Work Woes

Memories of the night before keep intruding when I'm supposed to be portraying myself as cold, distant, and unaffected.

Like now, when Scott's leading a team meeting and singling me out with snotty little comments, as if my work is what's bringing the department down.

As he drones on about how unprofessional our reports are, my mind drifts back to my steamy encounter with the stranger. My biggest regret? Not taking him up on that hotel offer.

Or giving him my phone number.

No, stupid me was all, I don't give my number to strangers.

What am I, a child?

Then again, he could be a serial killer. So there's that.

Mind-blowing sex doesn't mean someone's an amazing person. Though, mediocre sex also doesn't guarantee results, apparently.

"…Ms. d'Armand, is this too boring for you?" Scott's voice cuts through more fun thoughts, and I blink in his direction.

"Too boring? Not at all. I was just contemplating the intricacies of our latest anti-magic protocols. Fascinating stuff." As much as I'd love to stuff my words full of the sarcasm I feel, I manage to keep my tone bland and boring.

Professional.

It's a workplace, after all. I'm the dumbass who dated my boss.

Maybe I should get a new job.

Scott's scowl deepens, etching lines across his forehead. The room falls silent, save for a few hushed whispers. The rumors have already flown; everyone saw us arrive separately this morning.

They've been gossiping all morning, that tiny little clue developing into a raging bonfire of half-truths and speculation.

"Well, since you find it so captivating, perhaps you'd like to share your progress on the Fernsby case?"

Ah, yes. The Fernsby case. A high-profile client with more money than sense and a paranoia streak a mile wide.

Exactly the kind of consumer I love.

They want to know everything, and they always want the best of the best.

"Certainly." I stand, smoothing my skirt and ignoring the prickling sensation of eyes on me. "As you're all aware, Mr. Fernsby requested a complete overhaul of his estate's security system. We've completed the initial assessment and identified several weak points in the current setup."

I tap my tablet, bringing up a holographic display of the Fernsby mansion. Red markers highlight vulnerable areas.

"The main issue lies in the outdated ward stones. They're still using first-generation repulsion spells, which any halfway decent warlock could crack in their sleep, not to mention vampires. They could sneeze those spells apart."

A snicker ripples through the room. Even Scott's lips twitch, though he quickly schools his expression back to stern disapproval.

"We've proposed replacing them with our latest Aegis-class ward stones. They're equipped with adaptive shielding that learns and evolves to counter new magical threats."

I zoom in on the perimeter, showcasing the proposed upgrades.

"Additionally, we're recommending the installation of our new Specter-series surveillance orbs. They can detect even the faintest traces of magical residue, making them perfect for catching any would-be intruders trying to mask their presence."

Scott nods, his earlier irritation seemingly forgotten. "And the timeline for implementation?"

"Barring any unforeseen complications, we should have everything up and running within three weeks. I've already drafted a proposal for Mr. Fernsby's approval, including a detailed breakdown of costs and benefits."

"Good." Scott's gaze lingers on me a moment too long. "I trust you'll keep me updated on any developments."

"Of course." I take my seat, pointedly avoiding eye contact with my coworkers.

The meeting drones on, but my mind wanders again. This time, it's not to steamy bathroom encounters, but to the mess that is my personal life. How did I end up here? Engaged to my boss, now ex-fiancé, trying to maintain a professional facade while the entire office speculates about our relationship status.

It's exhausting, and it hasn't even been 24 hours.

When Scott finally wraps up the meeting, I'm the first one out the door. I need air, space, anything to escape the suffocating atmosphere of whispers and sidelong glances.

I make it halfway down the hall before a hand catches my elbow. I don't need to turn to know who it is.

"Nicole, wait."

I spin to face Scott, plastering on my best 'I'm a consummate professional' smile. "Yes? Did you need something else for the Fernsby case?"

His eyes dart around the hallway, checking for eavesdroppers. "Can we talk? Privately?"

Every fiber of my being screams 'no,' but I hear myself say, "Fine. Your office or mine?"

"Mine." Of course. Can't risk anyone overhearing in my lowly cubicle.

I follow him into his office, the door clicking shut behind us with a finality that sets my teeth on edge. Scott leans against his desk, arms crossed, looking every bit the picture of contrition.

"Look, about yesterday—"

I hold up a hand. "Save it. I'm not interested in your excuses. All I want to know is when you're coming to get your shit."

"It wasn't what it looked like, I swear."

A humorless laugh escapes me. "Really? Because it looked an awful lot like you in bed with another woman. Please, enlighten me on how I misinterpreted that situation."

Scott runs a hand through his hair, mussing it in that way that used to make my heart skip. Now it just makes me want to muss it further. With my fist.

"She's a consultant. For a special project. We just met last week."

"Oh? And does this 'special project' require you to be naked?"

He winces. "It's complicated. There are things I can't explain, not without compromising—"

"Your integrity? Too late for that." I cross my arms, mirroring his stance. "Look, I don't care about your excuses or your 'special projects.' What I care about is maintaining a professional working relationship. Can you do that?"

Scott's shoulders slump. "Nicole, I swear. If you would just let me explain. Yes, it was a lapse of judgment."

"I'd say being dick-deep is more than a lapse of judgment, Scott. Is that all you wanted to say?" I ask, already reaching for the door handle.

"Nicole, I—" He stops, seeming to think better of whatever he was about to say. Running his hands through his hair, he blows out a frustrated breath.

"Look. Everything's new, and we have a lot to work through. I said a few terrible things. I made a mistake. But Nicole, our relationship is solid. I don't want to lose you. I'll do anything to prove that to you."

My lip curls in disdain. I thought I loved him, thought our future together was rock-solid. Maybe not full of passion, but I liked that. I wanted a simple life, and a simple love.

But all those warm feelings I felt toward him are gone now. Disappeared in a single moment.

All I can see is his ass pumping. All I can hear are his moans. Things I never should hear when I open the door to my home.

To my sanctuary.

I've never even had a roommate. Scott was allowed into my sacred peace, and he shattered it. Destroyed our relationship, all to get his dick wet.

Is it my fault? We had sex once a week, usually on Saturdays, to end a stressful week of work.

Was that not enough?

No. That's stupid. The real problem is that we never should have been together.

His pheromones never affected me. He's never once put me at a fever-pitch of desire.

A single stranger did in about two seconds, and he never managed it once in two years.

Scott and I are incompatible.

"Just let me know when you're coming by for your shit. I already brought you a bag of clothes to last you the week."