Between Lines and Sheets

**Between Lines and Sheets** The air conditioning on the twentieth floor whispered like a secret between the glass walls, its constant hum muffling the distant clatter of keyboards and the rustle of papers. Clara adjusted the collar of her silk blouse—*navy blue, discreet, like everything about her*—and smoothed the pencil skirt that hugged her thighs without drawing attention. On the other side of the mahogany partition, Daniel’s office door remained closed, as always, a portal to a realm where the rules were dictated by him and him alone. She had crossed that threshold daily for two years, carrying folders, schedules, and sometimes the weight of glances that dared not linger. Daniel Varga was not a man of unnecessary gestures. Every movement was calculated, every word weighed like lead or sharpened like a blade. And yet, Clara knew the details no one else noticed: the way he rubbed his thumb against the corner of his mouth when reading something that displeased him, the scent of aged leather and bergamot that clung to his Italian suits, the way his eyes—*gray, almost silver*—fixed on her a second longer than professional when he thought no one was looking. — Clara, the report from the meeting with the Hong Kong investors. — His voice cut through the half-open door, deep and without inflection, as if he already knew she would be there, ready. She stood, her heels sinking silently into the thick carpet, and pushed the door open with her fingertips. The office was an extension of Daniel himself: minimalist, impeccable, with a mahogany desk gleaming under the cold light of the LED lamps. He stood by the window, hands in his tailored trousers’ pockets, the jacket hanging precisely on the back of his chair. The afternoon light outlined his profile—square jaw, straight nose, the shadow of stubble he never let grow completely. — It’s already printed and bound — she said, placing the folder on the desk. — I also sent a digital copy to your tablet, as you requested. Daniel didn’t turn immediately. He stood there, watching the city below, the buildings reflecting the setting sun like broken mirrors. When he finally faced her, his eyes met hers with an intensity that made the air catch in her lungs. — Thank you — he murmured, and there was something in those two syllables that sounded like an invitation or a warning. Clara nodded, taking a step back. It was always like this: a game of advances and retreats, of measured words and loaded silences. She knew her place—efficient assistant, discreet shadow, the person who anticipated his needs before he even formulated them. But there were moments, like this one, when the line between professional and personal became so thin she could feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. — Anything else, Mr. Varga? He raised an eyebrow slowly, as if savoring the formality of the address. — Daniel — he corrected, his voice low. — When we’re alone, Clara. She swallowed hard. *Alone.* The word hung between them, heavy. The office suddenly felt smaller, the walls closing in like a fist. Clara knew she should leave, that she should maintain the distance she always had, but her feet refused to move. — Daniel — she repeated, testing the weight of the name on her tongue. It sounded too intimate, too dangerous. He smiled, a quick flash that didn’t reach his eyes. — Better. — Then, turning back to the desk, he flipped through the report with long, precise fingers. — You may go. I have a call in five minutes. Clara left, closing the door behind her with a soft click. In the hallway, she leaned against the wall for a moment, her fingers pressing against her sternum, as if she could contain the rapid rhythm of her heart. On the other side of the glass, the city pulsed, indifferent. But here, within these four walls, something had changed. Something she couldn’t name—only feel. And, for the first time in two years, Clara allowed herself to imagine what would happen if, one day, she stopped being just the discreet shadow. If, by chance, she decided to cross the line. Clara spent the night after the corporate event tossing and turning between the sheets, her body still vibrating with the echo of the glances Daniel had thrown her during the cocktail party. The ballroom, lit by crystal chandeliers, the scent of expensive champagne, and the murmur of elegant conversations had dissolved into something denser, more intimate, when he approached to adjust the collar of her blouse—a casual, almost paternal gesture, if not for the way his fingers brushed the sensitive skin of her clavicle. *"You look beautiful today,"* he had said, his voice low, as if it were a secret just for them. And then, as always, he had retreated, leaving her breathless and desire throbbing between her legs. Now, lying in the narrow bed of her apartment, Clara pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the pressure building there. The air conditioning hummed softly, insufficient to cool the heat rising in her neck. With a sigh, she got up and went to the desk, where her laptop still displayed the screensaver with the company logo—a silver circle reflecting the bluish light of the room. She should have turned it off. Should have gone to sleep. But something compelled her to open the draft file, the one she never had the courage to send. The cursor blinked impatiently over the words she had typed and deleted a dozen times