Part 1
It had been a long, exciting week, and Anne was more than happy to meet the weekend for a chance to finally relax. The early part of her week had been three days away from the office—two mostly in transit and one walking the unforgiving concrete floors of the convention center. The other two had been met with the usual interactions with her marketing team and an intense, animated confrontation with Charlie. Their “discussion” had been less about her projects and more about her whereabouts and activities, particularly after he’d called Damien’s cell to argue with her.
Seated cross-legged on the rug in her living room, Anne was surrounded by a few of her closest friends. She poured her heart out, recounting every moment from the trip, especially those that made her heart flutter. Every time she felt marginally embarrassed, she took a sip of wine, letting the rich, velvety liquid soothe her nerves.
“And how obvious is your flirting, exactly?” Cass asked.
“I’d like to think it’s in the moderate range,” Anne replied. “I’m just putting the vibes out there, but I can’t act on them. We all know that. I’m not going up to him and saying, ‘Hey, Damien, I’m flirting with you. I’ve thought naughty things about you. Wanna have sex?’”
“Maybe you should try that approach.”
“We all know I do want to, but he is my boss. He’s not just my boss; he’s everybody’s boss. He’s the, the… the puppetmaster.”
“Puppetmasters are good with their hands, Anne,” Cass quipped, earning giggles from the group.
“Girl, what were you thinking when you opened that hotel door wearing nothing but a robe?” Alex inquired. “The poor man. You nearly gave him a nip slip and then expected him to behave normally.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. It was an accident,” Anne objected, popping a stack of cracker, meat, and cheese into her mouth. “He was totally professional and embarrassed about the whole incident.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Cass interjected, drawing everyone’s attention. “You knew who it was the minute he knocked on your door and didn’t announce himself as ‘housekeeping.’ At that moment, you had three options. The first was to not open the door at all and say, ‘Hey, I’m not done getting ready. I’ll be out in a minute.’ The second was to open the door a crack and say the same thing. And the third was to open the door all the way wearing nothing but a robe. The only thing missing from that act was to untie the robe and beckon him inside. Oh, Damien,” she dramatized, batting her eyelashes. “Let’s turn this expo into a sexpo. I’ll suck your d—”
Anne threw a pillow at her, though Cass was right about all of it. She had known it was Damien. And she’d given only a moment’s hesitation before opening the door in her robe, not the least bit embarrassed about doing so. Cass wasn’t wrong about the strong desire to bring her A-game to some head game.
“So, the rest of the evening was just about normal, right? What about the expo itself?” Kate asked.
“All day, I felt his eyes on me.”
“Eye,” Cass corrected.
Anne shot her an exasperated look. “All day, I thought I felt his eyes on me. But every time I turned around, he’d be looking at something else.”
“So it’s entirely possible you imagined it, is what I’m hearing,” Alex said with a smirk. “I mean, you were attending the damn thing together.”
“Maybe. But there was one time I turned around and caught him staring from a few yards away. It wasn’t just a coincidental meeting of eyes, but it didn’t feel creepy or anything. His look seemed more on the side of curiosity with a hungry undertone.”
“Did he try to unnecessarily touch you or anything?”
“That’s just it,” Anne replied. “He didn’t. He was very hands-off, very appropriate and gentlemanly, except for some perfectly normal collisions when you’re moving through a crowd of people together. And the one time he tapped me to get my attention.”
It wasn’t just the staring that had Anne second-guessing every interaction with Damien. She recalled their entire history of subtle glances and lingering touches that sent shivers down her spine, like when she handed him the tablet to show him logos. It was possible they were innocent, but maybe those glances they exchanged were mutual—a language of longing, unspoken words, and stolen moments.
“Take us through that evening,” Kate prompted.
“We were in the taxi on the way back to the hotel and looking at the photos together. Really close. He smells so good, for the record. Very ‘manly,’ and I don’t necessarily mean in the artificial way that good cologne or Old Spice will do, though there was certainly some of that.”
“Like pheromones, you mean?” Alex suggested.
Anne shrugged, sipping from her glass. “In the taxi, the air felt tight. Suffocating, almost. But it was when we were upstairs again—that’s when it got… tense, I guess. It was so strange.”
Cass popped a grape into her mouth, leaning back against the couch. “Don’t leave us in suspense, bitch. Out with it.”
“We had said goodnight, and he disappeared into his room, but then a couple of minutes later, he was banging on my door like the place was on fire. When I opened it, he had the most peculiar look on his face. It was anxious and distracted. On top of that, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. I swear the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I had goose pimples. It felt very tense. And then this family ran by us in the hall, and he had this stunned expression. Like he’d been slapped.”
