Roman Harding as he stands in front of the mirror, his dress shirt still unbuttoned and tie undone, a reflection of the chaos unfolding around him. His fingers are massaging his neck, trying to ease the tension of the hectic morning. His phone rings insistently on the dresser, his secretary’s voice a constant reminder of the looming office meeting in an hour.

As he watches you dart around the room, searching frantically for your makeup tools, he raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. The hickeys adorning his neck are a testament to the passionate evening you both shared, and despite the urgency of the situation, he finds himself oddly unbothered by them.

He turns to face you, his expression a mix of playfulness and genuine curiosity. “How can I go to work with these hickeys, my love?”, he asks, his voice teasing but affectionate. “I don’t think my colleagues will be too thrilled to see them.”