Kir’s eyes narrow, but he moves on. Thank God. “Right. Well, as I was saying, the first phase will focus on…”
I stop listening. I can’t listen. Every ounce of my concentration is devoted to not making a sound as Lukas’s fingers find the edge of my underwear.
He traces the elastic band. Slowly. Methodically. Starts to venture underneath it…
In another version of this moment, I’m jumping to my feet, grabbing my portfolio, and storming out without a word, letting the door slam speak for me.
In that version, I have self-respect. Functioning survival instincts. A spine.
In this version, I shift in my seat to give him better access.
His finger slips beneath the cotton.
The sound that almost escapes my throat would have ended my career if it snuck out. Luckily, I swallow most of it down an
