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Andrea
I didn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes I felt his mouth on mine and my body went warm and my stomach flipped and I had to open my eyes again because apparently my nervous system had not received the memo that I was furious.
My alarm went off at 5:30 and I dragged myself into the shower and stood under the water for too long, letting it burn the back of my neck while my brain ran circles. When I finally got out, I stood in front of my closet dripping onto the carpet and pulled out the charcoal blazer. The one I saved for client meetings and days when I needed to feel like I could survive a nuclear blast. I paired it with my sharpest heels, buttoned my blouse all the way to the collar, and then sat at my vanity and did my makeup like I was going to war. Full coverage because my eyes were puffy.Sharp liner that took three tries because my hands still wouldn’t cooperate. By the time I was done I looked put together and professional and absolutely nothing like a woman who’d been kissed senseless on her back porch by a wolf.
I got to the office before seven. His office was dark. I sat at my desk, opened my laptop, started working. Fingers sure on the keys, face neutral, heart trying to claw its way out of my ribcage, but that was between me and my cardiovascular system.
The coffee machine on the floor was broken again, which meant I had to go down to the fifth floor to get mine, which meant riding the elevator and standing in a breakroom and making small talk with people who didn’t know that my boss was a literal wolf and my world had caved in twelve hours ago. A woman from accounting asked if I was okay because apparently my resting face was alarming this morning. I told her I was fine. She didn’t look convinced.
Finneas arrived at 7:30. I heard the elevator, heard that heavy deliberate stride I could identify with my eyes closed. He stopped near my desk. I could feel him there, feel the air shift, feel the pull in my chest tighten like a fist, and I kept my eyes on my screen.
“Good morning, Andrea.”
“Good morning, Mr. Kingsley.”
Silence.
I didn’t look up but I felt it land. I’d called him Finneas since day one. He insisted on it, said the formal name made him feel like his father. I knew exactly what I was doing.
“Your 9 am is confirmed,” I said, eyes on my screen. “Quarterly data is on your desk. You’re out of the good coffee pods, replacements arrive at noon.”
He stood there another second. I could hear him breathing. Could feel him deciding whether to push. Then he walked into his office and closed the door. Quiet and controlled. Somehow worse than a slam.
The morning crawled. A contract came through that needed his signature, so I brought it in, set it on his desk, and left without making eye contact. He said my name as I was turning and I said “was there anything else?” in a voice so polite it could have come out of a customer service recording. He didn’t answer. I closed the door behind me.
Client calls came in and I transferred them with none of the usual commentary. No “he’s in a mood.” No “good luck.” Just the transfer and the click, and every time I hung up the phone the silence on our floor pressed back in.
At noon he came out and stopped at my desk. I could feel him standing there, feel his eyes on me, and I typed an email I’d already finished just to keep my hands busy.
“Andrea.”
“Yes, Mr. Kingsley?”
A beat. “Can we talk?”
“Your one o’clock is in forty-five minutes. I’d recommend eating before then.” I picked up my phone and dialed a number I didn’tneed to dial. He stood there for three more seconds, then went back to his office.
That prickling heat on the back of my neck was constant now. I understood it with painful clarity. I didn’t look back. Not once. Even when the pull in my chest got so tight I had to press my palm against my sternum under the desk.
Around two, I was at the printer near his door and the pull hit so hard I actually turned my head. Caught myself with my chin halfway to my shoulder, his office right there in my peripheral, and I snapped forward so fast my neck cracked. My face went hot. I grabbed the papers and walked back to my desk all while holding my breath. I sighed as soon as my butt hit the cushion.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. I could feel his attention sharpen through the glass, could practically hear him leaning forward. I typed an email to nobody about nothing and kept my eyes locked on the screen.
At three, his afternoon clients stopped by my desk on the way out. One complimented my efficiency. I smiled, thanked them, felt Finneas watching from his doorway. Didn’t turn around. My jaw ached from clenching it.
The last hour was the worst. Just me and him and the hum of the building, the floor emptied out, every sound he made traveling across the quiet. His chair creaking. Pages turning. A pen tapping on wood, then stopping. I could hear him existing and it was driving me insane.
By five I was done. Not from the work. From pretending my chest wasn’t aching, pretending I was fine, pretending I didn’t want to walk into his office and either scream at him or kiss him.I genuinely could not tell which one I wanted more, which pissed me off on a whole different level.
The building emptied. Our floor went quiet. I reached for my bag.
Didn’t pick it up.
I’d been sitting at this desk for ten hours with questions stacking up in my head, one after another after another, and ignoring them wasn’t making them go away. The professional distance wasn’t working, the armor wasn’t working. I was still thinking about him, still feeling the pull, still hearing his voice say he liked me so much it was ruining his life. Ten hours of ice queen bullshit and I was no closer to figuring out what the hell I wanted than I was at 5:30 this morning staring at my ceiling.
