Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!

Oblivious to all of this, at least for now, was Darren Steele, sitting behind his mahogany desk, fingers dancing across the keyboard as the final document loaded onto the screen.

'Trademark Application: Steele Tech'

It was done.

With a final keystroke, the application was submitted. Darren leaned back in his leather chair, jaw tight.

He was done with the formalities and tomorrow he would hand Rachel the documents to submit. This was a cornerstone in his plan to carve out a new empire under the Steele name.

Steele Tech.

Earlier that morning, (after Harper), he'd gathered his core team in the conference room and he delivered the news.

"Due to an unexpected schedule tonight, I'm extending the deadline for your submissions by one day. Use it wisely."

The reactions had been telling. Amelia's shoulders had slumped as she exhaled a sigh of relief. Kara had leaned back in her chair, muttering something sarcastic under her breath that earned a sharp glance from Simon. Simon, for his part, had frowned, his fingers tapping restlessly on the table as he murmured about "losing rhythm."

Darren had noted it all but said nothing. His mind was already elsewhere.

Harper had been dismissed hours ago, sent home with instructions. Now, all that remained was the dinner with Archibald.

A soft ping from his phone broke the silence. Darren glanced at the screen, a message from Olivia lighting up the display.

Olivia: Are you dressed? I'm on my way.

He checked the time, it was 4:47 PM. He grunted and then typed a quick reply.

Darren: I am. No need to hurry.

Olivia: You liar.

It was a lie. His white dress shirt hung open at the collar, no tie, no jacket, his dark hair slightly tousled from hours hunched over his laptop.

He stood and stretched his back. 'Where is Rachel with my suit?"

A sharp knock sounded at the door.

Darren glanced at it. "Come in," he said.

The door opened slowly, and Rachel Teschmacher stepped inside.

She appeared nervous as she walked, her form-fitting blazer hugging her frame over a soft black turtleneck, her dark skirt swaying faintly.

In her hands, she carried a black suit cover, the gold-embroidered logo of 'Zovari Fifth Ave' glinting faintly. The strands of her hair barely covered her left eye now, and as she got closer, both eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made the air feel heavier.

"You remembered to knock this time," Darren said dryly.

Rachel stepped closer, laying the suit cover gently over the arm of the leather couch. "It's a rare event, I know. Didn't want another lecture on office etiquette."

He chuckled hoarsely, the sound low and fleeting, as he moved toward her and the suit. Rachel almost shuddered when he got close, like the tiny space between them was always charged with electric tension.

"It's a beautiful suit," she whispered, gesturing to the cover.

Darren didn't reply immediately, his steel-blue eyes trained on her, then he looked at the suit. "It is."

Rachel glanced around the office, moving to every corner in a split of a second. Satisfied, she lowered her head, squeezing her lips.

"Harper isn't here," she noted, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp as they returned to him.

"You're always looking for her," Darren remarked, closing the distance. "What is it, Rachel? Do you want to hit her? Are you jealous?"

Rachel didn't flinch, her chin lifting slightly as she met his gaze head-on. "No, I'm not."

His lips shaped to a pout, head nodding. "Seems like you are."

She didn't reply to that, and so the silence stretched taut, a coiled wire ready to snap.

Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, her eyes held his, unflinching, a storm of emotions swirling just beneath the surface.

Darren broke the tension first, glancing at the suit cover. "Well, it's not going to wear itself."

"Huh?" Rachel hesitated for a fraction of a second. She glanced down at the suit cover, then at him. Darren shrugged.

With only a moment's hesitation, she reached for the first button of his open shirt, her fingers brushing the fabric as she unfastened it.

Her touch was careful, but the tension in the air made her fingers fidget as she worked silently, undoing each button. Darren stood still, his breath steady, his eyes never leaving her face.

She slid the shirt from his shoulders, her fingertips grazing the bare skin of his collarbone as she reached for the crisp white dress shirt from the suit cover.

Deep breathing. From both of them. Everything was silent except for that.

Then, she stood in front of him, and unbuckled his belt. His pants dropped, and as they remained locked to each other's eyes, Darren lifted his feet off them.

Rachel finally broke the gaze lock and unzipped...

... the suit cover. She pulled out the tuxedo, then the pants. After wearing him his pants, which she had to squat before him to do, she buckled his belt. Then, out of the tux, she took out the shirt.

Darren stretched his hands at both sides for her to wear it to him. She obeyed.

The fabric was cool against his skin as she guided his arms into the sleeves, her movements slow, almost reverent.

She buttoned it up, her fingers lingering at each clasp, her breath shallow as she worked. When she reached for the tux, she draped it carefully over his shoulders, smoothing the lapels with both hands, her touch lingering at his collar.

She fixed his tie, and tapped him on his chest.

"Looks perfect," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

But her hands rested on his chest for a moment longer, and suddenly, right then, she could feel his heartbeat thumping inside him.

Darren let her listen to it.

Then, slowly, she looked up at him, and he was already looking at her.

Her toes lifted her, getting her face closer to his. Her lips grazed his, tentative at first, testing.

Then, Darren's hand found her waist, pulling her closer, his other hand sliding to the back of her neck.

Finally, once again, after so long, their mouths met, deeper this time, a fierce and quiet intensity that burned away the weeks of unspoken tension between them. The kiss was raw, aching, a collision of restraint and release, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the office.