in the past months: *"Daniel, Today, in the elevator, you held the door for me. Your fingers brushed mine when I took the folder, and I almost dropped everything just to feel your hand on mine again. You have no idea how hard it is to stand still beside you, pretending I don’t notice the way your eyes darken when you think no one is looking. I want to know what you see when you stare at me like that. I want to know if it’s just curiosity, or if, behind all that coldness, there’s a man who also feels the weight of the silence between us. Sometimes, when you dictate letters to me, I record your voice on my phone just to listen to it later, in the dark. Your intonation is always so controlled, but sometimes—just sometimes—it falters. Like now, as I’m writing this and my heart is beating so hard I’m afraid you’ll hear it from your office. What would happen if I said this to your face? If I stopped being the efficient Clara, the discreet Clara, and just became a woman looking at a man she’s desired for two years? I didn’t send this email. I never would. But I wanted you to know."" She reread the lines, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. The file was saved in the *"Private"* folder, where she kept personal notes, shopping lists, and drafts of bad poems. It had never crossed her mind that she might send it by mistake. But then, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, her thumb slipped on the touchpad. The screen flickered. And before she could stop it, the email was sent to Daniel’s address. The sound of the confirmation echoed in the room like a gunshot. Clara froze, her wide eyes fixed on the screen. *"Message sent."* The words seemed to pulse, mocking her. For a second, she considered calling IT and asking them to intercept the email—but that would mean explaining why a personal assistant was sending intimate confessions to the CEO. There was no excuse that wouldn’t make her seem ridiculous, or worse, desperate. With a low groan, she buried her face in her hands. *"Shit. Shit, shit, shit."* What would he think? That she was a fool, an unbalanced employee who couldn’t separate personal from professional life? Or—and this possibility made her shudder—that she was exactly what he had always suspected: a distraction, a weakness he couldn’t afford to have? --- The next day dawned gray, with a fine drizzle that left the city shrouded in mist, as if the very air were charged with tension. Clara arrived at the office half an hour early, hoping to avoid Daniel before he read the email. But as soon as she stepped into the elevator, her phone vibrated. A notification from her inbox. *"Clara, come to my office as soon as you arrive. We need to talk. — D."" The words were short, formal. There was no way to tell if he was furious, indifferent, or—God help her—amused. She swallowed hard, tasting the metallic tang of nervousness on her tongue. When the elevator doors opened on the executive floor, Clara took a deep breath and smoothed her pencil skirt, as if the fabric could protect her. Daniel’s secretary, a middle-aged woman named Marlene, looked up from her computer and gave her a curious glance. — He’s waiting for you — she said, without preamble. — Go right in. Clara nodded, her heels sinking into the thick carpet as she walked to the massive mahogany door. For a moment, she hesitated. Then she knocked twice and entered. Daniel stood by the window, his hands in the pockets of his tailored trousers. The pale morning light outlined his silhouette, highlighting his broad shoulders and rigid posture. He didn’t turn immediately, as if he needed a moment to compose himself. — Close the door — he ordered, his voice deep, emotionless. Clara obeyed, the click of the lock echoing like a period. When he finally turned to her, his eyes—always so controlled—were dark, unreadable. — Sit down. She approached the chair in front of the desk but didn’t sit. Instead, she stood, her hands clasped in front of her, like a student before the principal. — Daniel, I— — You sent me an email last night — he interrupted, cutting off any attempt at an apology. — An… interesting email. Clara felt her face burn. *"Interesting"* wasn’t the word she would have used. *"Humiliating"* came closer. — It was an accident — she murmured, looking down at the floor. — I was working on something personal and… the touchpad slipped. I’m sorry. — An accident — he repeated, as if testing the weight of the word. Then he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. Clara held her breath. — Do you usually write about your bosses in your personal files, Clara? — No. Never. — Her voice came out higher than she intended. — I swear, it was the first time. And I never would have sent it if— — If what? — He tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. — If you knew I would read it? Or if you knew that *I would like* reading it? Clara’s heart raced. *"Like it?"