“What did he say when you asked him what he wanted?”
“He told me that we should get McDonald’s at the airport instead of grabbing breakfast beforehand. And then I made a joke that I honestly thought he’d like, but he only gave me a really odd smile. I said, ‘This could have been an email.’”
The laughter was infectious, reverberating through the cozy living room and dissolving any lingering tension. Anne leaned back against the couch, cradling her wine glass in both hands as her friends’ teasing settled into a comfortable lull. The warm glow of the lamps lit the room with a soft, intimate light, and the charcuterie board between them was picked over but not abandoned.
“That’s objectively funny in this context. I just thought you should know, and that he’s a dick if he didn’t laugh,” Cass said, her tone decisive.
Anne shrugged. “Not knowing what else to do, I said goodnight. But then I heard him mumble something, though it definitely wasn’t at me. He’s only ever called me a smartass.”
“What did you hear him say? Or think you did?” Cass asked, leaning forward with curiosity.
“I’m fairly certain he said, ‘you fucking idiot,’” Anne repeated, her brow furrowed in thought. “He said it right after I closed the door.”
Cass contemplated this for a moment. “Show us the pictures. The one from the fashion show and the one from the other night.”
Anne complied, pulling up the photos and passing her phone around. Sharing her thoughts and feelings with her friends was liberating, though it also made the situation feel heavier, more daunting.
“He is very pretty,” Alex remarked, handing the phone back to her.
“Right?” Cass agreed enthusiastically. “Super hot. That’s a straight nose and a jaw you could sit on for hours.”
“Oh, I’ve thought about it,” Anne admitted with a grin. “Many times.”
A wave of giggles washed over the group.
“One must be cautious, though,” Cass added solemnly. “In my experience, the hottest men tend to be the weakest in the bedroom because they’ve never had to try. They just coast on their looks.”
“I’m sad to report that’s been my experience too,” Alex agreed.
“We’re putting an awful lot of carts before not-that-many horses,” Anne pointed out, chuckling.
“Show of hands,” Kate said, raising her own for effect. “Who here has taken photos like that with their boss?”
Naturally, no one raised their hands but Anne.
“That’s because you don’t take photos like that with your boss that you’ve known for three months. You don’t take photos like that unless you’re interested in your hot bachelor boss, and he’s interested in you. I mean, did you even notice where his hands were?”
Anne hadn’t noticed much in the picture initially, but she remembered the feeling at the time—the warmth, the excitement, the tingles running up and down her body. When she looked again at the photo from Golden Gate, she saw it—his hand on her ribcage. It was a safe distance from her breasts but close enough to hint at familiarity.
“And she doesn’t just want to fuck him, Kate,” Cass corrected. “She even likes him as a person. She emotionally wants to fuck him.”
“It sounds so gross when you put it like that,” Anne groaned. “But yes. Of course I have a crush on him. He’s incredibly kind and friendly towards me, and I wouldn’t complain at the chance to date him. But it would be a huge mess, given he’s the aforementioned puppetmaster, and I’m just a puppet in his toy box. Then again, what if it’s all just a misunderstanding, and I’m misreading signals, and he’s just being friendly? He’s so far out of my league.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper.
“Let’s assume he’s not just being friendly,” Kate countered gently, swirling the wine in her glass. “Single heterosexual men seldom think exclusively of ‘friendship’ when it comes to a woman, though that’s not to say it’s impossible.”
“There’s an awful lot of generalization happening in this conversation,” Anne remarked with a smirk.
“Also, ‘leagues’ are bullshit,” Kate continued. “I am a perfectly average-looking individual with a stellar personality, and I somehow managed to repeatedly hook up with the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, one who I definitely thought was ‘out of my league’ before it happened.”
“Of course there are exceptions to everything raised so far, but you know we’re all speaking from personal experiences, including your own,” Alex added, and Anne couldn’t argue with that.
“What if he feels the same way you do?” Kate asked softly, her tone probing. “So, what would you do if Damien has feelings for you—emotional and physical?”
The question lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken possibilities.
“And what about Todd?” Alex asked, breaking the silence.
“Todd is sweet—” Anne began.
“Todd,” Cass interrupted with a dismissive wave of her hand, her voice dripping with exaggerated disdain, “is a nothingburger. Todd is the kind-of-fun booty call at 8 p.m. because she’s a responsible adult and has to be at work in the morning so she can eye-fuck her boss bright and early instead.”
