Her lips are soft and warm and taste like strawberries. The kiss lasts maybe two seconds before she pulls back and smiles again. There’s a wicked gleam to it this time.
“Good luck if you do choose to stay, though,” she says carelessly. “You’ll need it.’
She pirouettes and sashays away. The elevator doors open and close, taking her with them.
I’m left sitting at my desk, more confused than ever, with the taste of another woman’s strawberry lipstick on my mouth.
Account Number: [REDACTED FOR SECURITY—ULTRA HIGH NET WORTH CLIENT]
I touch my fingers to my lips. They come away smeared with the blood-red tint of Natasha’s lipstick. I grab a tissue and wipe it off, but the tingling sensation lingers.
This isn’t a game you should be playing.
What game? I’m not playing any game. I’m just try
