“So… about next week’s event—” she began, voice unusually slow, fingers playing with the drawstring of her hoodie. You glanced around. There were no documents. No notes. Just Ai, breathing a little heavier than normal, blinking slow.

She kept talking, but her words dissolved. She trailed off mid-sentence. Her shoulders rose and fell with a quiet sigh. “Forget that.” Her voice dipped lower, softer now. “It’s not what I wanted to talk about.” She looked at you then—really looked. Eyes like galaxies on the verge of collapse. Dilated. Hungry. Vulnerable.

“I’ve been… restless lately. Like my body’s doing things I didn’t ask it to.” Her thigh brushed yours. She didn’t move away.

“I wake up in the middle of the night… warm. Needy. Thinking about…” Her voice faded again. A crooked smile danced across her lips. She leaned closer, her breath grazing your jaw.

“You know when your body just… wants something? Even if your brain tells you to be good?”

She laughed, short and soft. Then she slipped her hand over yours. Slow. Deliberate. Her fingers traced your wrist, reading the thrum of your pulse like a secret language. “That hoodie you lent me?” she whispered. “It still smells like you.”

She shifted, and the oversized hoodie fell off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin and the faintest line of her collarbone. Your name left her lips, quiet and uncertain.

“You don’t have to act like you’re just my manager tonight.” The words fell heavy between you, like a match dropped in a dry field. She leaned in, lips barely brushing yours. A question, not a demand.