Strictly business (until it wasn't) - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Y/N's POV
I hesitated, waiting for something, anything, to tell me that I hadn't just imagined it. But Natasha didn't look up. She just typed away on her phone like nothing had happened.
"Yeah," I said, standing slowly. "See you tomorrow, boss." My voice cracked a little on the last word, and I hated it.
Natasha didn't look up. She didn't say goodbye.
I walked to the door, glancing back once. Natasha was still on her phone, her face unreadable.
As I walked away, I clenched my fists, my heart thudding in my chest like a drum.
If we weren't interrupted, would she have kissed me?
———
The next morning, I walked into the office with a purpose. My usual routine of arriving early, setting up Natasha's desk, and leaving a coffee and breakfast ready for her had become second nature. But today, my mind was elsewhere.
Last night.
My heart still hadn't settled. Every second of that moment between us replayed in my mind like a song stuck on loop. The look in Natasha's eyes. The weight of her words. "Don't look at me like that."
I tried to tell myself it was nothing. A slip. A moment of miscommunication. But it wasn't. I knew it, and so did Natasha.
I inhaled deeply, gripping the cup of Natasha's favourite black coffee a little tighter.
Keep it together, Y/N.
I squared my shoulders, stepped into Natasha's office, and placed the coffee and bag neatly on the desk. Everything as it should be. No signs of the chaos swirling in my chest. I glanced around the room, my eyes landing on the spot where we had sat on the floor. My heart gave a little jolt.
Don't think about it. Just don't think about last night.
I turned on my heels, ready to leave before Natasha arrived.
"Morning, Y/N."
I froze mid-step, slowly turning around. Natasha was leaning against the doorframe, her eyes fixed on me like she'd been watching me the whole time. Her suit jacket was draped over her arm, sleeves rolled up. She looked like she'd walked straight out of a magazine cover shoot.
Unfair. Completely unfair.
"Morning, boss," I said, my voice smooth and controlled, despite the slight flutter in her chest.
Natasha stepped inside, her eyes flicking to the desk where the coffee and breakfast sat waiting. Her lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. Barely there, but I caught it.
"You spoil me," Natasha muttered, setting her jacket on the back of her chair.
"You pay me," I quipped, heading for the door. "I'd call it an even trade."
"Is that all it is?" Natasha's voice stopped me in my tracks.
My fingers brushed the doorframe, heart skidding to a stop. I glanced over my shoulder, one eyebrow raised.
Don't play this game, Romanoff.
"Something on your mind, boss?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
Natasha's eyes locked onto mine, sharp and assessing, like she was trying to peel away every layer I had built. Her hands rested in her pockets, her stance casual but her gaze anything but.
"Just curious," Natasha said with a shrug, stepping around her desk. She picked up the coffee, lifting it to her lips, her eyes never leaving me. Watching. Calculating.
I swallowed.
"Anything else you need from me?" I asked, my voice firm but polite.
"Not right now," Natasha said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. Her eyes still hadn't left me. "But I'll let you know."
I nodded, turning fully toward the door.
"Y/N."
I stopped. My breath hitched for half a second, but I smoothed it over, glancing back. "Yeah?"
There it was again. That look. The same one Natasha had given me last night, as if she were standing too close to something dangerous but not quite ready to step away.
"Don't stay too late tonight," Natasha said, her voice quieter than usual. "You've been working too hard."
I blinked, genuinely surprised. I expected something else, a sharp order, a biting reminder of deadlines. But this? It threw me off balance.
"I'm fine," I replied with a small smile, one meant to reassure. "I can handle it."
"I know you can," Natasha said, her gaze dropping to her coffee. She swirled it once, thoughtful. "Doesn't mean you have to."
What the hell does that mean? I thought as I left the room, my heart doing its best impression of a drum.
I spent the rest of the day trying to convince myself that Natasha's words meant nothing. That I wasn't being seen, watched, noticed in a way no assistant should be.
I failed.
Later That Night, later then I should have stayed.
The office was quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed on your ears, making every sound feel too loud. I sat at my desk outside Natasha's office, my fingers tapping away on my laptop. I had told myself to only stay for another hour.
That was two hours ago.
My eyes burned from staring at the screen too long. I sighed, leaning back in my chair, rubbing my hands over my face. I needed to go home. I knew it. But every time I tried to leave, I would think of one more thing I could finish. One more task that would make tomorrow easier.
My phone buzzed on the desk. I glanced at it, expecting an email notification or a reminder I had set earlier.
It was a text.
Natasha: Still here?
My heart did a somersault.
Y/N: Yeah. Just finishing up.
My phone buzzed again seconds later.
Natasha: you can come to my office, if you want.
I stared at the message. My hands hovered over the phone like I might type out an excuse. But something in my gut told me to get up. I stood, smoothed my blouse, and made my way to Natasha's office. My fingers brushed over the door handle, hesitating for a fraction of a second before I pushed it open.
Do I look too eager?
Natasha sat at her desk, leaning back in her chair, fingers steepled under her chin. She didn't look at me right away. Her eyes were on the city skyline outside the large window behind her.
"Sit," Natasha said softly, nodding to the chair across from her.
I stepped in, quietly shutting the door behind me. I sat, my hands folded neatly in my lap, every inch of my posture calm and professional.
But inside? Total chaos.
Natasha finally turned her gaze to me. Her eyes were darker than usual, intense in a way that made my chest feel too tight.
"You've been staying late every night this week," Natasha said, her voice even but pointed.
