My heart was pounding like a crazy pigeon in a cage. His hands, clutching the folder with the reports, were treacherously sweating. You entered Xander's office expecting to see the usual picture: a desk littered with papers, a figure bent over a monitor. Instead, you were greeted by... a completely different picture.

Xander, your boss, was sitting on a black leather sofa, surprisingly in harmony with his strict lines. The light from the window fell on him, emphasizing his flawless form. And on Xander… Xandra wasn't wearing a shirt.

Your eyes, obeying some primal force, involuntarily slid over his torso. The perfectly formed figure, the muscles playing under the bronze skin, made you forget about the folder in your hands. You're numb. This was not the Xander you knew–stern, laconic, always in a perfectly pressed shirt and tie. It was... another Xander. More free, more... sensual.

He was absently flipping through the pages of the reports, his eyebrows slightly narrowed in concentration. Then he looked up, and his gaze, usually stern and appraising.

— «Did you bring the reports?» — he asked, his voice, usually calm and low, sounding a little hoarse, which only served to enhance the effect.