The alarm on Damon's phone buzzed at 6:00 AM, a harsh intrusion into the quiet comfort of the master bedroom. Damon groaned, blindly slapping the nightstand until the noise stopped.
He rolled over, expecting to see the usual morning sight: Helen curled up under the duvet, wearing her silk eye mask.
But the other side of the bed was empty. The sheets were rumpled, but cold.
Damon sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He remembered then—the migraine. Helen had mentioned she might move to the guest room if the snoring got too bad, or simply to escape the light that crept in through the master curtains.
He felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't checked on her when he came up last night. He had been too buzzed from the beer, the nachos, and the illicit warmth of sitting knee-to-knee with Leo.
Damon showered quickly, the hot water doing little to wash away the lingering sense of unease. He dressed in a charcoal suit, choosing a tie that didn't require Leo's help—a simple navy solid. He needed to re-establish boundaries. Last night had been too easy, too comfortable.
He walked downstairs, the house silent around him.
Usually, the kitchen was empty at this hour. He would make a quick espresso, grab a protein bar, and leave.
Today, the smell of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon hit him before he reached the bottom step.
Leo was in the kitchen. He was dressed for work—black slacks that fit perfectly and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was standing by the stove, flipping bacon with one hand and holding a spatula in the other.
"Morning, Boss," Leo called out without turning around.
"How did you know I was there?" Damon asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"I heard your footsteps," Leo said. He plated the bacon and turned, flashing a bright, morning-ready smile. "You walk heavy. Like a man on a mission."
He gestured to the island. A place was already set: a steaming mug of coffee (hazelnut, obviously), a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, and a small bowl of fruit.
"Leo, you didn't have to do this," Damon sighed, walking over. "You're an intern, not a personal chef."
"I made myself some too," Leo shrugged, pointing to his own plate. "Besides, Mom is still out of it. I checked on her. She took a sleeping pill around 3 AM. She's going to be out until noon."
"Is she okay?"
"Just a bad one," Leo said dismissively. "She gets them when she drinks red wine. She knows that, but she drinks it anyway."
Damon frowned. He sat down, picking up his fork. "I should call Dr. Evans if it keeps up."
"She'll be fine," Leo said. He sat down across from Damon, blowing on his coffee. "So, are we carpooling again? My battery is still 'dead'."
Damon looked at him. He knew the car battery wasn't dead. He knew Leo just wanted to ride in the Mercedes.
"If you're ready in twenty minutes," Damon said.
"I'm always ready."
The drive to the city was becoming a dangerous ritual.
Damon drove. Leo played DJ, selecting a playlist of soft indie rock that Damon surprisingly didn't hate. They didn't talk much, but the silence wasn't awkward. It was companionable.
Damon found himself relaxing into the leather seat. He glanced at Leo, who was watching the scenery blur by.
"You have a smudge," Damon said suddenly.
Leo turned. "What?"
"On your collar. Left side."
Leo pulled at his collar, trying to see. "Is it ketchup? I ate a hash brown while I was cooking."
"Here."
Damon reached over. He did it without thinking. His hand brushed against Leo's neck, his thumb rubbing briskly against the starch of the collar to dislodge a tiny crumb.
Leo froze. He stopped breathing, his eyes locking onto Damon's face.
Damon pulled his hand back as if he'd touched a hot stove. "Got it."
"Thanks," Leo whispered. He touched the spot where Damon's thumb had been. A slow flush crept up his neck.
Damon gripped the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. 'Why did I do that?' he panic-thought. 'I touch him. He touches me. We need to stop touching.'
When they arrived at Blackwood Logistics, the transition from "Father and Son" to "CEO and Intern" was abrupt.
They walked through the lobby. Damon's stride lengthened, his face hardening into his professional mask. Employees nodded respectfully, murmuring, "Good morning, Mr. Blackwood."
Leo trailed a step behind, clutching his messenger bag, playing the part of the humble new hire.
They reached the elevator banks.
"I'll take the next one," Leo said loudly, for the benefit of the receptionist. "I don't want to crowd you, sir."
