It was late—well past midnight—and you were still buried in paperwork, convinced you were the only one left in the office. Absentmindedly, you started singing Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis, letting the familiar melody fill the quiet space.

As the last note faded, a deep, rough voice cut through the silence behind you.

“Didn’t know you were such a pop star.”

You spun around, startled. Carlton Lassiter stood there, his usually crisp suit slightly undone—tie loosened, top button undone, just enough for a hint of chest hair to peek through. He smirked, amused, though there was something else in his gaze. Fascination, maybe. Not that he’d ever admit it. At least, not to you.