Chapter 6

Life went on normally until we went to visit another site. It was a normal day. Nothing special. I was walking across the site, juggling my phone, a tablet, and a coffee—because multitasking was my brand—when my foot caught on something.

I tripped.

It wasn't dramatic. I didn't go flying or crash into anything. But it was enough for Cassian—who was walking beside me—to extend a hand, purely on instinct.

I should have just let gravity win. Bruised dignity, even a broken bone was better than—this.

Because the second his fingers curled over mine, everything changed.

The roughness of his palm, the way his grip was firm, steady, the heat of his skin against mine— The slow-motion of the incident made me cringe and worst?

I was wet.

Not just a little. Not just an "oh, wow, that was a nice hand" level of reaction.

No, this was a full-system shutdown.

My entire body lit up in pure, absolute betrayal.

Even my ears were hot.

I recovered quickly. (Or at least, I pretended to.) I let go of his hand the second I was steady and took a very professional step back. My heart is pounding but I managed to act normal.

Cassian's brows furrowed just slightly. "You good?"

"Fine," I said, too fast, too high-pitched, absolutely suspicious. Dusting my clothes taking off invisible dusts while trying not to look at him.

He squinted at me. He took the coffee I was holding. "You nearly burned yourself."

I stared back, fighting for normalcy. Fighting the urge to look at his hand holding the coffee.

Do not make it weird. Do not make it weird.

Cassian tilted his head, like I was some kind of puzzle he couldn't figure out. But then—thank God—he shrugged it off and kept walking.

He said nothing.

But I knew.

Somewhere, deep in my core, I knew…

I was absolutely screwed.

CASSIAN'S POV

Sienna was acting weird.

At first, I thought maybe she'd finally fallen in love with me.

It was bound to happen, really. I'm objectively fantastic. Charming, successful, good-looking—she could have done worse.

But Sienna wasn't the type to be subtle. If she liked me, I would know.

Still, I didn't want to hurt her if that was the case. We had a good thing going, and I wasn't about to ruin it because of feelings. So I tested it before I make an idiot of myself when I finally talk to her.

Got closer to her.

Brushed against her in passing, just lightly enough to make her aware of me.

Flirted a little more than usual. Just in case.

Nothing.

No blushing, no lingering looks, no secret pining.

Sienna, my ever-reliable, stone-cold assistant-slash-best-friend, was utterly unaffected. Utterly disgusted by my handsome face.

Until the day she tripped and took my hand.

That was when everything changed.

I wasn't even looking at her at first. It was instinct. She stumbled, I reached out, she grabbed on—no big deal.

Until I actually saw her face.

She was red.

Like, fully flushed, ears burning, expression so forcibly neutral it was suspicious.

She let go of my hand like it burned her. Then, I don't know if she noticed it herself she looked at my hand for a minute. Full minute.

I blinked. Huh.

It wasn't me that got to her.

It was my hand?

My hand? That was interesting.

So I did what any normal, curious, slightly entertained man would do: I tested my theory.

Subtly, of course.

I started being more aware of what I did with my hands around her.

Rolled up my sleeves more often.

Tapped my fingers on desks when we talked.

Loosened my watch, adjusting it just enough to make her notice.

Sienna hid.

Not obviously, but she was definitely avoiding looking.

Sometimes, I'd catch her. Her gaze flicking down, lingering for half a second too long before she forced herself to look away.

And it was so damn amusing.

Because Sienna, of all people, had a thing for hands.

My hands.

I had never been so entertained in my life.

I was bored today again.

The meetings were done, the calls were made, and there was nothing particularly urgent demanding my attention. Which meant I had time to entertain myself.

And what better way to do that than by messing with Sienna? Back then I will talk non stop to her. Just discussing anything under the sun and that would make her mad. My sole entertainment but now, I have something better.

I strolled over to her desk, casual as ever. "So," I said, leaning against the edge, "how's the boyfriend?"

Sienna, who had been very determinedly typing something, barely looked up. "He's good." He smirked. She is so obvious avoiding me or rather my hands.

I hummed, flexing my fingers absently.

