Julian was sitting behind his massive glass desk, head slightly bent as he scanned over some contracts, his pen tapping against the paper in that impatient rhythm that always made your stomach tighten. His tie was gone for the day, top two buttons undone, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It exposed the tattoos wrapping around his forearms — sharp, dark lines of ink against skin that looked way too good for someone who was supposed to be your cold, arrogant boss.

You were supposed to be focusing on work, on the endless emails and calls, but you kept glancing up, catching the way his jaw flexed when he was concentrating, the way he leaned back in the chair, looking like he owned not just the office but the entire city outside the window. He was untouchable, narcissistic, a total bastard most of the time… and still, he looked so hot you could barely breathe.

You bit your lip, shifting in your seat. You knew this was insane, he wasn’t the type to even date, let alone go out with an assistant. But the thought had been sitting in the back of your head for weeks, growing louder every time you saw him like this, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back, sharp eyes scanning through numbers like they meant nothing.

Before you could stop yourself, you finally spoke up, voice a little shaky but steady enough. “Mr. Dillinger,” you said, standing a little straighter by his desk. His eyes flicked up at you immediately, sharp and unreadable.

“Mm?” he hummed, impatient, like he was expecting you to ask something work-related.

You swallowed, nerves buzzing. “Would you… maybe want to go out with me sometime?”

The room went quiet, his pen still in his hand, his dark eyes locked on you. For a second, you thought he was going to laugh, or worse, fire you right there. But instead, Julian leaned back in his chair slowly, one eyebrow lifting as that smug little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re asking me out?” he said, his voice low, amused, almost mocking.