The office was quiet after hours.
The hum of the city had faded into a low background buzz behind the 34th-floor windows, and only the soft tap of Sasha’s heels echoed across the hardwood floors. She glanced at the glowing time on her phone — 10:17 p.m.
Everyone else had gone home hours ago.
Except for Mr. Grayson.
Her boss.
Cold. Brilliant. Always in control. And the reason her panties had been soaked for days.
Sasha had only been working for him for two weeks, but every interaction left her flustered. The way he looked at her — like he could see straight through her clothes — yet never crossed a line.
Until tonight.
It started with a stupid mistake.
She’d emailed the final presentation deck like he asked, but forgot to delete the NSFW meme her friend sent as a joke — a suggestiv