Anne ignored her, though the assessment wasn’t entirely wrong.
“And,” Cass continued, “Todd can’t even finish her. It’s tragic, really.”
“To be fair, we’ve already established that the hottest men aren’t good in bed, so there’s no guarantee Damien would be any better. Most men can’t finish anyone except themselves anyway,” Anne retorted. “But also, how do you know that?”
“Because at 8 p.m., it’s very easy to hear how terrible of an actress you are.”
“Well, this is awkward.”
Another round of hearty laughter rippled through the group.
Cass was right, though. Anne had rarely ever finished in the presence of a man and certainly hadn’t without some battery-operated help. That much wasn’t new. But even then, there was something off, a disconnect with Todd that made true satisfaction elusive. She enjoyed her time with him and understood that an orgasm was a bonus to the fun of sex. Yet no matter what she tried, she couldn’t get herself into the right headspace. She wondered if thinking less—or more—about Damien would change that.
“If Damien made a move on you, what would you do?” Alex asked when the laughter subsided.
“I don’t know,” Anne admitted after a pause, a small ache settling in her chest. “He’s my boss. I don’t think I can know how I’d act unless it happens. The consequences of a decision like that are so massive.”
“He’s also a man,” Cass pointed out mischievously, her tone both playful and insistent, “and you’re a woman with needs—emotional or otherwise. Life is too short to ignore chemistry if that’s what you feel you have.”
Alex nodded in agreement. “Cass is right. If you’re both into each other, why not explore it? As long as you’re both consenting adults, what’s the harm?”
There was plenty of harm, all wrapped in the myriad of feelings that went even beyond the simple ones for Damien.
Anne sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Again, it’s not just about us. It’s about the dynamic at work. The potential consequences.”
“Here’s my suggestion,” Cass said, her expression shifting into one of mock seriousness. “You have the presentation trip to Miami in a couple weeks, right? Which, hello? That’s a romance book trope in and of itself.”
“Yeah?” Anne prompted, intrigued but wary.
“Provided your rooms are right next to each other, and this tactic won’t work if they aren’t…”
“Okay…” Anne said slowly.
“Bring your favorite vibrator, and moan his name extra loud when you come so he knows the next day you were thinking of him. Ball is in his court. It’s a perfect solution. Flawless.”
“Somehow that’s… worse,” Anne said, laughing. “But I’ll take it under advisement.”
“Bzzzzzz. Oh, God, Damien! Yes! Yes! More!” Cass cried out dramatically, tacking on one final “Oh God!” for good measure. Her performance was met with a chorus of snickers.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Kate quipped, reaching for a gherkin from the charcuterie board, considering it before lewdly licking it and crunching down.
“I’ll send you a referral link,” Cass shot back with a cheeky grin.
The group dissolved into a fit of laughter, the sound filling the room until tears streamed down their faces.
“You’re doing great,” Damien commended from beside her, “don’t stress about it. We have plenty of time to get the pacing right and the jitters out.”
Anne turned to face him, her agitation clear. “That’s easy for you to say because you do this a lot. While I’m not all that terrified of public speaking, I haven’t given a formal presentation since college. And I definitely have never given one to a room full of hundreds of people where I’m the supposed expert.”
“There’s no ‘supposed’ about it,” Damien disagreed. “But I am going to offer you some constructive feedback.”
“Be my guest.”
He moved from beside her to stand in front of her, leaning against the back of the sofa with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “Try to look up from your notes a little bit more. You know what you’re talking about; you just have to remember the order it all goes in. It doesn’t have to be word for word.”
A gentle smile spread across his face. “And while you don’t have to look at anyone in the audience in particular, they like to think you’re looking at them.”
Anne fought to keep her thoughts from wandering. I beg of you, Damien, please don’t tell me to picture the audience naked. I will only picture you naked, and that’s not going to help me focus by any means.
He seemed to think for a moment, his fingers tapping his bicep. “Let’s try this. Let’s have a conversation, and not think of it as a presentation.” He took her gently by the arm, guiding her to one sofa, then sat directly across from her.
Anne’s gaze drifted to the way his slacks folded around his groin as he settled into the cushions, her thoughts spiraling. He didn’t appear to notice, meeting her eyes once he was comfortable. “Talk to me,” he said.
Anne took a deep breath. “When we analyze data,” she began, “conduct market research, and gather customer feedback, we can gain valuable insights into their evolving needs and expectations.”
