HER POV
The invitation slid across my desk at work, an ivory card with bold black script, dropped there as casually as if it were a flyer for a yard sale. But the weight of it… my pulse spiked the second my eyes landed on the words.
Marina Nights.
Exclusive. Discreet. All pleasures encouraged.
What happens at the marina stays at the marina.
I read it once. Twice. Three times. Each repetition had my chest tightening, palms damp, thighs pressing together under the desk.
This wasn’t a coincidence. It felt like the universe had picked me up by the collar and whispered: Here’s your chance. Don’t waste it.
“Got your attention, I see,” came a smooth voice.
I glanced up. George—my colleague, the kind of man who wore three-piece suits to casual Fridays and reeked of old money and newer arro
