Chapter Eleven – Shutdown
By the next morning, the office was alive with whispers. They didn't say my name outright, but I could feel it in the way heads tilted, voices dipped, and eyes followed me as I walked.
So I gave them something to watch.
The heels, the sway, the fitted skirt with just enough slit to tease — my very own runway cutting straight through cubicles and copier machines. Every step was confidence. Every glance I ignored was fuel.
And then, like clockwork, there she was. Elaine.
Her eyes narrowed into slits as she spotted me, her body stiff like she'd rehearsed this moment in her mirror all night. She clutched a folder to her chest like a shield and stepped into my path, blocking me in the middle of the aisle.
"Well, well, well." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, trying hard to land blows. "Still smirking like the Cheshire cat, I see."
I tilted my head, lips curving slow. "Depends. You here to play Alice?"
Her nostrils flared. "Don't get too comfortable. Let's see if you're still smiling after my visit to the HR office." She jabbed a finger in the air for emphasis, as if that would make her threat carry weight.
I just blinked at her, slow, amused. "HR? That's cute."
Before she could snap back, another voice cut through the floor like thunder.
"ELAINE."
The single word froze her mid-breath. Heads shot up over cubicle walls. Keyboards stilled.
Julian's door stood half-open, and he was framed in it like a shadow, his eyes hard as glass, his jaw tight.
"MY OFFICE. NOW."
The command cracked across the air.
Elaine went pale, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
I widened my smirk, leaned close enough for only her to hear, and let the words drip slow and sweet: "Tell me how that trip to that office goes first."
I gestured toward Julian with a lazy flick of my hand.
The flush that rose in her cheeks was crimson, creeping all the way to her ears. She gulped, clutching the folder tighter, and shuffled toward him on stiff legs, every step sounding like defeat.
The silence in the office was deafening. Even the printers seemed to stop just to catch the show.
Julian stepped aside, letting her pass into his office. Then he shut the door with a slam that rattled the glass panels.
Whispers erupted instantly.
"Did you hear that?"
"She's dead."
"Oh my God, I thought he was going to—"
I didn't care what they said. I didn't care if they stared.
I just let the smile bloom across my face wider than ever.
Because for the first time, the battlefield wasn't just mine. Julian had drawn his line in the sand.
And Elaine had just crossed it.
Chapter Eleven – Part Two: The Apology
The text came not long after Elaine shuffled into Julian's office like a lamb to slaughter. Come in. That was all it said, but the weight of it made my pulse thrum.
I didn't hurry. I rose with slow, deliberate grace, feeling every pair of eyes track me as I crossed the floor. When I stepped inside, Julian was already behind his desk, steel-jawed, leaning back in his chair like a judge presiding. Elaine stood stiff in front of him, her face pale and blotchy.
Julian's voice was smooth but merciless. "Elaine has something she'd like to say to you."
I arched a brow, sliding into the chair opposite his desk like it was a throne. I crossed one leg over the other, chin tilted, the very picture of a princess awaiting tribute.
Elaine's lips trembled. "I… I apologize, Amira. For the… misunderstanding. And for suggesting I'd take something to HR. I was wrong."
Her eyes darted toward him like she was begging for escape.
Julian didn't grant it. His gaze stayed locked, cold and unblinking. "Wrong isn't enough."
Elaine swallowed hard. "It won't happen again."
Julian's voice cut like a blade. "It better not. You've embarrassed yourself. You've embarrassed me. And you've shown me you don't understand your place here. Consider this your final warning."
I let the silence stretch, then let out the smallest laugh — not cruel, but amused, like she really had been a child playing dress-up.
Julian's eyes flicked to me for half a beat. I saw the approval there.
"Get out," he told Elaine.
She scurried, cheeks burning, fumbling the door open before all but running out. The slam echoed like the punctuation of her defeat.
I rose, crossed the room, and shut the blinds tighter. Then I locked the door.
When I turned back, Julian was watching me — that look, that dangerous look I'd come to crave.
I sauntered toward him, hips swaying, heat curling low in my belly from the way he'd handled her. "Good job, Mister Archer…" I purred, sliding onto his lap without asking, my arms draping around his shoulders. "I think you've earned a reward."
His breath hitched, hands finding my waist, my thighs.
I didn't make him wait. My mouth found his, hot and unyielding, my body rolling against his until I felt him hard beneath me. His growl vibrated against my lips.
And then I moved… sliding my panties to the side before pulling his member out of his tailor-made pants and sat down on it, slow at first, teasing, savoring every inch of the tension he carried. His head fell back, his grip bruising, as I rode the wave of his control breaking.
"Amira—" It was a prayer and a curse, my name breaking in his mouth.
"Shh," I whispered, brushing my nose along his. "Let me."
I began to ride him like a stallion, rising and falling, feeling him spread me open—his jaw clenched and his eyes went wild.
We moved together the way storms move—inevitable, electric, building pressure until the air itself trembled. His hands slid over my back, my hips, memorizing. I rode him harder, chasing that edge with a greedy little gasp that made him mutter something filthy against my throat and thrust up to meet me.
"Look at me," I whispered. He did. And when our eyes locked, the heat spiked into something molten.
The chair creaked. The desk nudged the back of my calf. My hair stuck to my neck, and his tie wrapped around my fingers because I'd wound it there without thinking, a tether I could pull whenever I wanted more.
"Mine," I said, just to hear it between us.
"Yes," he answered, like a vow.
I changed the pace—faster now, breathier, the kind of reckless cadence that says now, now, now. He broke first, head tipping back, curse all gravel and praise, hands dragging me down as he came undone beneath me. The sound of it—raw, wrecked—tipped me over too, pleasure flooding my limbs until I collapsed against him, laughing breathlessly into his shoulder.
