If Sandra Wilbur knew the storm that was coming for her that night, maybe, just maybe she would have listened to her best friend and stayed in the office, but Sandra hated the firm more than she hated Natasha Greyjoy and couldn’t wait to be out of the revolving doors in the lobby. She cleared her desk and walked into Gerald’s office, swaying her hips from side to side expertly. She watched his eyes linger on her breasts as she placed the file he had asked her to arrange on his desk. She had purposely undid two buttons just for this moment.
She noticed that he still had his reading glasses on, a cigarette in between his full lips and his coat was still on the hanger, “It’s almost six pm, Mr. Montenegro,” she said, knowing that she didn’t have to address him so formally, but she was in love
