Loved by Contract

Overtime Trouble

The office always felt different after hours. During the day, it was alive with the click of heels on polished floors, the low hum of voices carrying across cubicles, the echo of phones ringing and keyboards clattering. But at night, silence took over. The fluorescent lights hummed faintly above me, casting an almost sterile glow on the sea of empty desks.

I rubbed my temples and leaned back in my chair, staring at the spreadsheet glowing on my laptop screen. Numbers, projections, contracts, everything blurred together. My eyes burned, but the weight of responsibility kept me anchored in my chair. This project, the one Alexander Steele had personally assigned me, wasn’t just important; it was career-defining. If I pulled this off, I’d prove I belonged here, not just as another assistant in his empire, but as someone who could stand on her own.

And maybe, deep down, I wanted to prove it to him most of all.

“Don’t think about him,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head as though I could chase away the image of Alexander’s piercing gray eyes, the sharp set of his jaw when he was displeased, the low, velvety timbre of his voice that somehow always found a way under my skin.

I wasn’t here to think about my boss. I was here to work.

The clock on my screen read 10:47 PM. Everyone else had left hours ago. Even the cleaning crew had finished their rounds. I was the only one stubborn or foolish enough to linger.

I reached for my coffee mug, only to frown when I realized it was empty. Again. With a sigh, I pushed my chair back, stretching the stiffness out of my limbs, and made my way toward the break room. The sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor seemed unnaturally loud in the silence.

As I passed by the glass-walled boardroom, I paused. The long mahogany table gleamed faintly under the dimmed lights, and for a moment, I could almost see Alexander there, standing at the head of the table, commanding the room with that effortless authority of his. I remembered the way he’d cornered me after the last meeting, his voice low and warning: Careful who you defy.

A shiver ran down my spine. Not of fear, but of something far more dangerous.

I shook it off and continued to the break room, pouring myself another cup of lukewarm coffee from the pot I’d brewed earlier. The bitter smell filled the room, grounding me. I needed the caffeine, no matter how terrible it tasted by now.

Mug in hand, I returned to my desk and sat down, staring at the endless rows of numbers again. I took a sip, grimaced, and set the mug aside.

And then, without warning, the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then everything went black.

I froze, my breath caught in my throat. The hum of the fluorescent lights vanished, replaced by silence so heavy it pressed against my ears. Even my laptop screen went dark, the battery drained.

The office plunged into pitch-black darkness.

“Perfect,” I whispered, my voice sounding small in the void.

I reached for my phone, fumbling in my bag, but before I could find it, a deep voice cut through the darkness.

“You’re still here.”

I stiffened, nearly knocking my mug over. That voice, low, commanding, unmistakable belonged to one man.

“Mr. Steele?” I whispered, as though saying his name too loudly might summon something I wasn’t ready to face.

A quiet chuckle came from somewhere nearby. Closer than I expected. “Didn’t realize you had a habit of working yourself into the ground.”

My pulse quickened. Of course he was still here. Alexander Steele wasn’t the kind of man who left before the work was finished. But why did it have to be tonight, when the office had decided to betray me with a blackout?

“I was just…finishing up the numbers,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Clearly.” His footsteps echoed softly against the marble as he moved closer. “You know, most people would take the power outage as a sign to go home.”

I finally found my phone and switched on the flashlight. A narrow beam of light cut through the darkness, illuminating the sleek lines of his suit as he stepped into view. Even in the dim glow, he looked infuriatingly composed, as though the blackout itself had bent around his authority rather than dared inconvenience him.

“I couldn’t just leave my work unfinished,” I said, clutching the phone like it was a shield.

His lips curved into something between a smirk and a challenge. “Of course you couldn’t.”

The silence stretched between us, heavy with something I couldn’t quite name. My phone’s light flickered across his face, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones, the intensity of his gaze. I swallowed hard.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, breaking eye contact. “The building probably has backup generators.”

“They’ll take a few minutes to kick in,” he said calmly, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Until then, it looks like it’s just you and me.”

Just you and me.

My heart thudded against my ribs. The rational part of me screamed to keep my distance, to remember he was my boss, to remember every warning I’d given myself since the day I spilled coffee on him in my interview. But another part,reckless, traitorous—thrummed with anticipation.

I tried to focus on my breathing, but it didn’t help when he stepped closer, the faintest brush of his cologne reaching me. Sandalwood and something darker, richer, something uniquely him.

“So tell me,” he said, his voice low, almost conversational, yet edged with steel. “Why are you really still here, Miss Monroe?”

I blinked, startled. “I...I told you. The numbers...”

“No,” he interrupted smoothly, leaning just enough that the light caught in his eyes. “You could have finished those at home. You chose to stay. Why?”

The question wasn’t fair. Not when he was standing this close, when the dark made everything feel sharper, more intimate. I struggled to find words, but the truth tangled with the lie I wanted to tell.

“I wanted to do a good job,” I said finally, though even I heard the tremor in my voice.

His gaze searched mine, lingering as though he could see every unspoken thought I tried to bury. For a moment, I thought he might call me out.

Instead, he smiled faintly. “Ambition suits you.”

Something about the way he said it sent heat crawling up my neck. I hated the way my body reacted to him—every nerve alive, every sense heightened. He was dangerous. Not because he was my boss, but because he made me feel things I wasn’t supposed to feel.

Another silence stretched between us, thicker this time. The air felt heavy, charged.

“Mr. Steele....” I started, desperate to break it.

“Alexander,” he corrected, his voice a low rumble.

I froze. He had never asked me to call him that before.

“Alexander,” I repeated softly, the name tasting unfamiliar on my tongue.

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, the distance between us seemed to collapse. He leaned closer, his face inches from mine. I could see the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the heat simmering in his gaze.

My breath caught. My heart raced.

And then...

The lights flickered back on.

I blinked, blinded by the sudden brightness. When my eyes adjusted, I realized he was already pulling back, his expression shuttered, cold, as though nothing had happened.

“Go home, Miss Monroe,” he said, his tone clipped, professional, as though the last few minutes had been a figment of my imagination.

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me standing there, heart pounding, lips tingling with the ghost of an almost-kiss that hadn’t happened.

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady myself.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the truth.

Something had shifted between us.

And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to fight it or let it consume me.