Flying Sparks

AVA

I stride down the sleek corridor of Ethan’s company, my heart pounding in anticipation. My fingers tighten around the portfolio in my hand as I reach his office.

His assistant looks up from her computer screen, flashing a smile that's as bright as the chandelier hanging above us. "Ava, Mr. Blackwood is expecting you. Go right in."

I offer her a nervous smile in return before knocking lightly on the door. "Come in," a deep voice commands from the other side.

With a deep breath, I push open the door and step into the spacious office. Ethan is seated behind his polished glass desk, his dark hair perfectly tousled and his eyes focused on a set of blueprints. He glances up as I enter, and for a moment, I'm caught in the intensity of his gaze. It's like he's studying me, peeling back the layers to see who I really am.

We exchange pleasantries and begin talking about the designs. I adjust the sketches on the table, my frustration mounting with every passing second. This meeting with Ethan is turning into a disaster. It's the second time and still, we can't seem to agree on a single design element, and the tension in the room is suffocating.

We argue about every design decision, every color palette, every piece of furniture. And yet, there's an undeniable undercurrent of something between us, a sort of magnetic pull that's impossible to ignore.

"Mr. Blackwood, we've gone through this a dozen times," I say, my patience wearing thin. "I really believe the modern aesthetic will work best for this space."

He leans back in his chair, his arms crossed, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "And I've told you, Ava, I'm looking for something more classic and elegant."

I grit my teeth, struggling to keep my frustration in check. "But, the modern design will complement the architecture and layout of the space. It'll give it a fresh and sophisticated feel."

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze challenging. "And the classic design will add a touch of timeless luxury that I'm aiming for."

I huff, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "You're impossible, you know that?"

He smirks, his eyes sparking with mischief. "I've been told that a few times."

I narrow my eyes at him, irritation bubbling to the surface. "This isn't a game, Ethan. This is my job, and I'm trying to create something beautiful and functional for you."

“That’s Mr. Blackwood to you,” he corrects, leaning forward, his gaze intense. "And I'm trying to make sure my vision comes to life."

We lock eyes, a battle of wills silently raging between us. The room is charged with electricity, and for a moment, I forget that he's technically my boss. All I see is the infuriatingly handsome man who challenges me at every turn.

"Fine," I concede, my voice tight with frustration. "We'll go with the classic design. But mark my words, you'll regret not going with the modern one."

He chuckles, a low, husky sound that sends shivers down my spine. "We'll see about that."

Next, I'm passionately advocating for a sleek, modern sofa, while he's insisting on a traditional, plush couch.

"Look, the modern sofa will tie in perfectly with the rest of the design," I argue, my voice raised in frustration.

He leans against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression stubborn. "I'm not looking for perfect, Ava. I'm looking for comfort and elegance."

I throw my hands up in exasperation. "But it's not just about comfort, it's about creating a cohesive look. And the modern sofa—"

"Is too cold and sterile," he interrupts, his tone firm.

I take a deep breath, struggling to control my temper. "You're impossible. You refuse to see beyond your own preferences."

He steps closer, his eyes locked onto mine. "And you're too focused on what you think is right. Care for a drink?" he asks, his voice smooth as silk.

I shake my head, my resolve already set. "No, thank you. I'm here to discuss the design concept for the living room."

Ethan smirks. "Straight to business, I like that."

I ignore his comment, my eyes scanning the room for any clues about his preferences. "I've been thinking about the color palette—"

"Let me stop you right there," he interrupts, his tone dismissive. "I want a bold, dramatic look. Dark hues, rich textures. Something that exudes power and elegance."

I frown, my vision conflicting with his vision. "We need to strike a balance. It's important that the space feels inviting and comfortable, not like a brooding lair."

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze challenging. "Comfort is subjective"

I take a deep breath, my patience wearing thin. "We can't go too extreme. The space needs to be functional and reflect your lifestyle."

