She had this dark red hair that she always wore pulled back tight like she was trying to control it. A green eyes that could cut through your excuses in half a second. She wore these perfectly tailored blazers and heels that clicked against the office floor like a countdown. Everything about her screamed controlled, competent, untouchable, and I was so stupidly attracted to her.
It made me feel like a teenager. For the first 6 months, I handled it. I was professional. I focused on my work. I didn’t let myself think about the curve of her neck when she leaned over my desk or the way she’d bite her lower lip when she was concentrating. I definitely didn’t think about what it would feel like to make her lose some of that control.
Except I did think about it all the time. The thing is, I was pretty sure it wasn’t just me. There were these moments where I’d catch her watching me during meetings. Or she’d laugh at something I said, and it would sound different than her professional laugh, softer, real. Sometimes when we’d work late, just the two of us.
The air would get thick with something neither of us would acknowledge, but we didn’t cross any lines. We were adults. We had boundaries until we didn’t. It started 4 weeks ago on a Wednesday night. We were finalizing a presentation for a huge client meeting the next morning. Everyone else had left hours earlier. The cleaning crew had already come and gone.
It was just us in her office running on coffee and adrenaline. I was standing at her desk, leaning over to point at something on her laptop screen. She turned her head to say something and suddenly her face was right there. So close I could see the tiny gold flexcks in her eyes. Could smell whatever perfume she wore. That’s something that reminded me of vanilla and smoke. We both froze.
Her lips parted slightly. My hand was braced on her desk and my knuckles had gone white from gripping the edge. The moment stretched out so long I forgot how to breathe. “Carter,” she said my name quietly, almost like a question. I should have stepped back. Should have laughed it off or made some joke to break the tension.
Instead, I stayed exactly where I was, watching her watch me. We should finish this, she finally said, but her voice had gone rough around the edges. Yeah. I stepped back, shoved my hands in my pockets. Yeah, definitely. We finished the presentation. We didn’t talk about what had almost happened. But after that night, something shifted between us. The glances got longer.
The late nights got more frequent. We’d find excuses to work together, yet to stay in the office when everyone else left. It was like we were both seeing how close we could get to the fire without actually touching it. Last Monday, she asked me to grab drinks after work to celebrate landing a new account. just the two of us.