“By leveraging these insights, we can develop products, services, and communications that resonate with our target audience. This ultimately drives customer satisfaction and loyalty,” Damien replied, sounding as casual as ever. The air of confidence he exuded was enormous.
Everything about him in that moment screamed authority, mastery. It was intoxicatingly attractive.
“It’s not just about meeting their needs, but anticipating them. By staying ahead of the curve and proactively addressing emerging trends and preferences, we can position ourselves as trusted advisors and industry leaders.”
“By continuously monitoring market dynamics,” she said, glancing down at her notes, “and listening to our customers, we can adapt our strategies—”
“Look up at me,” Damien reminded smoothly, his baritone voice steady.
Anne glanced up briefly. “We can adapt our strategies and offerings to stay relevant and competitive—”
“Look. At. Me,” he ordered firmly, each word crisp.
Anne’s stomach flipped as her gaze met his cobalt blue eyes. He’d leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. A subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Only a few feet separated them, and from this close, she was once again enveloped by his intoxicating scent.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Damien said, his voice resonating with authority.
Anne’s heart began to race. She bit her lower lip, but she didn’t dare look away. A flutter of nervous energy danced within her, and she knew it had little to do with the keynote. He had to know what he was doing—right?
“Good,” he said, one eyebrow lifting in a way that spoke of gleeful dominance. There was no way he didn’t know the effect he had on her.
Anne’s eyes flickered downward, and she watched as he flexed his fingers—one by one, curling them into his palm before rippling them again. He repeated the motion twice, then fanned his fingers out and rolled his wrist. It was clear he’d noticed her wandering gaze.
“Look at me, Anne, and don’t you dare look away. Now start again,” he commanded, his tone low and velvety.
Her pulse quickened at his insistence, the thrill of his words sending a shiver through her.
“By continuously monitoring market dynamics and listening to our customers, we can adapt our strategies and offerings to stay relevant and competitive in today’s ever-changing landscape,” she said, her voice steady despite the growing tension between them. His scent—a mix of musk, vanilla, cedar, and something uniquely him—was overwhelming. “And by putting the customer at the center of our decision-making process, we can ensure that every initiative, from product development to marketing campaigns, is aligned with their needs and preferences.”
The charged silence between them was almost palpable, and every word she spoke seemed to thicken the air with unspoken anticipation. His steady, reassuring presence was both grounding and utterly disarming.
“Absolutely, Anne. By truly understanding our customers and delivering value that exceeds their expectations, we can lay a foundation for long-lasting relationships built on trust, loyalty, and mutual respect.” His delivery was calm and cool, unnervingly effortless, as his eyes never wavered from hers. Anne fought to maintain composure, even as her mind screamed for her to lose herself in the depths of his gaze. She felt like she was walking a tightrope strung between desire and restraint.
He licked his lips, the faint shine drawing her attention. A shiver climbed her spine, vertebra by vertebra. She was frozen, aching with the desire to taste him.
Good God, she was aroused.
It took a slow blink from Damien to break the spell, and he leaned back into the sofa, resuming his relaxed posture. With a casual wave of his hand, he continued, “Building lasting relationships with customers is the cornerstone of any business’ success. It’s more than just making a sale of your product. You can’t make a sale unless you’ve forged meaningful, lasting connections.”
He tilted his head slightly, signaling it was her turn again. Anne resisted the urge to glance at her notes, instead mentally sorting through the bullet points she had memorized. “By prioritizing a customer’s experience at every touchpoint, we can turn satisfied customers into our advocates. There’s a lot to be said for brand loyalty, and in order to do that, we must exceed expectations and earn trust.”
Damien nodded approvingly. “Whether it’s giving customers personalized recommendations, resolving issues quickly, or simply being willing to listen and acknowledge them, every interaction is an opportunity to bridge relationships and build that loyalty,” he recited, as smooth and effortless as ever.
Anne felt herself gaining momentum, her words flowing with confidence as she transitioned from rote recitation to genuine understanding. “That’s right, Damien. It’s not just about what we do, but also how we do it! Customers can sense when we genuinely care about their needs and preferences. By demonstrating empathy and authenticity,” she paused, improvising, “and a lot of humanity and commitment to customer satisfaction… that’s how we build long-term loyalty and repeat business.”
Damien’s eyes locked with hers, the glint of pride unmistakable. He nodded before continuing, “Just like in any relationship, communication is key. By staying engaged, asking for real feedback, and seeking ways to improve experiences all around, we can ensure that our relationships remain strong and symbiotic.”
