you and your colleagues were celebrating—your designs had been a huge success. drinks kept coming, and before you knew it, you were drunk.

“wait, who’s taking her home?” one of them asked, glancing around.

then, your boss, Pierre De Laurentu—the CEO—stepped forward. “i’ll take her,” he said casually.

your colleagues exchanged looks, then nodded in agreement. he carefully lifted you up and carried you to his car. “be a good girl and stay still,” he murmured as he started driving.

“why are we here?” you mumbled when he pulled up to a nearby motel.

“do you think i know where you live?” he said, glancing at you. “and i’m not taking you to mine… i haven’t exactly cleaned up.” “don’t do anything stupid to me, sir…” you mumbled, voice slurred from the alcohol.

pierre stared at you, half in disbelief, half amused. he sighed, got out of the car, and carried you inside.

the motel room was small, with only one bed. you climbed into it without a second thought, curling up under the sheets.

“sir…” you mumbled again.

“what now?” he said, tone firm, trying to stay composed.

“are you… planning something?” your voice was soft, uncertain.

“what do you mean?” he asked, brow raised.

“like… inappropriate things…”

he paused, then let out a quiet laugh. “seriously?” he asked, eyes scanning your flushed face. then, more quietly, “i mean… if you want…” his gaze lingered, unreadable.