Ethan's lips curve into a half-smile, and I can see the spark of mischief in his eyes. "Are we still talking about interior design?"

I grit my teeth, his insinuation making my cheeks flush with irritation. "Yes, we are. This is a professional discussion."

He chuckles, taking a step closer. "You're right. I apologize."

The tension between us is palpable, a magnetic force that draws us together despite our differences. My heart races, my body betraying me with a surge of desire that I refuse to acknowledge.

"So, you want it safe and predictable?" he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I glare at him, my frustration mounting. "I want it functional and tasteful."

Ethan leans in, his breath brushing against my ear as he murmurs, "I bet you're the same in bed—safe, predictable."

My eyes widen, a mixture of shock and indignation flooding through me. "How dare you!"

He smirks, his proximity unnerving. "You're blushing, Ava."

I take a step back, my face burning with anger. "This conversation is over."

But Ethan isn't done. He leans against his desk, his gaze locked onto mine. "Or maybe it's just that you can't handle the heat, so you stay away from anything that might burn."

My fists clench at my sides, my patience snapping like a brittle thread. "You're impossible!"

He shrugs, his arrogance infuriating. "I've been told that before."

I turn on my heel, storming towards the door. But before I can make my exit, Ethan grabs my arm, his touch sending a shockwave through me.

"Wait."

Our faces are inches apart, the air charged with tension. I can feel his breath against my skin, and it's sending shivers down my spine for all the wrong reasons.

"You infuriate me," I whisper, my voice betraying the mix of emotions I'm feeling.

He leans in even closer, his gaze unwavering. "And you challenge me."

Our lips are dangerously close, and for a moment, it feels like the world around us disappears. I can feel the pull between us, the undeniable attraction that's been simmering beneath the surface since the first time I met him.

And then, in a heartbeat, he closes the gap between us, his lips crashing onto mine with a fierce intensity. It's a clash of fire and ice, passion and frustration, and I can't deny the way my body responds to him.

I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. It's like a dam has burst, releasing all the pent-up tension and desire that has been building between us.

But just as things start to heat up, just as I'm about to lose myself in the moment, he pulls away abruptly, his breath ragged.

"No," he says, his voice strained. "We can't."

I'm left standing there, breathless and confused, my lips still tingling from his touch. "Why did you—"

"I can't," he repeats, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and regret. "I can't do this."

Shaken and torn, I gather the papers, my hands trembling with a mix of anger and something else I refuse to acknowledge. As I turn to leave, his voice stops me in my tracks.

"Ava."

I glance back at him, my eyebrows raised in question.

He sighs, his expression softening. "I know we clash a lot, but I appreciate your passion for your work."

I blink, caught off guard by his unexpected compliment. "Thank you."

He offers me a small smile, a hint of sincerity in his eyes. "Let's make this property something amazing, okay?"

I nod, surprised by the sudden shift in his attitude. "Sure."

I leave his office, my emotions in turmoil. It's always like this with Ethan—frustration, tension, and then a surprising moment of connection. It's infuriating, and I can't help but wonder why he affects me this way.

I sit in my car, my heart pounding in my chest as I replay the moment over and over again. What just happened between us? Why did he kiss me and then pull away?

I can't deny that I'm attracted to him, despite all the arguments and frustration. But I also can't deny how much he infuriates me, how much he reminds me of all the reasons I don't get involved in relationships.

As much as I want to stay away from him, as much as I want to forget that kiss ever happened, I know it won't be that easy. The attraction between us is too strong, too potent to ignore.

But I also know that I can't let myself get pulled into his orbit again. If I want to focus on my job, I can't let myself be vulnerable to him, to the way he makes me feel. I've worked too hard to build a life for myself, to be the successful interior designer I am today.

With a determined sigh, I start the car and drive away, resolving to keep my distance from Ethan. No matter how much he tempts me, no matter how much I want him, I can't let myself fall into his arms again. It's a battle of wills, and I intend to win it, no matter what it takes.