The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the dimly lit office. It was far too late for anyone and too late for the most devoted employee to still be working but Emma wasn't here for overtime. Not exactly. She had her laptop open, a stack of papers neatly piled to her right, and a glass of red wine that absolutely didn't belong in the building perched beside her keyboard.
Her heels had been kicked off hours ago, and her blouse once buttoned to the collar was now gaping open at the top, just enough to hint at the lace underneath. Her skirt was hitched a few inches higher than office protocol allowed, and her legs, long and smooth, were crossed in a way that felt less professional and more like an invitation.
The screen in front of her wasn't a spreadsheet or a presentation. It
