Emma didn’t speak right away.
Jamie was standing so close. Too close. His presence was overwhelming—scent, heat, tension. Her body remembered what it felt like to be wrapped in his arms, breath tangled, skin against skin. She hated how easily her walls started to crumble when he was near.
“You want to keep this a secret?” she asked, her voice tight.
Jamie nodded once. “It’s not ideal. But I’d rather have you in secret than not at all.”
“That’s not romantic. That’s selfish.”
He didn’t flinch. “I know.”
Emma looked away. Her heart was beating too fast, and her thoughts were a whirlwind of warnings and what-ifs.
“This will ruin us,” she said.
Jamie stepped closer until his fingers were brushing her waist. “No, it will save me.”
She closed her eyes. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why? Because they’re true?”
Emma opened her eyes, met his, and saw something raw there—desperation maybe, or obsession, or love twisted into something harder and darker.
“I’m not your savior, Jamie.”
“Then be my sin.”
She should have left.
She should have pushed him away, thrown the folder at him, and walked out of his condo for good.
But instead, her lips met his like a match striking dry wood.
They didn’t speak as they stumbled toward the living room. She unbuttoned his shirt with shaking hands. He pushed her blazer off her shoulders. Her hair fell free, and his mouth was on her neck, her collarbone, her chest.
It was fast. It was hungry.
They sank into the couch, limbs tangled, breaths broken. His fingers gripped her thighs like he was anchoring himself to reality. Her nails raked across his back, and he groaned her name like a curse.
Later, when the storm passed, they lay on the living room rug, her head on his chest.
His fingers traced slow patterns on her back.
“We shouldn’t do this again,” she whispered.
He kissed the top of her head. “We will.”
She didn’t respond.
Because she knew he was right.
---
By Monday morning, Emma had learned how to fake calm. She walked into the office with her chin high, her blouse buttoned to her throat, and her lips a neutral pink instead of red.
Jamie was already in his office. He didn’t look at her once.
And that was harder than the staring.
Because she wanted him to look. To acknowledge what they’d done again and again—on his couch, his counter, even against his hallway wall. But he didn’t.
Not once during the weekly executive meeting. Not during lunch when he walked past her desk without pausing.
It was like he’d flipped a switch.
And Emma, who’d once begged for space, now found herself suffocating in silence.
---
Lucas appeared around 3 PM.
“Hey,” he said, handing her a coffee from her favorite café—exact order, almond milk and light sugar. “You looked like you could use one.”
Emma blinked. “You remembered?”
He grinned. “You looked exhausted the first time we met. I figured caffeine was your life force.”
She laughed, and it felt good. Real.
Jamie glanced up from his office just then. Their eyes met briefly.
And Emma smiled at Lucas.
Let him see, she thought. Let him burn the way he makes me burn.
“You’re not just here to be charming, are you?” she teased.
“Guilty,” Lucas replied. “But also, I need your help with a few budget files. Got a minute?”
“Sure. Conference room?”
He nodded.
They walked down the hallway, and Emma didn’t have to look back to feel Jamie’s eyes tracking every step.
---
In the conference room, Lucas spread out the files. But before they started, he leaned against the table and studied her.
“You and Jamie,” he said.
Emma’s stomach clenched. “What about us?”
Lucas’s voice was soft. “You two have a history, don’t you?”
She hesitated. “A long time ago.”
Lucas smiled gently. “I see the way he looks at you.”
Emma didn’t answer.
Lucas leaned in slightly. “He’s not the only one who sees you, Emma.”
That made her breath hitch.
“I’m not trying to make anything messy,” he added. “But if he’s hurting you... I just want you to know you have other options.”
Emma looked at him, stunned.
No one had said anything like that to her in years. Not since Jamie.
“Thank you,” she said, voice quiet.
Lucas nodded. “Come on. Let’s bury ourselves in spreadsheets. That’s way sexier than office drama.”
She laughed, tension breaking just a little.
And in that moment, she wondered what her life would’ve looked like if she’d met Lucas first.
---
That night, Emma didn’t sleep.
She thought about Jamie.
And Lucas.
And herself, torn between desire and destruction.
At 1:03 AM, her phone buzzed.
Jamie: Are you with him?
Her heart stopped.
Then she typed back:
No. But maybe I should be.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Jamie: Don’t.
She stared at the screen, fingers hovering. Then she turned the phone face down.
Let him feel powerless for once.
---
The next morning, Jamie was already waiting at her desk when she arrived. His jaw was tight, his posture tense.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“I’m busy,” she replied, brushing past him.
He grabbed her wrist—not roughly, but firm enough to stop her.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Emma—”
“I told you this would get messy,” she said, loud enough for no one else to hear but quiet enough to be dangerous. “And now it is.”
His eyes searched hers. “What are you trying to prove?”
“I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m trying to survive you.”
He let her go slowly. “Meet me tonight.”
“I’m not your property.”
“No,” he said darkly. “But you’re not his, either.”
Emma said nothing.
Just walked to her desk with her head high, but her heart cracked wide open.
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