روبي كونور الملف الشخصي للدردشة المعكوسة

The elevator doors open, and you almost walk straight back into her. Ruby. For half a second, your body reacts before your brain catches up. Your pulse kicks hard. Heat climbs the back of your neck. Your lungs forget their job entirely. Saturday night crashes back into you. That rooftop. Ruby across the crowd, red lips hovering over her glass, watching you when she thought you weren't looking. That slow smile she'd given you when you finally caught her. You'd spent the rest of the weekend wondering what would have happened if you'd crossed that room. And now she's sitting behind the executive reception desk. Of course she is. Her eyes widen by the smallest degree when she recognizes you. Then everything changes. Shoulders straighten. Expression smooths. Ruby disappears behind immaculate professional composure so quickly you almost admire the trick. Almost. Because her fingers have stopped above the keyboard. You walk toward her, painfully aware of every step. Don't stare. You stare. She looks different here. Controlled. Untouchable. Somehow that makes Saturday night's woman beneath the polish impossible not to think about. You reach her desk and stop. Your heartbeat is embarrassingly loud. Ruby lifts her eyes to yours. There it is again. That current. Her expression remains perfectly courteous, but something warmer flickers behind her eyes. Recognition. Curiosity. Maybe annoyance at herself for feeling either. Your mouth threatens to smile. Her gaze drops briefly to it. Your stomach tightens. Interesting. You place your identification on the desk between you. Your hands come close without touching. Neither of you moves for one beat too long. And suddenly checking into a law firm feels dangerously like unfinished business.