I didn't miss it—the way her gaze almost flicked down before she forced it back up.

Oh, this was too easy.

My eyes landed on the lotion sitting on her desk.

I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. Lavender-scented. Fancy.

"Since when do you use lotion?" I asked, smirking.

She blinked at me. "I don't. It's just there."

"Oh?" I twisted the cap off. "Huh. Smells nice."

And then—because I am a menace—I poured some into my palm.

Sienna went so still I thought she stopped breathing.

I took my time. Rubbing it in. Smoothing it over my fingers. Spreading it between my knuckles.

Sienna's expression was an entire event.

First, she was confused. Then panicked. Then, so red I was genuinely impressed.

Her ears—her damn ears—were burning.

"You okay?" I asked, biting back a laugh.

She cleared her throat. "Fine."

I smirked, rubbing the excess lotion into my wrist. "You sure? You look… warm."

"I'm fine," she snapped, turning back to her screen with laser focus.

I almost felt bad.

Almost.

But mostly?

I was having the time of my life.

Messing with Sienna is always my favorite pastime but now? Oh, it's delicious.

It wasn't my fault, really. She started it. Acting all weird, avoiding eye contact, blushing like a guilty criminal every time I did so much as roll up my sleeves.

And now? Now, I couldn't stop.

The lotion incident had been a personal highlight, but I wasn't done. Not even close.

So, I stepped it up.

I started flexing my hands more often.

Stretching my fingers casually before meetings.

Cracking my knuckles when she was deep in concentration.

Rolling my sleeves up real slow like I was about to do something serious when, really, I was just existing.

The best part? Sienna tried so hard to ignore it.

Tried and failed.

She'd get that brief, traitorous flicker of her gaze before snapping it back up, glaring at me like I was personally ruining her life.

Which, to be fair, I probably was.

So, naturally, I made it worse.

One morning, I walked into the office, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, and set them both down in front of her.

Then, in my best nonchalant voice, I said, "Tie my tie."

Sienna blinked very slowly.

I had, of course, already tied it. But I loosened it slightly before walking over, just for the theatrics of it all.

She exhaled, clearly debating whether to murder me or comply. "Are your hands broken?"

"Temporarily," I said. "Occupational hazard."

She muttered something under her breath but stood, lifting her hands to fix my tie.

And let me tell you—watching her struggle was an experience.

Her fingers hovered like she physically did not want to touch me.

Her jaw tightened with effort.

Her eyes? Firmly trained on my chest.

Absolutely not looking down at my hands, even though I very purposefully flexed them just a little.

It was beautiful. A masterpiece.

"There," she said, tying the knot a little too tight, probably as payback.

I grinned. "Thanks, sweetheart."

She made a noise of pure frustration and stormed back to her desk.

And I?

I sat down, fully entertained, already thinking of my next move.

At this point, teasing Sienna was a full-time hobby.

She tried so hard to act normal. To ignore whatever weird thing she had going on with my hands. But the thing was—she sucked at it.

She avoided looking directly at them like they were a solar eclipse.

Which only made me want to make her suffer more.

One afternoon, during a particularly boring meeting, I started flipping my pen between my fingers. Slow, controlled, absentminded.

I wasn't even looking at her. But I felt it.

That moment her gaze slipped.

Like clockwork, she caught herself and snapped her attention back to her notes.

I smirked.

She hated me.

The next day, I made a point to adjust my watch in front of her.

Nothing special—just loosening the strap, rolling my sleeve up, making a small show of fixing it.

She barely moved, barely breathed.

But I saw the tiniest flicker of an eye twitch.

She was fighting demons.

Then, for science, I threw in a curveball.

We were on-site, reviewing a project, when I casually pulled on a pair of work gloves.

Slowly.

Fingers stretching. Leather tightening. Rolling my wrists.

Sienna, ever the professional, didn't react.

Until I tugged the gloves off, one finger at a time.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

That was when she caved.

Her eyes darted down—just for a second—before she spun around so fast she nearly tripped over a cement bucket.

I bit my cheek to keep from laughing.

"Careful there," I said, voice way too amused.

She didn't answer. Didn't even look at me.

Just walked off.