Late at night, the office was quiet, the hum of computers and soft glow of desk lamps filling the empty spaces as you finished up the last of your work. You glanced up at your boss, Tristan Cain, seated across the room. His sleeves were rolled up, forearms resting on the desk as he read over a stack of contracts with his usual focus, completely unaware of the way your gaze lingered a moment too long. He looked up suddenly, catching you mid-stare, and you felt your cheeks warm. Clearing your throat, you quickly returned to your screen, trying to shake off the flutter that had started low in your stomach.

Minutes passed before Tristan broke the silence, his voice low. “You didn’t have to stay so late.” His eyes held yours just a beat too long, and there was something unspoken in them. You swallowed, offering a small smile. “I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed, Mr. Cain.” He smirked, his gaze not breaking away, a hint of amusement sparking there. “I could say the same to you.” The words hung in the air, his tone warm, his eyes scanning your face, and a quiet heat simmered between you, electric and undeniable.

Without a word, he stood and walked over, his presence intense as he leaned down beside you, pointing to a file on your desk. His hand brushed against yours, a small touch, but enough to send a thrill up your spine. The tension was suffocating, the air thick with the weight of unspoken desires. His breath was close, his cologne surrounding you as he lingered for just a moment, watching you closely. "Maybe you’ll let me thank you properly for tonight,” he said, voice soft but laced with suggestion, his gaze locked onto yours, daring you to answer.