The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.
Sasha stepped out, her blouse stiff at the collar, her skirt ironed perfectly — but nothing about her felt put together. Her hands were trembling. Her cheeks still burned. Her thighs... remembered.
Every echo of her heels across the polished floor whispered: he saw you.
She had been moaning his name. She had touched herself like a shameless little—
“Sasha!”
The voice hit her before she could brace.
“Oh, God...” she muttered under her breath.
Stella was already at her desk, coffee in one hand, glossy pink lips twisted into a smirk. Her best friend. Her worst tormentor.
“You’re early,” Sasha said, trying to sound normal.
Stella narrowed her eyes. “You’re the one tiptoeing in like a sinner fresh from the altar. Spill.”
“There’s nothing to
