"No more supply closets. No more elevators. No more anything that could get us fired or create an HR incident."
He considers this for a long moment, his dark eyes searching my face like he's trying to decode some complicated puzzle. I can see the wheels turning behind that intense gaze, processing my words, weighing them against whatever internal logic he operates by.
Slowly, deliberately, he nods once. "Understood."
Relief washes through me in a wave so powerful my knees almost buckle. My shoulders drop half an inch from where they've been tensed up near my ears. I exhale, long and slow.
"Good." I smooth down my blouse, trying to restore some semblance of professional composure even though we're still in a supply closet and I can still feel the phantom heat of his hands on my skin. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Little Manager." He moves toward the door, then pauses. Looks back at me with eyes that are far too knowing. "I will respect your professional boundaries. During work hours."
He's gone before I can formulate a response, the door clicking shut behind him with quiet finality.
I stand alone in the supply closet, surrounded by printer paper and cleaning supplies and the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with my perfume, and realize I've just negotiated the worst deal of my career.
The next morning, I arrive at the office forty-five minutes early. Full armor. Crisp black blazer, white blouse buttoned to the collar, hair scraped back into a bun so tight it gives me a slight headache. The mark on my neck is buried under three layers of concealer and a careful application of setting powder.
Ice Queen restored.
I will not think about yesterday. I will not think about Thraka's hands or his mouth or the way he looked at me like I was something precious and breakable and his.
Professional boundaries. Starting now.
I've prepared a detailed agenda for today's budget meeting. Color-coded spreadsheets. Projected revenue streams. A comprehensive analysis of quarterly expenditures that should take at least two hours to present.
Numbers are safe. Numbers are controllable. Numbers don't make me forget my own name.
The conference room fills gradually. Janet from Accounting. Steve from Sales, who still looks vaguely traumatized and flinches whenever anyone mentions sandwiches. Chad strutting in like he owns the place, his cologne announcing his arrival thirty seconds before he does.
Then Thraka.
He's wearing the same ill-fitting suit from yesterday, the one that strains across his shoulders and stops two inches above his wrists. His hair is slightly less wild, like he attempted to comb it and gave up halfway through.
He catches my eye across the room and winks.
I immediately look down at my spreadsheet, heat flooding my cheeks. Professional boundaries. Professional boundaries. Professional?—
"Morning, Orla." His voice rumbles across the table as he takes the seat directly across from me. Of course he does. "You look very... buttoned up today."
Janet snickers. I pretend to be fascinated by cell D7 of my expense report.
"Shall we begin?" I clear my throat, channeling every ounce of corporate authority I possess. "First item on the agenda is the Q3 marketing budget allocation?—"
"Boring," Thraka announces, his voice cutting through my carefully rehearsed opening like an axe through parchment.
The room goes utterly, completely silent. Janet's pen stops mid-scribble. Steve freezes halfway through opening his laptop. Even Chad stops adjusting his unnecessarily expensive tie.
My jaw tightens. My fingers grip the edge of my presentation remote with enough force that I'm mildly concerned about the structural integrity of the plastic casing.
"Excuse me?" I ask, each syllable precisely enunciated, my tone sharp enough to cut through reinforced steel.
"Boring." He leans back in his chair, which creaks ominously under his weight. "All numbers. No passion. No glory."
"This is a budget meeting, not a battle."
"Every meeting is a battle, Little Manager. You're just fighting with different weapons."
Chad laughs, sharp and mocking. "The orc's got a point. Your presentations could cure insomnia, Peace."