* What did that mean? — You… liked it? — she asked before she could stop herself. Daniel let out a low, humorless laugh. — Liked it? — He took another step, now so close she could feel the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne—something woody with a hint of spice. — Clara, I spent the whole night rereading that email. And every time I got to the end, I had to remind myself that you’re my employee. That I couldn’t just show up at your place and show you how much *I liked it*. The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises. Clara felt her entire body react—her nipples hardening under her silk blouse, moisture pooling between her legs. She bit her lower lip, trying to regain control, but the desire was an electric current running through her skin. — You shouldn’t say things like that — she whispered. — Why? — He raised his hand as if to touch her face but stopped halfway, his fingers hovering inches from her cheek. — Because you don’t want to hear it? Or because you’re afraid of what might happen if you do? Clara closed her eyes for a second, trying to anchor herself in reality. But the reality, at that moment, was Daniel’s scent, the sound of his breathing, the way his presence seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room. — I’m not afraid — she lied. He smiled, a slow, dangerous smile. — Then prove it. The challenge hung between them, as tangible as the air. Clara knew she should step back. Knew that if she gave in now, there would be no going back. But then Daniel moved even closer, his thigh brushing against hers, and all her self-control shattered. — How? — she asked, her voice trembling. He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he cupped her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up. His lips were inches from hers, so close she could feel his warm breath against her mouth. — Do you want me to kiss you, Clara? — he murmured, his voice rough. — Or do you want me to send you away and pretend none of this ever happened? She couldn’t answer. Instead, she rose onto her tiptoes and closed the distance between them. The first touch was hesitant, almost experimental. Daniel’s lips were softer than she had imagined, but firm, demanding. He didn’t pull back. Didn’t push her away. Instead, his hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that made Clara moan against his mouth. The world around them disappeared. There was no longer an office, no hierarchy, no rules. There was only Daniel’s heat, the pressure of his fingers on her skin, the taste of coffee and mint on his tongue. When he finally pulled away, both were breathless. — That — he said, his voice rough — was a mistake. Clara nodded but didn’t move. Couldn’t. — A delicious mistake — he added, running his thumb over her lower lip, swollen from the kiss. She closed her eyes, feeling the touch like a brand. — And now? — she asked, opening them again. Daniel took a step back, as if he needed space to think. His gaze raked over her body, lingering on her breasts, the curve of her hips, before returning to her face. — Now — he said, his voice low — you’re going back to your desk. And you’re going to pretend that kiss never happened. Clara felt a pang of disappointment but nodded. — And you? — I’ll do the same — he lied, because they both knew it was impossible. — But, Clara… She looked up. — Yes? — Next time you write me an email like that — he smiled, slow and dangerous — don’t send it by accident. And with that, he turned his back, leaving her alone in the room, her heart beating so hard she was sure he could hear it. Daniel’s office door closed with a soft but definitive click. Clara remained standing, her trembling hands gripping the edge of the meeting table as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality. The air conditioning blew cold against her neck, but she felt the heat rising in her throat, burning her cheeks. The silence was heavy, charged with something she dared not name. Daniel didn’t sit down. He walked to the window, his hands in the pockets of his tailored trousers, the fabric molding to the muscles of his thighs as he looked out at the city below. The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, drawing golden stripes across his white shirt, highlighting the broad shoulders, the rigid line of his back. He took a deep breath, as if about to dive into deep waters. — Sit down, Clara. His voice was low, controlled, but there was a thread of tension there, something she had never heard before. It wasn’t anger. Not exactly. It was something more dangerous. She obeyed, her fingers sliding over the polished surface of the table before settling into the chair. Her legs trembled, and she crossed her ankles, squeezing them tightly. The navy-blue linen dress she wore suddenly felt too tight, the modest neckline now a provocation. She could feel his gaze on her, even without seeing him. Daniel turned slowly. The sunlight illuminated half his face, leaving the other in shadow, as if he were two people: the untouchable CEO and the man she had secretly imagined. He didn’t approach. He stood there, a few steps away, as if any movement might break the fragile balance between them. — You read the email you sent me. It wasn’t a question. Clara swallowed hard. The taste of her morning coffee still lingered on her tongue, bitter. She nodded. — I… I didn’t mean to send it. It was a mistake. I was writing to a friend, and— — Don’t lie to me. The interruption was soft but cutting. Daniel tilted his head, his dark eyes fixed on her. Clara felt the air leave her lungs. He knew. Of course he knew. There was no way to explain that text, those words, without admitting the truth. — I’m not angry — he continued, his voice even lower now, almost intimate. — I’m intrigued. She looked up, surprised. Intrigued? That’s what he felt? Not indignation, not scandal, but curiosity? — Intrigued — she repeated, as if