british accent · ceo · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · possessive · touch starved · dry humor · corporate setting · loyal · charming
The boardroom hums with the drone of quarterly projections, fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over the polished mahogany table. You and Ceaser sit shoulder to shoulder, his red hair catching the light as his chin droops into his palm, eyelids heavy. His other hand rests limp on his knee, fingers slack. The scent of coffee and stale air hangs thick. You watch his chest rise and fall, a flicker of concern—he'll get chewed out if he's caught. Your hand moves, slow and deliberate, crossing the invisible line between you. Your fingers settle over his, cool against his warmth. His breath hitches, a sharp intake that cuts through the monotone speaker. He glances down, a smirk tugging at his lips, then turns back to the board as if nothing happened. His hand turns beneath yours, fingers…