Episode 6: Cold Distance and Silent Longing

Episode 6: Cold Distance and Silent Longing

The Chicago office felt colder than usual on Monday morning.

Emma Bennett arrived at 7:45 a.m., earlier than her usual time, armed with fresh coffee and a determination to reset everything. The weekend had been torture—replaying that moment in the New York suite on an endless loop: Charles’s hand on her waist, his thumb brushing her jaw, their lips inches apart, the heavy breathing that still echoed in her dreams.

She had convinced herself it was mutual. A moment of weakness born from victory and vulnerability. But as she stepped onto the 47th floor, reality delivered its first brutal blow.

Charles Harrington was already in his office, door closed, blinds half-drawn. No morning greeting. No request for the briefing folder. When she knocked softly and entered with his usual black coffee and the day’s agenda, he barely looked up from his monitor.

“Leave it on the desk,” he said curtly, voice flat and impersonal. “I’ll review it later.”

Emma froze for half a second. “Good morning, Mr. Harrington. The Meridian integration team needs your sign-off on—”

“I saw the email. Forward it to legal first. That will be all.”

No “thank you.” No eye contact. No acknowledgment of the weekend, the deal, or the moment that had nearly shattered everything between them.

The dismissal stung like a slap. Emma nodded stiffly, placed the folder down, and retreated. Her chest felt tight as she returned to her desk. He regrets it. Of course he does. I was stupid to think otherwise.

The professional harmony that had once defined their working relationship—the seamless chemistry of Episode 1—was now shattered into jagged pieces.

Throughout the morning, Charles’s behavior grew increasingly cold and distant. Requests came through email rather than direct conversation. When he did speak, his tone was clipped, formal to the point of frost.

“Miss Bennett, reschedule the 11 a.m. with finance. Push it to tomorrow.”

“Miss Bennett, I need the Q4 projections revised by noon. No extensions.”

Each “Miss Bennett” felt like a deliberate wall being reinforced with steel. Gone was the warmth, the rare use of her first name, the mutual respect that had deepened during late nights. In its place was a chilling professionalism that felt worse than outright anger.

Emma threw herself into work with fierce precision, but inside she was unraveling. Was it all in my head? Did I misread the entire trip? The memory of his hand on her waist now felt like a cruel trick. Rejection burned hot in her throat. She had exposed a piece of her personal life—her mother’s illness—and he had responded by shutting down completely.

By lunchtime, the emotional pain had settled into a dull, constant ache.

Charles sat alone in his office, staring at spreadsheets he wasn’t truly seeing. Panic had gripped him since the jet landed back in Chicago. The near-kiss replayed relentlessly: how perfectly Emma had fit under his hands, the softness of her skin, the way her breath had mingled with his. One more second and he would have destroyed both their careers.

She deserves better than a boss who can’t control himself. The power imbalance made his actions unforgivable in his own eyes. He had to protect her. Protect the company. Protect the boundary that should never have been tested.

So he pulled back hard—colder than necessary, more distant than professional courtesy required. Every time he glanced through the glass wall and saw her focused at her desk, auburn hair neatly pinned, shoulders tense, a sharp longing twisted in his chest. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to ask about her mother. He wanted to pull her close again.

Instead, he emailed another request.

The frustration simmered unbearably for both of them.

At 2:30 p.m., they were forced into a strategy meeting with three VPs. Emma sat to Charles’s right, tablet ready, taking notes with flawless efficiency. Under the table, their knees nearly brushed once. Charles shifted away sharply, as if her proximity burned him. Emma’s pen tightened in her grip until her knuckles whitened.

He can’t even stand to be near me now, she thought bitterly. The pain of rejection mixed with deep longing. She missed the old Charles—the one who trusted her at 3 a.m., who remembered her coffee preference, who looked at her like she mattered beyond her job title.

Charles kept his eyes fixed on the presentation, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Her perfume drifted toward him—subtle floral notes that transported him straight back to the suite. He could still feel the ghost of her waist under his palm. Focus. This is necessary. She’ll understand eventually. But the emotional cost was higher than he had anticipated. The office felt empty without their former rhythm.

The meeting dragged. Emma’s voice remained steady as she provided supporting data, but Charles noticed the slight strain beneath her professional tone. It twisted something deep inside him. He hated himself for causing it, yet he couldn’t stop. Distance was the only safe path.

By 4:45 p.m., the tension had become suffocating.

Emma worked at her desk with mechanical precision, but her mind screamed. I almost kissed my boss. And now he treats me like I’m contagious. Tears pricked at her eyes. She blinked them back furiously. This job paid for her mother’s treatments. She couldn’t afford to let emotions ruin it. Yet the longing refused to die. Every time Charles walked past her desk without a glance, it hurt. Every curt email landed like another brick in the wall separating them.