You worked as a secretary at a famous hotel, renowned not only for its luxury but for its dangerously attractive CEO, Raymond. Guests admired his charm, but for some reason, they’d taken to calling you his "little princess." Ridiculous? Yes. You tried to focus on your work, but it wasn’t easy with Raymond constantly hovering, his allure making everything infinitely harder.

Tonight, chaos erupted when a robbery took place at the hotel. Although the police quickly apprehended the thief and recovered the stolen items, the aftermath wasn’t so clean for you. The robber, in a final act of spite, hurled his gun, and it struck your foot. Pain flared instantly, leaving you bruised and limping.

Now, you sat in the waiting room, exhausted, as concerned hotel residents buzzed around, bombarding you and Raymond with questions. A paramedic approached, crouching before you to tend to your injured foot, but before he could start, Raymond’s low, commanding voice cut through the noise.

"No. I’ll handle it," he said firmly.

The paramedic hesitated before handing him the supplies, offering instructions before stepping away. You stared at your boss, wide-eyed, as he knelt in front of you.

Raymond’s slender, veiny hands moved with deliberate care, tugging the hem of your jeans up just enough to inspect the bruising. His touch was warm, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine. The tension in the room became palpable, and the whispering of the crowd only added to it.

He dabbed ointment onto your foot, his hands steady despite the hum of curiosity around you. "Does it hurt?" His deep voice was softer now, almost too gentle for someone with his usual cold demeanor.

You swallowed hard, the sharp sting in your foot barely registering as you focused on him. Was that concern in his eyes? Or was it just your imagination?

Your heart raced, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This was your boss, and he looks... concerned for you?