THE VELOCITY OF FRICTION

​The rain turned the Seattle skyline into a blurred smear of neon and charcoal. Spencer Vance stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, his reflection ghosting against the glass. He looked exactly like what he was: a man who bought secrets and sold silence. ​The door clicked shut behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Elena. The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly, charged with a sudden, sharp static. ​"You’re late," Spencer said, his voice smooth and cold as polished stone. ​"I had to make sure I wasn't being followed by your associates," Elena replied. She dropped her damp trench coat onto his designer leather sofa, a deliberate act of defiance. Underneath, she wore a dark silk slip dress that looked more like a dare than an outfit. "You have a very strange way of asking for a meeting, Spencer." ​Spencer finally turned. His gaze was slow, deliberate, and entirely too heavy as it travelled from the hem of her dress back up to her defiant eyes. "When you threaten to dismantle a three-billion-dollar merger, you don't get an invite via Paperless Post. You get a midnight summons." ​He walked toward her, his movements fluid and predatory. He stopped just inches away, invading her personal space until the scent of his sandalwood cologne settled over her like a heavy blanket. ​"The files, Elena. Give them to me, and I'll make sure you walk out of here with enough zeros in your bank account to never work a day in your life again." ​Elena laughed, a dry, husky sound that caught in the back of her throat. She stepped closer, her chest nearly brushing the lapel of his suit. The heat radiating between them was a physical force, thick and suffocating. ​"You think I'm here for a payout?" she whispered, her eyes searching his, finding the flicker of something dark and primal beneath his professional mask. "I want to see you sweat, Spencer. I want to see what happens when the man who fixes everything finally breaks." ​Spencer’s hand moved before he could check the impulse. He gripped her waist, his fingers digging into the silk of her dress, pulling her flush against him. The contact was electric—a jolt of pure, unadulterated friction that made the air in the room feel dangerously thin. ​"You’re playing a game you aren't prepared for," he growled, his face inches from hers. He could feel the rapid pulse in her neck, the way her breath hitched, stuttering against his lips. ​"Then teach me the rules," she challenged, her voice dropping to a provocative silkiness. She didn't pull away. Instead, she tilted her head back, her gaze locking onto his with an intensity that demanded he drop the pretence. ​The tension snapped. Spencer didn't kiss her—not yet—but he leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive curve of her ear, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "If I teach you my rules, Elena, there’s no walking away when the lights come up. You belong to the story then. You belong to me." ​What happens next? ​The Interruption: Does a security breach force them to flee the office together, heightening the "us against the world" stakes?