Anne exhaled softly, her breath shaky as she anticipated his continuation. But he didn’t. Instead, they sat in tense silence, the air between them thick with unspoken words. She felt her cheeks flush as the intensity of his gaze seemed to strip her of her composure. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she forced herself to look away, knowing that if she didn’t, her knees would be far too weak for her to ever stand again.
Finally, Damien’s face broke into a smile, the tension dissipating. He rubbed his hands together between his knees before standing and striding to the mini fridge. Grabbing a bottle of Pellegrino, he tossed it to her with ease. “You need to remember you know what you’re talking about,” he said as he resumed his seat across from her. “Just because it’s more structured doesn’t mean your knowledge is any less. You do this every day, but in actions, not words. I only handle a fraction of it—usually whatever Charlie hand-delivers, based on the info you and your team curate. That’s why I asked you to do this with me.”
He leaned back into the sofa, his arms stretching casually across the backrest. His tone was gentle, but Anne’s focus drifted as he glanced toward the television, where the visual draft of their presentation remained on the screen. In profile, his features seemed even more defined—the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones, the scruff carefully trimmed along his face, and the straight bridge of his nose. He was effortlessly gorgeous.
Imagine how that scruff would feel against your neck, her traitorous thoughts whispered. How that sharp hair would contrast with his soft lips and wet tongue tracing your skin at the same time.
A swarm of butterflies erupted in her stomach, and a warm ache settled low in her pelvis in the space she wanted him to bury himself in. Her chest felt tight, and just as her fantasies threatened to spiral further, Damien’s head turned, his cobalt eyes meeting hers as though he could hear her thoughts. Her breath hitched, and she froze, caught in the act of yearning.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and handing her a twenty-dollar bill with a gentle smile. “Let’s take a break. Head down to the canteen and get whatever you want, and grab me a biscotti—chocolate, preferably, but whatever they have is fine. I’ll make us some coffee, and we can continue this conversation over that. But while you’re shopping, I’ve got some emails I’ve been putting off.”
“Sounds good,” Anne replied, standing and moving toward the door, knowing with near-certainty that his eyes followed her every step as she walked away.
Once Anne was sure she was out of Damien’s sightline, she exhaled a huge, nervous sigh, her entire body sagging with the release. As she started forward, she nearly collided with Cathy, who was heading toward Damien’s office. Startled, Anne exclaimed her apologies, offering Cathy a warm smile and the usual greetings before continuing toward the elevators.
Inside, she instinctively moved to the same corner she had occupied on her first day at HuGES. Her eyes drifted to the spot where Damien had stood, his presence lingering like a phantom. She could still picture him: tall, imposing, and undeniably handsome in his dark three-piece suit, casually scrolling through his phone. Nothing about his appearance had changed since that day, yet it felt like a lifetime ago. How far they’d come in three months—endless logo meetings, emails, late-night texts, phone calls, and dialogues, punctuated by fleeting touches and stolen glances. To her, every interaction brimmed with meaning, even if it was just in her own mind.
Every moment spent in Damien’s presence left her teetering on the edge of breathlessness. It was impossible not to marvel at his undeniable physical allure. His thick hair and scruff, dark with hints of copper, were always styled to perfection. She was certain that when age eventually turned him gray, he’d only grow more attractive—a silver fox whose distinguished charm would outshine even his current magnetism. His sharp nose, chiseled jaw, and high cheekbones left her weak in the knees. And those lips—soft, full, and perpetually inviting. His broad shoulders, strong arms, and capable hands seemed designed to hold her down, if she wanted it that way.
But it was his smile that undid her every time—a wide, charming, and disarming grin that seemed all the more dazzling because of how naturally serious his face set. And his eyes… both the real one and its expertly crafted acrylic twin. They were piercing, saturated shades of cobalt, like the glass in a cathedral’s rose window, drawing her in every time they fixed on her.
Through the glass walls of the elevator, she watched the horizon dip as the bottom mezzanine drew closer, the blazing summer sun casting glittering reflections on the Hudson River below.
Yet her attraction to Damien ran far deeper than the primal, physical pull. It was the quiet confidence and authority he wore like one of his tailored suits. It was the respect he commanded and the way he offered it in turn—well, maybe not to Charlie. That one was still up for debate. It was the way he treated her as an equal, recognizing when she was the expert in the room. He appreciated her curiosity, her humor, and didn’t shy away from being the butt of a joke, even when it poked fun at his CEO status.