testing the word on her tongue. Daniel took a step forward. Then another. The shadow receded, revealing his entire face, his lips slightly parted, as if he, too, were savoring something new. He stopped beside her chair, close enough for her to feel the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne—cedar wood and something citrusy, clean, masculine. — You wrote that you watch me when you think I’m not looking — he said, his voice almost a whisper. — That you note my habits as if they were clues to a puzzle. Clara held her breath. He was quoting the email. Word for word. — That you dream of my mouth on your neck — he continued, and now there was a rough edge to his voice, something that made her nipples harden under the fabric of her dress. — That you imagine what it would be like if I touched you. She closed her eyes for a second, embarrassed, aroused, terrified. When she opened them again, Daniel was closer. So close she could see the fine lines around his eyes, the golden flecks in his irises. So close that, if she leaned in just a little, she could brush her lips against his. — It was just a fantasy — she murmured, but her voice came out weak, unconvincing. — A very detailed fantasy — he countered, and there was a smile in his voice, something wicked and delicious. — You described my office, Clara. The way I sit in my chair. How I grip my pen when I’m thinking. She felt her face burn. He was right. She had described everything. Even the way he ran his hand through his hair when he was frustrated, as if he wanted to tear it out. — You shouldn’t have read it — she said, but there was no strength in her voice. — I couldn’t stop — he admitted, and now he was so close she could feel his warm breath against her forehead. — I read it three times. Four. Until I memorized every word. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he could hear it. Daniel raised his hand slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal. His fingers brushed her chin, tilting her face up until she had no choice but to look at him. — Do you want to know what I thought when I read it? — he asked, his voice like silk. Clara couldn’t speak. She just nodded. — I thought about how it would be to taste that mouth that describes so many things — he murmured, his thumb pulling her lower lip down slightly. — I thought about how it would be to have these legs wrapped around my waist while I fuck you against the wall of my office. The words were like an electric shock. She let out a shaky breath, her fingers gripping the arms of the chair. Daniel leaned in closer, his mouth hovering over hers, so close she could feel the heat, the promise. — I thought about how it would be to hear you moan my name — he continued, his voice rough. — And how I would make sure you screamed it. She closed her eyes, her entire body trembling. He was so close. So close that if she leaned in just an inch, their lips would meet. But he didn’t kiss her. He pulled back just enough for her to open her eyes again, to see the raw desire in his. — So? — he asked, his voice low, dangerous. — Was it just a fantasy, Clara? Or do you want this too? She opened her mouth to answer, but the words died in her throat. Because it wasn’t just a fantasy. It never had been. She wanted him. Wanted him with an intensity that scared her, that left her breathless. But saying it out loud was like jumping off a cliff without knowing if there was water below. Daniel smiled, slow, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. — You don’t have to answer now — he said, taking a step back, letting her breathe again. — But know one thing, Clara. She looked up at him, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. — Yes? — I think about you too — he confessed, his voice low, almost a secret. — More than I should. And then, before she could react, he turned and walked to the door, opening it with a firm gesture. — You can go back to work. Clara remained seated, her fingers still gripping the chair, her entire body vibrating. She didn’t know how long she stayed there, trying to catch her breath, trying to understand what had just happened. When she finally stood, her legs still trembled. She smoothed her dress with her hand, as if that could erase the invisible mark he had left on her. As she passed through the door, she cast one last glance at Daniel, who stood with his back to her, looking out the window again, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t say anything more. But she knew. This was far from over. The plane landed with a gentle jolt, the runway lights reflecting off the dark windows of the cabin as Clara adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. The airport’s air conditioning was a relief after the humid heat of São Paulo, but the tension between her and Daniel seemed to follow its own rhythm, independent of the weather. Since the confession in his office a week earlier, the two had avoided each other with the precision of those who know the limits of a minefield. She typed reports with trembling fingers; he signed documents without looking up. But now, there in the hotel lobby in Curitiba, there were no spreadsheets or meetings to serve as shields. — There’s only one room available — announced the receptionist, looking back and forth between them with a professional smile. — There was a business fair in the city. All the hotels are full. Daniel didn’t hesitate. — We’ll