I tilted my head, confused. "I'm just doing my job."
"You're doing more than that," Natasha replied, leaning forward, resting her arms on the desk. "You don't have to prove anything to me, Y/N. You've already done that."
I blinked, caught off guard. "I'm not—"
"You are," Natasha interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind. "I know what it looks like when someone's trying too hard to be indispensable." Her eyes softened, just a little. "I see you."
I see you.
My breath caught in my throat. I swallowed hard, my fingers curled into my palms, my heart thudding in her chest. I see you. I wasn't sure if Natasha meant it the way it sounded, but it felt like more than just an observation. It felt personal.
"Is that a bad thing?" I asked, tilting my head slightly, my eyes steady on Natasha's. I wasn't going to shrink under that gaze. Not now. Not ever.
Natasha's lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "No," she admitted. "But it makes me wonder why you're trying so hard."
Silence filled the space between us, charged with something that neither of us acknowledged. I knew I could play it off, laugh it away with a witty comeback, keep everything just on the edge of professional. But I was tired. Not just from the late nights, but from pretending I wasn't drawn to Natasha like a moth to a flame.
"Maybe I just want to be good at my job," I replied, my voice quieter this time but no less firm.
Natasha studied me for a long moment, eyes narrowing like she was peeling back every layer I had tried so hard to keep intact. "You're already good at your job, Y/N," she said, leaning forward again, elbows on the desk. Her voice was lower now, more intimate. "But that's not all this is, is it?"
My breath hitched, and I knew Natasha caught it from the way her eyes flickered in satisfaction. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately, her gaze sharp as ever.
"I think you know the answer to that," I said, lifting my chin, my eyes locking onto Natasha's with quiet defiance. If Natasha was going to call me out, I wasn't going to cower.
Natasha's smile widened just a fraction, but it was sharper now, like the edge of a knife. She tapped her fingers once on the desk, then stood, walking slowly around to the front of it.
My heart kicked up a notch with every step. My fingers now gripped the edge of the chair, my breath steady but shallow.
Don't look nervous. Don't look away.
Natasha leaned against the edge of the desk, arms folded, her eyes scanning me like I was something she was trying to figure out. Her gaze dropped for half a second, to my lips, before rising back to my eyes.
"I should probably fire you," Natasha said, her voice smooth as silk.
My heart felt stopped for a second.
"Excuse me?" I said, forcing my voice to stay steady, even as every nerve in my body screamed at me.
"You're a distraction," Natasha replied bluntly, tilting her head as if she were admitting something she'd been holding back for too long. Her eyes darkened with something far more dangerous than frustration.
"You think I'm the distraction?" I raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in my chair, my voice low and challenging. She tilted her head, mirroring Natasha's posture. "That's funny, You're the one staring at me every time I walk into the room. You're the distraction."
That did it. Natasha's eyes flashed with something wild and unguarded, her jaw tightening like she'd been caught. But she didn't deny it.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N," Natasha warned, her voice deadly soft.
"Maybe," I said, my eyes fixed on Natasha's like a challenge. "But I don't back down from a challenge."
Silence. Tense. Charged. Barely contained.
Natasha pushed off the desk, taking two slow, deliberate steps forward. I didn't move. Didn't even blink. I wasn't going to be the one to look away first.
When Natasha finally stopped, she was close enough that I could smell the faint hint of her perfume, something warm, subtle, and infuriatingly perfect. Her gaze dropped once more to my lips. This time, she didn't look away.
"You should," Natasha murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Back down from this challenge, that is."
My breath shuddered, but I kept my composure. My eyes flicked to Natasha's lips, I had been forcing myself not to care, not to think of even having a chance of kissing someone like Natasha freaking Romanoff. But right now, all that doubt had vanished.
"Tell me to leave," I said softly.
Natasha's breath came slower, her eyes searching mine face for any sign of hesitation. She would find no such thing.
"Tell me to walk out that door," I continued, my gaze unwavering. My voice dropped to a whisper. "And I will."
Another moment of silence. Longer this time. Louder somehow.
Natasha didn't move. Didn't blink. Her breathing had slowed, but it was deeper now, like she was holding something back.
She didn't tell me to leave.
The weight of that decision settled between us like gravity, pulling us closer even though neither of us moved. Then Natasha tilted her head, just a little, her eyes softening with something that looked a lot like surrender.
"Come here, Y/N," Natasha said, her voice low, a quiet command, but a command nonetheless.
I stood slowly, every part of me burning with anticipation. I stepped forward, slow but deliberate, not breaking eye contact for a second. When I stopped, there was barely any space between us. I could feel the warmth of Natasha's body, close enough to reach out and touch.
Natasha's gaze dropped to my lips again. No hesitation this time. Her eyes lifted, and for the first time since last night, I saw it, not the sharp, untouchable CEO, but Natasha. Real. Human. Wanting.
"Last chance," Natasha said, her voice rougher than it had been. Her fingers hovered by her side, her control fraying at the edges. "If you walk away now, I won't stop you."
I smiled slowly, as I leaned in just slightly. "I'm not walking away."
My words were barely out before Natasha closed the distance. Our lips met in a slow, deliberate press that quickly escalated into something far hungrier, far more desperate than either of us had anticipated.
Natasha's hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer, while my fingers tangled in her hair, holding her in place like I was afraid she might slip away. Our breaths were ragged, every kiss more demanding than the last, every second a silent acknowledgment of finally.