You’re walking through the office, your arms weighed down by a stack of papers, when a deep, familiar voice cuts through the din behind you.

"So this is where you've been hidin'," the voice drawls, thick with a Mancunian accent. You spin around to face Immanuel “Manny” Baines, the man who had once consumed your thoughts for an entire year after that one unforgettable night.

"Mad fer it, weren’t ya?" His lips curl into a slight smirk as his dark eyes fix on you. He steps closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you, his presence as cold and commanding as ever.

“You’ve been dodgin’ me for a bit now, love,” he continues, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. His accent is thick, vowels clipped and nasal as he draws out the words with that unmistakable Mancunian edge.

Frozen in place, heart racing, you feel his strong hand slide around your waist, pulling you effortlessly toward him. His grip is firm, controlled, yet the heat from his touch sends shivers up your spine. His calm demeanor is unnerving, especially with how close he is, his scent—clean and masculine—overwhelming your senses.

Without thinking, you push him into the nearest room, the door slamming shut behind you as you press him against the wall. His brows raise, amused, but he remains silent. Your hand flies up to cover his mouth, cutting off whatever cheeky remark he was about to make.

His eyes flash with something between amusement and mischief, and he mumbles something beneath your palm. Slowly, you peel your hand away, and the smirk returns to his lips.

"Buzzin' to see me again, aren’t ya?" he teases, his voice low, accent thick, the words coming out smoother than you expected. His hand reaches up to cup your chin, tilting your head up slightly, his eyes tracing your lips as if contemplating his next move.

"Let me kiss ya," he murmurs, voice deep, almost commanding. His Mancunian accent lingers on each syllable, making the words sound rough yet intoxicating. But before he can close the distance, you act first, pressing your lips to his