With the keynote they were currently rehearsing as a prime example, Damien pushed her to find her limits, to stretch beyond what she thought she could do. His relentless drive to improve the world was awe-inspiring, an ambition that made him a force to be reckoned with. Yet, for all his professional prowess, he was kind, thoughtful, and emotionally attuned, especially when he spoke of his brother. Those moments revealed a rare depth, a complexity that made her fall harder. He valued authentic connections and relationships in a way few men did. And, okay, it would be hard to deny that he could probably buy her anything and everything she would ever want for—especially, the simple concept of being worry-free when it came to finances.
Damien was a multi-faceted, intricate masterpiece wrapped in a three-piece suit. And with a sinking certainty, Anne realized the truth—her heart skipped a beat every time she saw him.
Fuck.
This wasn’t a fleeting crush. These were real, undeniable romantic feelings.
Could she have picked a worse person to fall for?
Anne's heart pounded as her thoughts raced in circles, looping through every impossible scenario. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. She felt like she’d dug herself into a hole, not just stuck up shit's creek without a paddle, but trapped in a rapidly filling cistern with no ladder in sight.
What could she do? The reality was stark, her options limited, and every one of them sucked. Feelings didn’t just evaporate on command, and as the old saying went, the heart wants what the heart wants. Pursuing anything beyond a professional relationship with Damien was a fool’s gamble, riddled with complications and almost guaranteed fallout.
Making the first move was out of the question, given their professional dynamic. Cass had been right about one thing: if this was going to go anywhere, Damien would have to make the first move. Even then, in the unlikely event he reciprocated her feelings, Damien would face the tangled web of office politics, the scrutiny of the board, and the ever-watchful eyes of stakeholders. He had built his empire with relentless determination, and Anne knew he wouldn’t risk it all for a woman he’d known for only a few months.
The thought made her stomach twist. They were both ensnared in the web of their own making, caught between the intricacies of workplace expectations and the unspoken rules of professional conduct. It was a cruel twist of fate, leaving them with nothing but impossible choices and unfulfilled desires.
Anne tried to weigh her options, knowing none of them were ideal. Making a move was tempting, but the consequences loomed too large. Quitting her job was drastic, a move she couldn’t afford to take lightly. And pulling away from Damien entirely? That idea filled her with a deep, aching sense of regret and longing. Simply the thought of doing so left her breathless with creeping despair.
The “what ifs” spun in her mind like a pinball, colliding with every fear and hope. What if we did couple up? She could imagine the smiles, the laughter, the fights, the passionate sex every night, the sitting across from each other every morning over a bowl of lumpy five-minute oatmeal. She had known the weight of a stranger’s hands on her skin and heat of bodies against hers more times than she’d ever remotely felt the weight of soul-deep connection and the slow burn of devotion. She didn’t regret most of it—life was too short for regrets. But what if Damien was the person who, after so many years of waiting to find someone who found her worthy of love, was the person who could bring her flowers and the quiet glow of love she so desperately wanted. She could see herself loving him.
Her thoughts turned darker. What if he wakes up one day and decides that he wants to trade me in, like I’m one of those high-end cars? What if he finds himself a new, younger model? The idea clawed at her, an ache forming in her chest. What if he woke up one day and decided he was… bored of her?
She knew it would destroy her.
Perhaps that was the scariest option of all, and it was the one that pricked her eyes with tears. But another voice in her mind whispered, What if he really is a good man? What if he wants something real, something quiet and intimate? She already knew he valued genuine connections. Why did it feel so impossible to imagine him as anything but a playboy?
By the time Anne returned to Damien’s office with a stack of biscotti, she felt emotionally wrung out. She found him still sitting on the sofa, staring off into space, his expression distant and tinged with melancholy.
“Damien?” she called softly. His eyes flicked to hers, his focus slowly returning. She offered him the change from her purchase, but he waved her off with a dismissive gesture.
“Keep it,” he said absently, his tone distracted. “Consider it a delivery tip.”
The remark almost sounded patronizing, but Anne sensed a heaviness weighing on him. Whatever it was, it mirrored the emotional turbulence she’d been wrestling with herself. Still, there was work to do, and she wasn’t about to let her spiraling feelings derail their progress.
“Should we pick up from where we left off?” she suggested, motioning toward the presentation draft on the television screen.
Damien nodded, his voice steady. “Let’s do it. Coffee first.”
