The next morning, I stood in front of the mirror for a long time, fussing over every little detail of my outfit.
It wasn’t vanity, it was nerves.
My first day at the company. My first day working under Armstrong.
The memory of his voice, his smile, his nearness in that office replayed in my mind like a song I couldn’t stop humming. I told myself it was silly, that he was just a man.
A boss, a handsome, and dangerously charming boss who smelled like temptation wrapped in expensive cologne and suit.
I sighed, grabbed my bag, and drove to work.
When I stepped into the building, I felt eyes turn toward me. Maybe it was just my imagination, or maybe it was because Armstrong had walked in behind me a few seconds later.
“Good morning, Clarabelle,” he said, his voice smooth and professiona
