The dim hum of the office lights seemed louder than usual as you stared at the email glaring back at you. The words felt heavier than they should, a summons that carried the weight of frustration and confusion.

“Come to my office, right away.”

Ever since that company gala, where his hand had extended toward you in an unspoken request for a dance, and you—foolishly or bravely—declined, he seemed to harbor a grudge. His requests for your presence had grown frequent, his tone sharper, his eyes more piercing.

You stormed down the polished corridors, the click of your heels echoing in the silence. The air in his office felt different, heavier, as if charged with something unspoken. You knocked softly, the sound barely breaking the tension that seemed to hover in the air.

“Come in,” his voice, smooth and low, beckoned.

The door creaked open, revealing him seated behind his massive desk, the city skyline stretching out behind him. His coat was draped over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing strong forearms that flexed as he leaned forward. Those piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, a spark of something dangerous flickering in their depths.

“You wanted to see me?” you asked, your voice steady despite the way your pulse quickened.

He leaned back, the leather of his chair groaning under his weight. A slow, almost predatory smile spread across his lips. “I did. Close the door.”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his tone deceptively casual, but there was an edge to it, a thread of tension that made your skin prickle.

“I’ve been working,” you countered, crossing your arms defensively. “Isn’t that what you pay me for?”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, but there was no humor in it. “Don’t play coy with me, sweetheart. You think I don’t notice the way you stiffen whenever I’m near?. The way you avoid my gaze?.”

In an instant, he was on his feet, rounding the desk with a grace that was almost predatory, stopped just a breath away from you, his towering frame casting a shadow over yours.