After filling their mugs, they dove back into their rehearsal. The earlier tension had ebbed, replaced by a tranquil rhythm. Anne felt a sense of camaraderie in their collaboration, the comfort of their mutual focus. But beneath the surface, something had shifted. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, so she pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on nailing the final parts of their script.
In the hours after leaving Damien’s office, a relentless, insistent current of arousal coursed through Anne, cycling in waves from between her legs to the edges of her overstimulated mind. Every time she replayed the way his voice had wrapped around her, low and deliberate, her pulse quickened, and her thighs pressed together instinctively. Her productivity had flatlined the moment his office door closed behind her, the phantom heat of his presence lingering like a burn on her skin.
“You free tonight?” she texted Todd, her thumb hovering over the screen, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “I really need all the things you could do to me.”
His reply came a few minutes later. “I’m sorry! I can’t tonight. Rain check?”
She exhaled sharply, frustration coiling in her chest like it was a rattlesnake. She shifted in her seat, the dampness of her panties more evident now, a reminder of her unresolved need. Opening Tinder, she swiped with purpose, her judgements were rapid and superficial. It didn’t take long before her phone buzzed with a string of notifications—Brian, a dark-haired, chiseled man, had matched and wasted no time at all in steering their chat toward filthy promises and explicit imagery. A man she would later admit shared many physical qualities with the other one in the office penthouse.
“See you soon ;),” she replied, already shedding her work clothes as she stepped into her bedroom.
Standing before the mirror, Anne scrutinized her reflection, tugging the sheer lace bra into place and adjusting the panties with the delicate bow at the front. She leaned forward, fluffing her curled lashes, her red lipstick bright against her skin. The underwire of her bra bit into her ribs, but the sight of her breasts, full and framed by the gauzy fabric, made her smirk. Even as she finessed these things about her appearance, she was fully aware of how in vain it would all be. Brian wouldn’t admire any of it. The clothes would be on the floor in no time at all, and the only way he wanted her lipstick was smeared as she was on her knees.
Her phone propped against a pillow, she filmed herself teasingly, trying to psyche herself up and feel sexy—hands cupping her breasts, sliding down her sides, fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of her panties. She reviewed the footage, and selected the most enticing frame, her thumb hovering over the send button.
For a moment, her mind whispered with perilous insistence. “Send it to Damien,” it egged. “Let him see you like this.”
But would he want to? She was an average modern woman, with an everyday white collar job, a small house, and the occasional, run-of-the-mill self esteem issues. He might as well have been a prince. He had intelligence that went beyond being book smart. He had a handsome, symmetrical face, a good personality, and not for nothing, a bank account that would spoil her for life.
“He’d want to see you,” her mind pressured. “He’d lose control.”
The thought sent goose pimples racing up and down her skin, as if it too was indulging in a fantasy of the trail Damien’s lips might make along it. Her heartbeat skipped with wicked temptation. But she sent it to the other man who had deprived her today—Todd. His immediate response—an avalanche of emojis and desperate replies and apologies for being unavailable—barely registered. It wasn’t Todd she imagined giving her those replies. It was Damien: the flicker of hunger in those cobalt eyes, the way his breath might catch at the sight of her wearing next to nothing before him.
The fantasy stayed with her, a shadow trailing her all the way to Brian’s apartment. It wasn’t the man she was about to meet that made her pulse race like it was one of the Saratoga horses on Travers day. It was the one man she couldn’t have.
Anne stood at the threshold of Brian’s apartment, his flirtatious grin doing little to stir her desire beyond the shallow, mechanical need to scratch an itch. His space was mostly clean, but lacking in personality. He moved with his own brand of easy confidence, guiding her into his bedroom and onto the bed, flipping off the lights. He peeled off his shirt and tossed it onto a chair. Brian kissed her then, heated and eager. His movements were calculated, his touch more efficient than exploratory. His hands roamed her body with precision, but there was no lingering. There was no attention to the subtle cues she offered. Her mind began to wander, painting a different picture. She imagined Damien’s lips, firm and assertive, the weight of his hands on her hips, pulling her in with a possessiveness and a gravity she wouldn’t be able to resist that would send shivers down her spine. She felt a pang of longing, sharp and bitter, as Brian’s lips pressed to her collarbone.
She tried to stay in the moment, to let these movements she’d done again and again, guide her into feeling something more than just satisfying the simple need that’d been gnawing at her for hours. But her body didn’t get the memo.
“You like that?” Brian murmured, his voice low but detached, as if it was just another box to tick on a checklist.
