The conference room smelled faintly of coffee and printer ink as the late morning sun filtered through the tall hospital windows.
I sat near the middle of the long oval table, pen poised above my notepad, listening as department heads discussed fundraising projections for the upcoming charity gala.
The steady hum of conversation blended with the soft shuffle of papers, and for once, the tension in my shoulders had nothing to do with Harley.
Dr. Kim cleared his throat at the head of the table. "We've selected two representatives from Internal Medicine to coordinate directly with Huang Group."
My pen paused.
A subtle murmur rippled around the table.
"Dr. Huo," he continued, glancing in my direction, "and Nurse Beatrice."
For a second, the room felt quieter than it actually was. Beside me, Beatrice straightened, a pleased smile curving her lips.
Huang Group. Which meant… Harley.
Beatrice leaned closer to me as the meeting resumed, her perfume light but noticeable. "Huang Group?" she whispered, unable to hide the spark of interest in her eyes. "Isn't that the big corporate conglomerate downtown?"
I nodded once. "Yes."
She tilted her head slightly. "And the CEO is… young, right?"
I kept my expression neutral, though my pulse had begun to misbehave. "Twenty-four."
Beatrice's brows lifted. "Impressive."
Impressive? If only she knew.
Dr. Kim began outlining expectations — coordination meetings, sponsorship alignment, medical outreach speeches — but my focus drifted. I forced myself to jot down notes, steady and precise. Professional. Detached.
This was work. Nothing more.
Beside me, Beatrice crossed one elegant leg over the other and tapped her pen thoughtfully. "I've seen photos of him in business magazines," she murmured. "Very serious. Very… intense."
I didn't respond. Because if I opened my mouth, I might say something I shouldn't.
As the meeting concluded and chairs scraped softly against the floor, reality settled over me like a weight I refused to acknowledge. Working directly with Harley. Face-to-face meetings. Phone calls. Public appearances.
The distance we had carefully rebuilt would be tested under bright lights and professional smiles. I told myself it wouldn't matter. We were adults. We could handle this.
Still, my fingers tightened around my folder just a little too hard.
Two days later, I stood outside the glass doors of Huang Group with Beatrice at my side.
The building rose into the sky, all steel and reflection — sharp lines, polished surfaces, controlled power. Very him.
Beatrice adjusted her blazer and checked her reflection in the glass. "First impressions matter," she said lightly, smoothing her hair. "Especially when dealing with men like him."
Men like him. I swallowed quietly.
Inside, the lobby was immaculate. Marble floors. A sweeping chandelier. The faint scent of cedar and something expensive I couldn't name.
We were escorted upstairs. The elevator ride felt longer than it should have. When the doors opened, his assistant greeted us and led us down a quiet corridor.
And then—
The office door opened.
Harley stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, sunlight cutting across his profile. Dark suit. Crisp lines. Hands in his pockets. Calm. Controlled.
When his eyes found mine, something flickered — brief, unreadable — before he shifted his gaze to Beatrice.
"Dr. Huo. Nurse Beatrice," he greeted smoothly.
Beatrice smiled warmly and stepped forward first, extending her hand. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Huang."
He shook her hand politely. Then his attention returned to me. Not lingering. But not detached either.
"Let's discuss the gala," he said.
As we sat across from him, I became hyper-aware of everything. The way Beatrice leaned slightly forward when she laughed. The way Harley's responses were polite but clipped.
The air in the room felt thinner than before.
Beatrice laughed again at something Harley said — nothing particularly funny — but she leaned forward slightly as she did, her bracelet sliding down her wrist and catching the light.
I kept my eyes on the documents in front of me.
Harley adjusted his cufflinks as he responded, his voice even and controlled. "We'll allocate additional security and media coverage on the west wing. The foundation donors will appreciate discretion."
Beatrice nodded enthusiastically. "You think of everything."
Of course he does. My jaw tightened before I could stop it. Why did that bother me? He hadn't encourage her or smiled or lingered. He was the same composed CEO he always was.
So why did the sight of another woman's attention on him feel like a stone pressing against my ribs?
I straightened in my chair and interjected smoothly, redirecting the conversation back to the hospital's sponsorship figures.
Harley's eyes flicked toward me. As if he knew exactly what I was doing. And for half a second, the corner of his mouth almost curved.
Beatrice gathered her files and stood first. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Huang. I'm looking forward to working closely with you."
Her smile lingered a fraction longer than necessary.
Harley inclined his head politely. "My assistant will coordinate the next meeting."
I rose as well, smoothing the front of my blazer, keeping my expression neutral. Controlled. Professional.
Just as we reached the door, Harley's voice cut through the quiet.
"Dr. Huo."
I paused and noticed from the corner of my eye that Beatrice also stop in her tracks and looked at us.
"I need a quick word," he added calmly.
There was nothing suggestive about his tone. Nothing improper. But something in my stomach tightened anyway.
Beatrice hesitated for half a second before nodding. "I'll wait outside."
The door clicked shut behind her. Silence settled across the room causing the office to suddenly felt larger.
Harley walked back toward his desk, but he didn't sit down. Instead, he leaned lightly against the edge, arms folded loosely across his chest.
"You seemed distracted," he said.
I blinked. "We covered everything necessary."
"That's not what I meant."
His eyes were steady on mine now. Not CEO to representative. But… Harley to Sophie.
I crossed my arms instinctively. "What did you mean?"
"You don't have to prove anything in front of her."
Heat crept up my neck. "I wasn't proving anything."
The corner of his mouth shifted slightly. Not quite a smile.
"She flirts," he said simply.
I held his gaze. "And?"
"And it bothers you."
It wasn't a question. My pulse skipped. I tightened the grip on my folder. "You're very observant for someone who's supposedly indifferent."
His eyes sharpened slightly at that. "I'm not indifferent."
The words hung between us.
My breath caught before I forced myself to recover. "This is professional," I said quietly. "Don't blur the lines."
He straightened. And just like that, the air cooled. "I don't intend to," he replied.
But the way his eyes lingered for a second longer said otherwise.