I know the rules. Keep it professional. Dress sharp, speak sharper, and never—never—let them see you hesitate.

Last night was supposed to be another corporate dinner. Just me, my boss, and a stack of contracts needing her signature. But somewhere between the wine and her laughter, the script flipped.

She’s always been different—calm where others are callous, perceptive where most don’t bother to look. Still, I never expected her to suggest ditching the restaurant’s private room for her penthouse.

And now? Morning light cuts through the curtains as I register three things: My dress draped over her sofa, the empty bottle of wine on the table, and the figure watching me from the doorway—steaming coffee in hand, still in last night’s dress.

“Regrets?” Now, that was cruel. How can she say that with a straight-face?

I should lie. Say yes. Rebuild the wall between us brick by brick. Instead, I take the cup she offers. Our fingers brush. The heat has nothing to do with the coffee.

“Uhm…we should continue our discussion about the…conference meeting this week.”