The office heat
636 Words
The office was quiet.
Most of the team had gone home hours ago, leaving only the sound of distant traffic and Zara’s keystrokes echoing in the glass-walled silence.
Jason hadn’t left either.
She caught glimpses of him through the frosted divider—his shadow moving, pausing, returning to his desk. He was always the last to leave, like the building belonged to him even after hours.
Maybe it did.
Zara tried to focus on her article draft, but her mind betrayed her—flashing back to the way his fingers had brushed her face that night in the car. The look in his eyes. The unspoken desire. The unanswered question.
She shook her head.
Focus, Zara. Deadlines.
Her phone buzzed.
Jason:
> "Come to my office for a sec."
She blinked. Her pulse quickened.
Not unusual. He often gave edits in person. Still, something about the way the message was phrased…
She rose, smoothed her skirt, and walked across the floor, each step echoing louder than necessary.
---
His office was dim, city lights spilling through the tall windows behind him. He stood near the shelves, sipping black coffee from a sleek white mug.
Zara closed the door gently behind her.
“You wanted to see me?”
Jason turned.
His eyes swept over her—brief but unmistakable.
He gestured to a stack of printouts on his desk. “Article’s good. But your last paragraph—it plays too safe.”
Zara stepped closer, lips twitching. “You called me in at 8:30 p.m. to tell me I’m boring?”
He smirked. “No. I called you in because I know you’re better than that. You’re holding back.”
She crossed her arms. “Maybe I don’t want to give you all of me.”
Jason’s expression shifted—subtle, serious.
“You don’t have to,” he said quietly. “But don’t forget why you write.”
Zara stared at him. “Why do you care so much?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because I see pieces of myself in your work.”
They stood there, the silence thickening like syrup. Neither moved.
Zara suddenly felt how close they were—too close for this to be a casual meeting.
He walked behind her, stopping just inches away. She could feel the heat of him, his presence magnetic, electric. His voice was low, close to her ear.
“When you’re angry, you write sharper.”
Zara swallowed.
“When you’re hurt…” His breath brushed her neck. “You write like you want to be seen.”
Her skin prickled.
She turned around slowly—face inches from his chest.
“You think you have me figured out?” she asked, voice barely audible.
Jason looked down at her, eyes stormy. “I don’t want to figure you out.”
“What do you want, then?”
His jaw flexed.
She stepped forward. “Say it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re in my office,” he said, voice low and strained. “And if I touch you here, I won’t stop.”
Her breath hitched.
He stepped back suddenly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying not to cross a line.”
Zara’s heart pounded.
“Trying’s not the same as not wanting to.”
Jason turned away, staring out the window.
“You should go.”
Her lips parted to say something—anything—but she nodded instead and left the room.
Behind her, Jason exhaled like he’d been holding in the tide.
---
Back at her desk, Zara stared at her screen, hands trembling.
There had been no kiss. No touch.
But somehow, it was more intimate than anything they’d done so far.
And worse?
She wanted more.
- Writer
