Temptation in a suit
878 Words
Chapter 10: Temptation in a suit
I didn’t know what I expected when I stepped into the Legal Affairs wing. But it wasn’t the scent of polished mahogany or the silence pressing down my throat. My heels echoed softly as I followed the signs to office 3B, clutching the sealed folder against my chest like it might vanish.
Noah Hale.
The name sounded powerful. Intimidating. The kind of man who probably had no time for pleasantries and even less for junior staff.
When I stepped into his office, I froze for half a second.
He was nothing like I imagined.
Not a silver-haired grumpy old man in suspenders. No. He was younger — mid-thirties maybe. Tall, striking, and standing like the room answered to him. Which it probably did. He wore a sharp, dark suit that made his shoulders look too broad to be legal, and his jawline could cut through steel. His sleeves were rolled just enough to show a sleek luxury watch and veins that made my brain forget how to spell.
He glanced up from his phone call, gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, and motioned for me to wait.
“Then tell him the terms were poorly worded. I don’t care what he intended. I care what’s on paper,” he said, voice low and commanding.
He ended the call with a tense “Fix it,” then turned his attention to me.
And just like that, I forgot my name.
“You’re not one of mine,” he said simply.
“No, sir,” I managed. “I’m from PR. Helena asked me to drop this off.”
He approached, and I swear the office air thinned. As he took the folder from me, his fingers brushed mine. Just barely. But it was enough to send a jolt of energy racing up my arm like I’d touched a live wire.
“PR. Helena,” he repeated, head tilting slightly, gaze locked on mine. “New?”
“First day,” I replied with a nervous smile, resisting the urge to fidget under his stare. “It’s… been more of a trial than a welcome.”
His lips quirked. Not quite a smile just the ghost of one. “If you survived Helena without crying in the supply closet, you might actually last here.”
I let out a breathy laugh, unsure what to say. My heart was hammering like I’d just run up five flights of stairs, and all he’d done was talk.
“Reina Shaw,” I offered, even though he hadn’t asked.
Why did I say that? Why did I want him to know my name?
“Noah Hale,” he replied, nodding once like he was filing it away. “Tell Helena I’ve received it. And in the future, don’t let her send you on delivery duty. It's tough starting what you can't finish.”
"Noted."
He turned back toward his desk, but for a flicker of a second, his eyes lingered — just a flash of something unreadable. I stood there, unsure if I was dismissed or hypnotized.
Eventually,I left. But it felt like I’d left a part of myself behind in that office. The part that had briefly forgotten how to breathe.
Was I crazy or did he just—
No. Stop it, Reina. You're exhausted. It was just a normal handoff. A perfectly normal… brief… magnetic exchange with a man who looks like temptation in a tailored suit.
---
The rest of the workday blurred. I sat at my desk, staring at spreadsheets I couldn’t read, replaying those three minutes more times than I’d ever admit under any oath.
By five o’clock, I was out like smoke — bag slung over my shoulder, heart still in that office. I didn’t breathe properly until I hit the street.
---
The moment I stepped outside, the heat slapped me. And somehow, I still wasn’t thinking straight. The ride back to Adrian’s mansion was a haze of heat, traffic, and thoughts I couldn’t quiet. That look. That touch. That voice. The whole thing pulsed in my head like it was trying to rewrite my DNA.
Why did he look at me like that?
Why did I care?
I reached the house too drained to eat. I dumped my bag at the door, dragged myself upstairs, and let the shower run hot enough to boil my thoughts.
It didn’t help.
I threw on a loose tee and collapsed into bed, hoping sleep would shut everything down.
Knock. Knock.
I groaned into the pillow. “Ugh! Can’t you let me be!”
Knock. Knock.
Louder this time.
I dragged myself to the door and blinked.
Three women. Two with garment bags and silver cases. One with a Chanel box cradled like treasure.
“Good evening, ma’am,” the first said with a polite smile.
“We’re here to get you dressed.”
I blinked again. “Dressed… for what?”
She didn’t answer.
One of them opened the box. Inside layed heels that looked like they belonged on the red carpet.
“Your car arrives in an hour,” she said.
I stared at them, a cold weight dropping into my stomach.
Who or what the hell was I being dressed for?
- Writer
