Your pulse quickens at the flicker of the Zoom chat notification on your laptop screen. The day has been relentless--no, the week has been a slow-moving avalanche, burying you beneath deadlines and office politics. And yet, somehow, he always knows when you need a lifeline. You hesitate, fingers hovering over the trackpad, watching his name--Jason--blink expectantly on the taskbar. How does he always know what you need? And more importantly, what does he want now?
The truth is, you haven't known Jason for long--not really. You've worked at the accounting firm together for a few years, but only in the last few months have your lives started to intertwine. Before, he was just another face in a sea of colleagues, someone you passed in the hallways with a nod, a courteous smile. But now? Now he's inescapable. A constant presence in your periphery, thanks to a string of committee assignments that have forced you into close proximity. Most recently, the hiring committee--weekly meetings spent dissecting resumes and interviewing prospective employees. But between discussions of qualifications and firm culture, something unexpected happened: a connection. A friendship, you told yourself.
It's been entirely innocent, hasn't it? Conversations that start with work but drift into the personal--family, music, politics. It turns out Jason is not just the composed, sharp professional he presents to the firm. Beneath the well-chosen business casual attire and calculated words, there is something else--something softer. Thoughtful. Loyal. When he speaks, it's with an intensity that makes you feel like the only person in the room. He listens--not just nods along, but really listens, with that slight furrow of concentration between his brows. He sees you in a way few do.
The office courtyard outside hums with life--colleagues grabbing coffee, stealing moments of fresh air before the company meeting. A meeting where you'll be standing in front of the entire firm, delivering a ten-minute HR update that you've rehearsed to the point of exhaustion. And yet, here you are, staring at Jason's message instead of reviewing your notes.
Let's connect in conference room 6 before the company meeting. Just need to run something by you. No need to prep anything. I'll meet you there in 5 mins.
Your stomach twists.
Run something by me?
Your heart beats faster than it should at such an innocuous request.
The office is more crowded than usual today, a byproduct of the mandatory in-person company meeting. While the hybrid work from home policy keeps the building half-empty most days, every desk is filled today, every corridor buzzing with chatter.
And yet, despite everything pressing down on you--the fatigue, the stress, the weight of expectation--you find yourself typing a response before you can talk yourself out of it.
Sounds good. See you then.
You shut your laptop and reach for your Starbucks cup, taking a slow sip of your light roast with half-and-half. It's lukewarm now, but the familiar taste still offers a small comfort. You lean back, pressing your palms against your eyes as you stretch, a yawn slipping past your lips. The exhaustion isn't just physical. There's a restlessness coiling beneath your skin, a low hum of something unspoken. It would be easy to blame Jason, but the truth is, it's more than that.
You've felt it in other moments--like last week, when you caught yourself lingering on the way a colleague's forearms flexed as he rolled up his sleeves. Or yesterday, when the new IT guy walked past wearing a baseball hat, and you felt a flicker of something sharp and unexpected at the sight of his sculpted back. How long has it been since you felt truly... wanted? Not just the mechanical fulfillment of a role, a duty, but the electric charge of desire?
The thought sends a flush of warmth through you. You shift in your chair, your mind straying to this morning when you reached for the small but effective toy in your nightstand. Does that even count? A release, yes, but nothing more. A whisper of satisfaction where a shout should be.
Your last long term relationship felt more like a business arrangement than a romance. You managed the apartment together--rent, utilities, groceries, scheduling--but the intimacy had frayed, the connection dulled by routine. Every year, for his birthday, you would put on the little number from Victoria's Secret that you bought six years ago. And every year, it felt more like a tired ritual than a passionate exchange. It's been a long time since you've been devoured.
I've been a bad, bad girl.
The thought flickers unbidden, a stolen lyric from Fiona Apple, whispering through your mind as you stand up. Not bad in the traditional sense. Just curious. Restless. You shake your head, pushing the thought away. Five minutes until conference room 6. Whatever Jason wants, it needs to be quick. The company meeting weighs on your mind.
You stand, collecting yourself as you finish the last bite of milk chocolate with toffee before you slip into the hallway leading to the conference rooms. At 5'5", you navigate the crowded office with ease, dodging the clusters of colleagues still catching up on weekend plans. The buzz of the office fades as you move toward the front of the building, a quieter space usually reserved for client meetings. Today, though, it's nearly deserted. No client meetings are scheduled on company meeting days. Your favorite heels mutedly click along the carpet, the only sound accompanying you as you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the glass-paneled conference rooms.
You look good. Better than good. And you know it. Your dirty blonde hair is done just right. The fitted blouse accentuates your curves without giving too much away, and the navy A-line skirt flowing around your thighs and ending at your knees just the way you like. It's a confidence outfit, a secret weapon. You feel powerful in it, aware of how your toned arms--a remnant of your college crew days--and perfectly proportioned frame make heads turn.