take it. Clara opened her mouth to protest, but the words died before they could leave her lips. He had already handed over the corporate card, his long fingers tapping lightly on the counter, as if the decision were as simple as ordering a coffee. She felt the weight of his gaze on her, hot and inevitable, as the receptionist handed over the keys. The elevator ascended in silence. Clara watched the floor lights blink on the panel, counting the seconds until the doors opened on the twelfth floor. The room was spacious, with a king-sized bed covered in a light gray duvet and a window overlooking the illuminated city. She set her bag on the armchair, her fingers brushing the soft fabric of the upholstery, as if she could anchor herself there. — I’m going to take a shower — Daniel said, removing his overcoat and hanging it on the hanger with precise movements. — The meeting is in two hours. Clara nodded but didn’t move. The sound of running water in the bathroom echoed through the room, mingling with the muffled noise of traffic outside. She took off her shoes, feeling the plush carpet under her feet, and approached the window. The city lights flickered like fallen stars, and for a moment, she wished they were indeed stars—something distant, untouchable. The bathroom door creaked open. She didn’t turn around, but she felt the hot steam escaping the room, carrying the scent of his soap—something citrusy with a woody undertone, as if Daniel’s skin held the aroma of a forest after the rain. She heard his footsteps behind her, slow, deliberate. The heat of his body approached without touching her, but close enough that she felt the contrast between the cool air of the room and the humid warmth emanating from the towel wrapped around his waist. — You’re trembling — he murmured, his voice rough. Clara closed her eyes. — I’m not. A low laugh, almost a sigh. — You are. And then, his hand slid over her nape, his fingers tangling in her loose hair, pulling her slightly backward. The movement was gentle but firm enough that she felt her control slipping away. When she opened her eyes, she saw her own reflection in the window—lips parted, pupils dilated—and, behind her, the dark outline of Daniel, his broad shoulders still damp, the towel hanging dangerously low. — I should say this is a mistake — he said, his mouth so close to her ear that his warm breath made her skin prickle. — That tomorrow we’ll regret it. Clara swallowed hard. — Will you? — No. His free hand slid down the side of her body, tracing the curve of her waist, stopping just above her hip. — But if you want me to stop, just say so. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she tilted her head back, resting it on his shoulder, and let his fingers explore. His palm was rough in some places, soft in others, as if bearing the marks of someone who signed contracts and shook hands, but also knew exactly how to touch. When his fingers brushed the exposed skin between her blouse and skirt, Clara let out an involuntary sigh. — This isn’t fair — she murmured. — What isn’t? — You know what you do to me. Daniel laughed, a dark and satisfied sound, and lightly bit her earlobe. — And you have no idea what you do to me. The towel fell to the floor with a soft thud. Clara turned around, finally, and saw him naked before her—broad chest, muscles defined by his habit of swimming at six in the morning, the thin scars she had never noticed before, like lines from a story he had never told. His eyes roamed over her with the same intensity with which she observed him, as if memorizing every detail, every shadow. — You’re beautiful — he said, and there was no doubt in his voice, only a raw acknowledgment. She felt her face flush but didn’t look away. Instead, she took the hem of her blouse and pulled it over her head, letting it fall beside the towel. The black lace bra was simple, but the way his eyes darkened at the sight of it made it seem like something far more provocative. — I’m not — she murmured, but the words lost their strength when he pulled her against him, their bare skin colliding in a shock of heat. — You are — he insisted, his hands already exploring her body beneath the dress. — And I’m going to prove it. The bra fell away. Daniel didn’t waste time—he lowered his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth, his hot, wet tongue making her arch her back. Clara grabbed his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, and he groaned against her breast, the sound vibrating through her like an electric current. When he switched to the other nipple, his teeth grazing lightly, she let out a moan that echoed through the room. — Shhh — he whispered, lifting his head just enough to look into her eyes. — We don’t want the neighbors to know what we’re doing. Clara bit her lip, trying to stifle a laugh, but the laugh died when he pushed her gently toward the bed. She fell onto the soft mattress, and he followed, covering her with his body, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was both urgent and slow, as if they had all the time in the world. His hands explored every inch of her—her breasts, her waist, her thighs—while hers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more. When his fingers slid under her skirt, finding the already damp lace of her panties, Clara arched her hips, seeking more pressure. — Impatient — he murmured against her lips. — You