I Was Hired To Seduce My Boss

Chapter 2: The Tower of Glass

I stepped out of his office, and his kiss was still a ghost on my warm lips. A promise I had not asked for and could not return. My body remembered the weight of his hand on my waist, the way his thumb had traced my lower lip like he was memorizing a map he intended to travel again. I hated how much I wanted him to. The door clicked shut behind me, and the sound echoed through the empty hallway like a final verdict.



I leaned against the cold wall, pressing my palm to my chest. My heart was a caged bird throwing itself against the bars. I could still taste him. Coffee and whiskey and something darker, something that had no name but felt like the edge of a cliff. What have I done? I pushed off the wall and walked toward the elevator. My legs were unsteady, but I forced them to move. The receptionist watched me with eyes that missed nothing. I ignored her.



The elevator doors opened. I stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby. The glass walls showed me a reflection I barely recognized. Lips slightly swollen. Cheeks flushed. Eyes too bright. I looked like a woman who had been kissed within an inch of her sanity because I had. The elevator dropped. The city rose around me, a sea of glass and steel. I watched the floors tick down, each one a small death of something I could not name. By the time I reached the lobby, my hands had stopped shaking. 



I walked outside into cold air that smelled like rain and exhaust. The sky was the color of old bruises. I pulled out my phone and waited for a message from Evelyn Cole. The first report due Friday makes it good. I typed back with steady fingers, the only part of me that still obeyed. He is interested. I am in. I put the phone away and started walking. No money for a cab. Forty blocks to my apartment. The city blurred past me with neon signs, buskers, couples holding hands like they had never known fear. 



I felt like a ghost walking through a world that had already forgotten me. I needed to think. I needed to figure out how to play this game without losing myself. But every time I tried to plan, his face rose like a tide. His dark eyes. His cruel mouth. The way he said bait like it was a compliment.



My apartment was dark and cold when I finally reached it. The radiator clanked its lonely rhythm. The neighbor was yelling at someone on the phone, something about money, something about betrayal. The walls were thin enough to hear secrets. I locked the door and leaned against it, letting out a breath I had not known I was holding.



My mother’s photograph sat on the kitchen table, propped against a stack of bills. She was smiling in the picture. Before cancer. Before the weight loss. Before the machines. She looked like hope. I picked it up and held it against my chest. I am going to save you, I whispered into the empty room. I promise. The words felt like lies.



I thought about Liam’s offer again. The best care in the country. No bills. No waiting. He had said it like it was simple, like money grew on trees he owned but beneath the offer, there was something else. A trap within a trap.



He had been hunting Evelyn for two years. He said I was bait. He kissed me like he was claiming territory, not falling in love. He is using me, I told myself. Just like Evelyn. But when he kissed me, when his hand slid to my waist and pulled me against him, I did not feel like prey. 



I felt like something else. Something I was afraid to name. The next morning, I walked into Crestwood Tower like I belonged there. The lobby was already crowded, a river of expensive suits and clicking heels. I moved with the current, invisible, the way I had learned to be. No one looked at me. No one wondered where I had come from or why my dress was last season or why my hands still trembled.



I took the elevator to the top floor and sat at the small desk they had given me. It was tucked in a corner of the hallway, close enough to his office to hear every sound, the door was closed and I could hear his voice inside. Low. Clipped. A blade wrapped in velvet. He was on the phone, and whatever he was saying made my stomach tighten.



Do not listen, I told myself. I did not care but I did. At nine o'clock, the door opened. He stood there, leaning against the frame, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, his tie loose. His eyes found me immediately. They were darker than yesterday, if that was possible. Two bruises in a face carved from marble.



Coffee, he said. Black, no sugar. I stood and walked to the small kitchen at the end of the hall. My hands were steady as I poured, but I could feel his eyes on my back, two brands burning through the fabric of my dress. I turned. He was still watching. I walked toward him, the cup in my hand, and when I was close enough to hand it over, he reached out and took it. Our fingers brushed. The spark was a live wire.



Thank you, Lena, he said, and he said my fake name like it was a secret he was daring me to keep. He turned and walked back into his office. The door did not close. It stayed open, an invitation I was not sure I wanted to accept. I sat down at my desk, my heart a drum, my skin still tingling from that single touch. 



At noon, he called me in. The folder on his desk was thick, heavy. He pushed it toward me. These are the files you will give Evelyn, he said. Old records. Nothing incriminating. But enough to keep her satisfied. I picked up the folder. The paper was warm from his hands.



You will give her one file at a time, he continued. You will tell her it is taking longer than expected. That I am careful. That I do not trust easily. And what do I tell her about you? I asked about us?



He stood. I walked around the desk. Stopped close enough that I could smell his cologne, that forest and smoke scent that had haunted my dreams. You tell her what she wants to hear, he said quietly. That I am interested. That I am watching you. That I am waiting to see if you are worth my time.



His hand reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered on my skin, and I shivered. And the truth? I asked, my voice barely a whisper. His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His mouth was inches from mine.



The truth, he said, is that I have not been able to stop thinking about you since you walked out of my office yesterday. And that terrifies me. He kissed me then. Softer than before. Slower. Like he was trying to memorize the taste of me, the shape of my lips, the way I pressed into him. I gripped his shirt and kissed him back, and I forgot that this was a game. I forgot that he was my target. I forgot everything except the way he made me feel. Like I was falling. Like I was already gone. 



When he pulled back, his eyes were dark and his breath was uneven. Go, he said. Before I do something we will both regret. I walked out of his office with my legs shaking, my lips swollen, my heart a wreck. I knew that I was in trouble because I was not pretending anymore and neither was he.