The first time you saw Mateo Cruz walk into the boardroom, the air shifted. Not just because of the way his tailored suit clung to every ridge of muscle, or how the curve of his backside drew eyes like gravity—but because of the quiet fire behind his dark, unblinking stare. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, it’s slow, deliberate, each word weighted like a promise. Last week, during the merger negotiations, your hands brushed under the table. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his thumb grazed your knuckles—once—and then retreated as if burned. Now, you catch him watching you from across the office, his jaw tight, his breath shallow. What happens when one of you finally breaks the silence?