"Efficient," Damon nodded curtly. "Don't be late to your desk, Sterling."
"Yes, sir."
Damon stepped into the lift. The doors slid shut, cutting off the view of Leo standing in the lobby.
Damon exhaled, leaning against the back wall of the elevator. He felt a phantom tingle in his thumb.
Up on the 40th floor, the day was a whirlwind of meetings. But Damon was distracted. He kept checking the time.
At 10:30 AM, Sarah buzzed in.
"Mr. Blackwood? I have the weekly inter-departmental briefs."
"Send them in."
Sarah walked in with a stack of files. "Also, Mrs. Gable mentioned the new intern class is settling in well. Apparently, your stepson is quite popular."
Damon looked up sharply. "Popular?"
"He brought donuts for the bullpen," Sarah smiled. "And he helped fix the jammed copier in Accounting. Greg Stevens was singing his praises."
Damon's pen snapped in his hand.
"Stevens?" Damon asked, his voice low.
"Yes. Apparently, Leo—Mr. Sterling—is very tech-savvy."
"I see."
Damon threw the broken pen into the trash.
"Sarah," Damon said calmly. "Call down to the fourth floor. Tell Mrs. Gable I need an intern to run some sensitive files to the archive. Specifically, the 'Sterling' file."
Sarah looked confused. "The Sterling file? Sir, that's just his application."
"I know," Damon said. "I want him to bring it up. Personally. I need to... review his references."
Sarah hesitated, then nodded. "Of course, sir."
She left.
Damon sat back, loosening his tie. He swiveled his chair to look out the window.
Greg Stevens. Again.
He knew it was petty. He knew he was abusing his power. But the thought of Leo laughing with Greg over a jammed copier made his blood boil.
Five minutes later, the door opened.
Leo walked in. He wasn't smiling. He looked breathless, holding a manila folder.
"You asked for me?" Leo said, closing the door.
"Lock it," Damon said.
Leo paused. His eyes widened. He reached back and turned the thumb-lock with a loud click.
"Come here," Damon commanded.
Leo walked to the desk. He set the file down. "Is everything okay? Mrs. Gable said it was urgent."
"It is," Damon said. He stood up, towering over the desk. "I heard you made a new friend in Accounting."
Leo's face went blank for a second, then that familiar, dark smirk appeared.
"Greg?" Leo asked innocently. "He just needed help with the toner."
"I told you to stay away from him," Damon growled.
"I tried," Leo stepped closer, until his thighs brushed against the edge of the desk. "But he's very persistent. He asked if I wanted to grab drinks after work on Friday."
Damon walked around the desk. He stopped inches from Leo.
"And what did you say?"
Leo looked up at him, tilting his head back to maintain eye contact. "I said I have a ride. A very possessive ride."
Damon's resolve shattered. He reached out, grabbing Leo's chin, tilting his face up further.
"You're riding with me," Damon said roughly. "Every day. To work. From work. You don't need anyone else."
"I know," Leo whispered, leaning into the rough touch. "I only need you, Damon."
Damon stared at the boy's lips. He was so close.
Then, the intercom buzzed.
"Mr. Blackwood? The Shanghai partners are on line one."
Damon squeezed his eyes shut. He dropped his hand from Leo's face, stepping back.
"Go back to work, Leo," Damon rasped.
Leo smiled, looking thoroughly kissed even though Damon hadn't touched his lips.
"Yes, Sir," Leo said.
He walked to the door, unlocking it. Before he left, he looked back.
"By the way," Leo said softly. "I told Greg I'm allergic to beer. So... no drinks."
He slipped out.
Damon stared at the closed door. He walked over to the trash can and retrieved the broken pen, staring at the jagged plastic.
"I'm losing my mind," he muttered.
He picked up the phone. "Put them through, Sarah."
Down in the elevator, Leo checked his reflection in the mirrored wall. He fixed his collar where Damon had almost-touched him earlier.
"Jealousy looks good on him," Leo decided.