Tan3288
She was never meant to stay ... but he couldn't let her go ...
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The first time Rebecca Rosewood met Alex Volkov, she was ten minutes late, balancing a coffee cup, a sketch portfolio, and the weight of a near panic attack.
The elevator doors were closing. She lunged.
He didn't bother to hold them.
Her bag got stuck. Her sketch papers flew. The coffee nearly took down both their suits.
And he-he just stood there. Sharp jaw, expensive coat, cold eyes. Watching.
"You're late," he said flatly, not even blinking.
Rebecca, cheeks flaming, scrambled to pick up her drawings. "Technically, I'm early for being late."
A pause.
He blinked once. "That's not a thing."
She smiled anyway, eyes bright. "It could be. You don't know me yet."
⸻
He was used to silence, discipline, and results.
She was all chatter, freckles, and ideas that danced between realism and dreams.
And somehow, from that day forward, she kept showing up-late sometimes, but always smiling.
And somehow, from that day forward, he didn't mind quite as much.