I sit back, eyebrows lifting slightly.
“There’s more,” she adds, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “I ran a quick cross-check on the expense ratios from your Q3 summaries, and the numbers don’t track with the ledger entries in procurement. Either someone duplicated an entry, or they’re running costs through multiple accounts to mask real allocation totals.”
She stops. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure if it was my place to say anything yet.”
I stare at her in silence for a beat. Then I let out a slow breath and push back from my desk.
She stiffens, misreading my reaction. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” I say, eyes locked on hers. “You did everything right.”
She blinks.
“And that’s the problem.”
Confusion flickers across her face. “I don’t follow.”
“The discrepancies you caught? They should’ve already been flagged. I’ve got three analysts upstairs who have been reviewing those same reports for a week. And not one of them found what you just laid out in five minutes.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but I raise a hand to stop her.
“I was going to wait until Friday to make this official,” I say. “But you’ve earned it.”
She looks down at the folder, then back at me.
“I’m offering you a probational position. HR will send your on-boarding materials by end of day. Go home and review, sign, and return them by tomorrow.”
She nods slowly, absorbing the words.
“And tomorrow,” I say, standing, “you report directly to my office.”
Her breath catches, just slightly, but I don’t miss it.
Astrid rises, her movements smooth and composed. I can still see the undercurrent of tension in the set of her jaw, the way her hands flex slightly at her sides.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” she says.
I tilt my head. “I like what I’ve seen so far. But don’t confuse potential with position. You’ll have to work like hell to earn your place here.”
She nods. “Understood.”
“If you do that,” I add, my tone sharpening, “the rewards will be worth it.”
When she looks at me, I see a flicker of curiosity. Challenge. Heat. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says quietly. “Bright and early.” She gathers her things and leaves.
She questions whether or not I remember her. I can see it in the guarded glances, the stiff posture, the tension behind every too-pleasant smile. She wonders if I’m the kind of man who could fuck a woman senseless in a bathroom stall then forget her face the next day.
She’s wrong.
I remember everything. The way she looked up at me, lips parted, eyes glazed. The feel of her nails digging into my shoulders. The sound she made when she came, like she’d been unraveling for years and I was the one to finally snap the thread.
I’ll bring it up. Eventually. But not yet. She’s not ready. And truth be told, neither am I.
I sit back down at the desk, my eyes drifting toward the window at the city stretching out beneath me, and I let my mind wander.
I imagine her in my office again. Only this time, she’s not sitting across from me firing off numbers. She’s gliding toward me, hips swaying to let me know she’s fully aware of what she does to me. Her blouse is unbuttoned just enough to be dangerous, showing the curve of her breasts beneath the silk, teasing lace peeking out beneath.
She stops in front of my desk. Our eyes meet. Without a word, she slowly sinks to her knees. Like she belongs there.