make me this way — she replied, her voice breathless. He smiled, a wicked smile, and then pulled her panties down, tossing them aside. Clara wriggled out of her skirt, kicking it away, and lay naked before him, her knees bent, her eyes defiant. — Now it’s my turn — she said, pushing him lightly until he was lying on his back. Daniel didn’t resist. He watched, his eyes half-lidded, as she knelt between his legs, her hands sliding up his muscular thighs. When her mouth found his erection, hot and pulsing, he let out a low curse, his fingers tangling in her hair. — Fuck, Clara… She didn’t answer. Instead, she took him deeper, her tongue working in slow, deliberate movements, savoring his reaction—his tense body, his muffled groans, the hands that guided her without forcing. When he pulled her up, reversing their positions again, she didn’t protest. — I want you — he said, his voice rough, his eyes burning. — Now. Clara nodded, her legs spreading for him, and then he was there, the tip of his cock brushing her entrance, teasing her. She bit her lower lip, her hips moving in search of relief, but he held her wrists, pinning them above her head. — Not so fast — he murmured, his hot breath against her neck. And then, with a slow, controlled movement, he entered her. Clara arched her back, a moan escaping her lips as he filled her completely. He didn’t give her time to adjust; instead, he began to move, deep and brutal thrusts that made the bed creak beneath them. — You’re mine — he growled, one hand gripping her hip tightly, the other tangled in her hair, pulling her head back. — Say it. — I’m yours — she repeated, the words lost amid her moans. — Only yours. Daniel increased the pace, each thrust more intense than the last, until Clara felt the orgasm approaching like a wave. He noticed, because his movements became shorter, more precise, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. — Come for me — he ordered, his voice a growl in her ear. — Now. And she obeyed. The climax hit her like lightning, making her body convulse around him. Daniel groaned, his fingers digging into her flesh as he reached his own peak, spilling inside her with one last deep thrust. For a moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the scent of sex mingling with the leather of the armchair and Daniel’s expensive cologne. Clara could barely stand, her legs trembling, her body limp with pleasure. He pulled her close, kissing her neck, her shoulders, as if he couldn’t stop touching her. — This wasn’t a mistake — he murmured, his voice still rough. — It never was. Clara closed her eyes, letting herself sink into his embrace. — I know. --- The press conference was scheduled for five in the afternoon. Clara adjusted her blazer over the tight dress, her fingers still tingling with Daniel’s touch. He had left the room first, after one last stolen kiss, leaving her alone to compose herself. When she entered the auditorium, the murmuring stopped for a second. Everyone knew. Or, at least, suspected. Daniel was on stage, as impeccable as always, but there was something different in his posture. A new confidence, a tranquility Clara had never seen before. He saw her enter and smiled—a discreet smile, just for her. — Good afternoon, everyone — he began, his voice firm, echoing through the hall. — Today, in addition to the quarterly results, I have a personal announcement to make. The silence became absolute. Clara held her breath. — In recent months, my relationship with Clara Vasconcelos, my executive assistant, has evolved into something beyond the professional. — He paused, his eyes finding hers in the crowd. — We are together. And, to avoid any conflict of interest, Clara will be transferred to the corporate strategy department, where she will continue to contribute with her intelligence and dedication. The room erupted in murmurs. Cameras flashed, reporters leaned forward, eager. Clara felt her face burn, but she didn’t look away. Daniel stared at her with an intensity that made her forget everything else. — Any questions? — he asked, raising an eyebrow. A reporter in the front row raised his hand. — Isn’t this unethical, considering the hierarchical difference? Daniel smiled, cold and calculating. — Ethics are relative when two consenting adults decide to share more than an office. — He paused, his fingers tapping the podium. — But if you prefer, we can discuss last quarter’s sales figures. The subject was closed there. --- That night, Clara arrived at Daniel’s apartment with a bottle of wine and a mischievous smile. He opened the door wearing only low-slung sweatpants, his bare chest still marked by her nails. — You took your time — he said, pulling her inside. — I had to stop by my place to grab a few things — she replied, letting her bag drop to the floor. — After all, now that we’re an official couple, I think it’s only fair that I have a drawer here. Daniel pushed her against the wall, his hands already exploring her body beneath the dress. — A drawer? — He laughed, nipping at her neck. — You’re going to need a whole closet. Clara wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling him hard against her thigh. — Promises, promises — she teased. He carried her to the bedroom, tossing her onto the bed with a rough movement. — Let’s see if you can make me keep them. And as the night fell over the city, Clara discovered that yes, he did. He kept them all.