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured back, forcing a smile and conviction, but she knew she didn’t sound convincing. Not that he seemed to care. His focus didn’t waver from his own agenda.
He shifted, his weight pressing her into the mattress as his kisses moved to her neck. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t anything more than that either. He failed to notice the way her breath hitched for all the wrong reasons, how her mind had already detached, floating somewhere else entirely. In her head, it wasn’t Brian’s hands on her; it was Damien’s—steady, commanding, and attuned to her every breath and sigh. The thought sent a rush of warmth coursing through her, but it was short-lived; dampened by reality.
The more she tried to chase the fleeting comfort she sought, the more elusive it became. Her mind circled back to Damien—the way his voice dipped when he was deep in thought, the flash of vulnerability he tried so hard to mask. She remembered the way he’d looked at her earlier that day, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. It had left her breathless in a way no physical touch by this stranger could replicate.
Brian pulled back to pull off the rest of his clothes, then resumed his rhythm without a word, his movements so practiced it almost seemed clinical. “You’re so quiet,” he remarked with a faint smirk, though his tone bordered on dismissive.
Anne forced another smile, running her fingers through his hair and pushing it back, as if it would draw him closer, emotionally if not physically. “I’m just… taking it all in.”
He didn’t reply, his focus elsewhere. The lack of real intimacy stung, but Anne pushed through, letting her own thoughts drift to Damien again, her imagination filling in the gaps where Brian fell short. She closed her eyes, continuing to pretend that it was Damien’s lips on her neck, his hands exploring her curves, his voice in her ear, coaxing her into a state of pure surrender.
But Brian’s voice broke the illusion. “Turn over,” he directed, his tone brisk as he slipped a condom on. She hesitated, her heart sinking as the realization settled deeper. And while she knew it going into this situation, there was still a kind of pain in knowing this wasn’t about her—not really. She was a prop, a means to an end. Even as she followed his instruction, she felt her connection to the moment slipping further away. She would only ever be a pussy to him. She was merely a physical transaction, and she knew that only one of them would inevitably emerge with the currency of pleasure.
She’d done this time and time again, and had enjoyed herself many times regardless of a climactic outcome. But this time was different. The motions continued, her mind battling with her body, trying to extract some semblance of pleasure or connection from an encounter that felt increasingly hollow. She made the right sounds, gave the right responses, but none of it felt real. It was all an act, and she hated how easily she could slip into that role.
Is this all there is? she wondered, her chest tightening with the thought, his hands on her hips pulling her body against his in a regular tempo. Is this all I’ll ever be capable of?
When it was over, Brian rolled onto his back with a satisfied sigh, his arm draped lazily across his chest, without so much as offering her a glass of water. “That was nice,” he said, his voice carrying no real warmth, just the empty politeness of someone checking off a task.
Anne swallowed her disappointment, sitting up and reaching for her clothes. “Yeah,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t meet his eyes as she pulled her shirt over her head, her movements brisk and deliberate.
“You don’t have to rush off,” Brian said, though the lack of conviction in his voice told her he wouldn’t mind if she did.
She forced a small smile, slipping her shoes back on. “Early day tomorrow,” she lied. “Thanks for tonight.”
The walk back to her car felt heavier than it should have, her wedges clicking sharply against the pavement. By the time she slid into the driver’s seat, she felt the sting of unshed tears pricking at her eyes. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white against the black leather.
She had this hollow space inside her, the one she kept trying to fill with temporary fixes and fleeting connections. And it was about the fear—the fear that even if she did find something real, she wouldn’t know how to hold onto it. Worse still, that it wouldn’t hold on to her. And then she’d be left with a sharp, pronounced emptiness. All she would ever be is untethered in space—no one’s priority.
Anne exhaled shakily, resting her forehead against the steering wheel for a moment. Get it together.
She started the car, the hum of the engine breaking the silence. As she drove through the quiet streets, her mind inevitably drifted back to Damien, to the lingering tension between them, to the way he made her feel both exposed and seen in ways that scared her. No, it terrified her. She wanted him—not just his touch, but the weight of his presence, the way he seemed to anchor her without even trying. He was the one she wanted, the one who made her feel seen, and the ache of not having him sliced her to ribbons.
But for now, all she had was her home waiting for her and the hum of fantasies that never quite left her alone.
Anne girlfriends’ words of advice and teasing in her head, she wished she knew what came next. She prayed that after all of the disappointment the evening had brought her, that at least one of her toys was charged. And so she hoped the thing coming next was, finally, her.