For a while, there was only the hush of our breathing and the slow drum of his heartbeat under my palm. I kissed the corner of his mouth; he caught my lower lip between his teeth in a lazy, grateful tug that made heat spark low in my belly again.
He smoothed a hand over my hair, the gesture so tender it almost hurt. "You shouldn't have had to deal with her."
"I didn't," I said, smiling against his skin. "You handled it. Exactly like I knew you would."
His eyes went sharp. "If she so much as looks at you sideways again—"
"She won't," I cut in, brushing my thumb along his jaw. "You made sure of that."
He kissed my wrist—once, twice—like sealing a promise there.
Outside the blinds, the city burned white and gold. Inside, we were a slower fire, spent and satisfied, the room still humming with what we'd done. I slid off his lap with a languid stretch, straightened my blouse, and smoothed his tie with a little tug that made his mouth curve.
"Back to work, Mister Archer," I teased.
He caught my wrist, pressed his lips to the inside where my pulse beat. "You are my work."
I laughed, low and pleased, and unlocked the door. The hallway on the other side was a sea of silence pretending not to have ears. I stepped through anyway, hips easy, smile unbothered.
Behind me, I heard his chair settle and a drawer slide shut. Order restored. On the surface.
But we both knew better.
The blinds stayed closed. The city kept shining. And I walked back to my desk feeling the echo of him everywhere—on my lips, in my bones, in the way the office seemed smaller than the heat we'd just unleashed.
War won. For today.
Tomorrow could bring whatever it wanted. I'd be ready.
Chapter Eleven – Part Three: Lunch Hour Fireworks
The scent of roasted garlic and butter clung to the air when I slid Julian's lunch onto his desk, the container still warm from my kitchen. He didn't even look up before pulling the fork to his mouth. I watched the way he savored, his eyes closing briefly, a low hum slipping out of him. That sound was enough to set my body buzzing.
Then, like clockwork, I heard the click of designer heels outside. Cassandra.
She breezed into the office with a glossy smile plastered on her face, carrying a pristine white bag from one of those overpriced bistros she loved to flaunt. The kind of place where the presentation mattered more than the food.
"Darling," she purred, holding up the bag like a prize. "I thought I'd surprise you with—"
Her voice cut off when she saw him chewing, eyes already half-lidded in satisfaction. The bag in her hand faltered. I caught the way her jaw twitched, just for a second.
"Oh," Julian said smoothly, swallowing. "Amira brought me something homemade."
The words landed like a bullet. Cassandra's painted smile cracked, just slightly.
I leaned in the doorway, slow and deliberate, giving her a look that said yes, you heard him right. Then, with the kind of strut that would make a runway jealous, I walked past them, hips swaying in perfect time.
At the last moment, I turned, met her eyes, and winked.
The air practically hissed. Cassandra's face twisted—rage under porcelain polish. She spun on her heel, her heels striking the tile like gunshots, storming out of the building.
And then, because the universe really has a sense of humor, she nearly collided with Elaine in the hallway.
From the corner of my eye, I caught them whispering, heads bent together like two conspirators plotting the fall of Rome. Cassandra's voice was low, venomous, while Elaine nodded eagerly like a lapdog finally finding a master.
I chuckled under my breath. "Two haters coping in each other's company," I murmured, just loud enough for Tasha to snort from her desk.
Cassandra's glare whipped back toward me once more, but I only shrugged, laughing softly as if the whole spectacle was beneath me. And it was.
Chapter Eleven – Part Four: Girls' Night
By the time the evening rolled around, I needed wine like air. Tasha had gathered the whole crew—Marisol, Kayla, and Janelle—into her apartment, the living room scattered with half-burned candles and bowls of chips no one touched.
"So//, spill," Marisol said, topping off her glass with a heavy hand. "You've been glowing since you walked in. Don't think we didn't notice."
I leaned back on the couch, stretching my legs, letting them wait. That anticipation was half the fun.
Finally, I smirked. "Cassandra brought Julian lunch today…. again"
The room went silent. Then Kayla snorted wine straight out of her nose.
"No, she didn't!" Janelle cackled. "Oh my God. What happened?"
"She walked in just as he was devouring my cooking, again!" I exclaimed, savoring the memory. "And let's just say… she didn't take it well."
Tasha slapped her thigh, hollering. "Please tell me you rubbed it in."
"I didn't have to," I replied. "But I did wink. Right before strutting off."
The room exploded. Laughter, groans, shouts of "you're insane!"—all of it pouring over me like champagne.
Marisol, wiping tears from her eyes, leaned forward. "Girl, I once messed with a married man. But let me tell you—he wasn't rich. He wasn't powerful. He barely had a working car. Definitely wasn't worth it."
"Then why bother?" Kayla teased.
Marisol shrugged, sheepish. "I was bored. And he had good arms."
I laughed so hard my sides hurt. "See? That's the difference. I get the perks. I get the power. I get the status. But I also…" My voice dipped, softer, truer. "I enjoy him as a person. He's the whole damn package."
There was a beat of silence before Janelle, always the practical one, cut in. "Don't forget his wife is part of that package, too."
The room hushed. All eyes swung back to me.
I swirled the wine in my glass, slow, deliberate, before lifting my eyes with a sly smirk. "For now."
Gasps and shrieks filled the air. Kayla nearly toppled her glass. Tasha grabbed my arm, shaking me.
"Amira! You're going to get us all struck by lightning!"
I only leaned back, letting the laughter wash over me. Deep down, I knew I'd just made a declaration. Not only to them—but to myself. Cassandra could scheme, Elaine could whisper, the whole damn office could talk.
But this was my game now. And I wasn't backing down.
Not now. Not ever.