Chapter 6
1003 Words
He told me to behave. I made it my mission not to.
By the time I got back to my desk, I could still feel the imprint of his fingers on mine — not because he touched me. Just because he took something from me. The pen, the power, the space I thought I controlled.
And I let him.
It pissed me off more than I expected.
I set the tablet down, refreshed my inbox, and tried to get back into the groove of my to-do list. New emails, calendar requests, a memo from legal that sounded like it had been written by a robot.
But every time I blinked, I saw his mouth.
Every time I shifted in my seat, I felt the memory of his gaze on my thighs.
And the way he said dismissed like it was an order, not a formality?
God, I hated how much I liked that.
---
By 2 p.m., the office had settled into that strange afternoon rhythm—quiet enough to think, busy enough to distract. Phones buzzed. Fingers flew across keyboards. I could hear the assistant down the hall laughing at something on speaker. Someone cursed at the printer.
And through the glass wall, Jason sat at his desk.
Focused. Stern. Untouchable.
He didn’t look up once. Not when I knocked on the door and slid a file inside. Not when I brought in a new schedule printout and set it on the corner of his desk with a polite, clipped “Updated for tomorrow, Mr. Brown.”
He just nodded.
Didn’t speak. Didn’t glance at me.
Just nodded.
It drove me insane.
I wanted to shake him. Or straddle him. Either would work.
By 3 p.m., I’d filed three reports, rescheduled a vendor call, ignored two missed texts from my roommate, and drank another cup of bitter coffee just to have something to do with my hands.
That’s when he called me in again.
“Clara,” his voice crackled through the intercom. “Bring the Simmons file. And close the door behind you.”
I grabbed it from the cabinet and steadied my face before walking in. He didn’t look up. Just pointed to the chair in front of his desk. So I sat. Smoothed my skirt. Crossed one leg over the other deliberately.
“Walk me through this,” he said, finally looking at me.
I did.
Flawlessly, thank you very much.
I explained the supplier delays, the backup vendors, the proposed meeting Jason had already declined once. I kept my voice calm. Polished. Efficient.
He leaned back in his chair, one brow raised slightly. “You did all that today?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been here less than six hours.”
“I’m good with time.”
His gaze dragged down my legs again, briefly, before locking back on my face.
“Apparently.”
I pretended not to notice the heat crawling up my neck.
He leaned forward and tapped the corner of the file with one finger. “That meeting with Simmons stays canceled. They want too much. You don’t need to waste your breath negotiating with people who don’t know how to listen.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
“Already did,” he said, and his eyes dipped back to his screen.
Just like that, I was dismissed again.
I stood slowly. Walked around the desk to drop the file back in the tray. I didn’t have to do it that way, but I wanted him to feel my presence. Smell me. Flinch.
But he didn’t move.
Didn’t even twitch.
“Clara,” he said quietly, just as I turned to go.
I stopped. Looked at him.
His voice was low, but not soft. “You’re pushing me.”
“Am I?”
“You know you are.”
“I haven’t touched you,” I said, stepping closer. “Haven’t flirted. Haven’t lied. That’s all three, isn’t it?”
He stared at me for a beat too long. Then he stood.
And it was like a wall went up between us. Not emotional—physical. Like his height alone could knock the air out of my lungs. He stepped toward me, slow and steady again, until we were toe to toe.
I could smell the heat of him. Could feel the warning vibrating off his skin.
“You haven’t broken the rules,” he said. “But you’ve licked the edges.”
“Maybe I like the taste.”
His jaw clenched. His eyes dropped to my lips for the first time since this morning. And I knew right then—if I moved, even an inch, he’d snap.
But I didn’t.
Because that would’ve been too easy.
He stepped back.
“Go finish the report,” he said.
I left without a word.
But I didn’t sit at my desk.
I went to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, both palms flat against the sink, chest rising and falling too fast. My lipstick was still sharp. My eyes still lined. But my hands were trembling.
He wanted me.
But he was holding back.
And the longer he did, the more I wanted to force his hand.
---
By 4:30 p.m., I was done pretending to focus. The office buzz was thinning. Most of the team on this floor started trickling out at five, but I knew Jason stayed late.
So I stayed late, too.
I organized files. Cleaned up his calendar. Answered two last-minute calls.
And at exactly 5:52, he stepped out of his office and looked down at me.
“Still here?”
“Still working.”
He stared for a moment. Then said, “Good.”
He handed me a flash drive. “Print these. Two copies. And double-check every word.”
He turned to walk away, but stopped.
His voice came without looking back. “And Clara?”
“Yes?”
“No perfume tomorrow.”
I smirked.
“Yes, Mr. Brown.”
- Writer
