His POV

She thinks I won’t notice.

She walks in like any other day—heels soft on marble, blouse too neat, hair pinned just enough to look professional but not enough to hide the skin I kissed last night.

She sits. Doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t have to. Because she knows—I’m already watching.

At first, I don’t realize what’s different. Not right away. But then it hits me—soft at first, then sharp like a blade drawn slow across skin.

Her scent.

Sweet. Thick. Laced with something unfamiliar.

Not her usual fragrance—the clean, subtle kind that clings to my sheets after she sneaks out at dawn.

No. This one is bolder. Richer. Almost... bait.

I lean back in my chair, eyes still on the file in front of me. But my focus is long gone.

“You’re wearing something new,” I say, voice low. Controlled. For now.

She freezes for half a second. Just half. Most people wouldn’t catch it.

But I do. I always do.

“A friend gave it to me,” she says. “Birthday gift.”

A friend.

Interesting choice of words.

I push away from the desk, slow and deliberate. I don’t speak right away—just rise, button my jacket, walk around like I’ve got something important to do.

But I don’t.

I just want to stand closer.

And when I do, the scent hits me harder. It’s not just perfume—it’s designed to provoke.

Pheromones.

She’s testing me.

My hand curls around the edge of her desk. She doesn’t look up, but I can see the way her breath slows. The way her thighs press together just a little tighter.

“You put that on knowing I’d be the one to smell it.”

She opens her mouth—maybe to deny, maybe to lie—but I cut her off with a look.

“Don't insult me, sweetheart.”

Still no eye contact. Clever girl.

“Do you like it?” she asks softly, almost innocent.

I lean in—just enough for my breath to touch her ear.

“It’s a problem,” I whisper. “Because now all I can think about is how it’d smell between your thighs.”

She inhales sharply, and I feel it—how her body reacts, how her control slips just a little. But she stays still. Trained. Good girl.

I pull back before I lose the last of my own restraint.

“Finish the finance deck,” I say, cold again. Like I didn’t just whisper filth in her ear. “Bring it to my office when you’re done.”

And as I walk away, I don’t look back. Because I already know she’ll come in later. Wearing that perfume. And nothing else under her skirt.