looked up and saw him. Zac.

A jolt ran through me, sharp and electric, like a live wire sparking in my chest. Our eyes locked and wouldn’t break contact, and for a brief second, I forgot how to breathe. But then the rush of bodies shifted, pressing me forward—right into him.

I collided with his chest, solid and warm.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, my voice catching slightly.

“Never mind,” he muttered. But his body stiffened against mine, his breath just a little too sharp. “How—how have you been?”

“Good. You?”

“Good.”

“That’s… good.”

“Yeah.”

I felt it then—the unmistakable hardness against my hip. My stomach clenched. Heat flared low in my spine.

He went rigid, jaw tight, staring somewhere above my head as if sheer force of will could erase the way his cock was straining against me. An embarrassed flush crept up his cheeks, and something about that—about how affected he still was—sent a perverse thrill through me.

“How are things with your new assistant?” I asked, trying to act normal.

“Fine,” he almost growled. “She’s… adequate.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Thanks.”

I tried to move, to put some space between us. But with with so many people around, I barely had room to shift—and ended up with my ass pressed against him. A sharp inhale hissed past his teeth.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, so soft I wouldn’t have caught it if his lips weren’t just above my ear. His hips jerked forward, only for a second, like his body was moving before his mind could stop it.

A reckless rush of heat shot through me, but before my own arousal could betray me, I forced myself to step away as the crowd thinned. He exhaled roughly, a sound close to frustration. I turned my head slightly, just enough to see the way his hands curled into fists, the tension rippling through his body.

The doors opened onto my floor.

“Well… see you around,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” he grunted.

I should have walked out without looking back. Should have left him standing there, hard and frustrated, a reminder of what we’d been and what we could never be again. But I couldn’t help myself. I glanced over my shoulder.

Zac was staring at me. Not smiling. Not moving. Just watching, his eyes burning.

For a split second, the pull between us was unbearable. The same gravity that had drawn me into his orbit in the first place, that had held me there, reckless and weightless, like I belonged to him.

But I didn’t. Not anymore. Maybe I never did.

The doors slid shut, cutting him from view, and something inside me cracked wide open. No, I wasn’t over him. Not even close. But I had to be. Because this was the end. And no matter how much my body still craved his, no matter how much I ached for what we had, all I had left was the hope that someday, I wouldn’t anymore. That someday, I’d stop looking back.

And I’d finally move on.