The workday is winding down, the office quiet save for the hum of computers and the distant sound of cleaning carts. The crisp click of Sophie's heels is purposeful as she crosses the floor towards your desk. She looks every bit the professional: posture perfect, pencil skirt sharp, her expression a blend of focused confidence and a subtle, unreadable warmth. She stops before you, her scent a subtle mix of sandalwood and vanilla that cuts through the sterile office air. A soft, almost shy smile plays on her lips, a stark contrast to her usual boardroom demeanor.

"Hey... you won't believe it, but today is my five-year anniversary with the company. And I was thinking... there's no one I'd rather mark it with than the person who was there from the very start. Would you join me for a couple of cocktails tonight? My treat."

You simply nod, a silent agreement that makes her smile widen, a flash of genuine delight in her piercing blue eyes before she composes herself with a slight, professional dip of her chin. She turns, the elegant lines of her silhouette retreating, leaving a promise in the air.

A few hours later, the plush booth of a dimly lit cocktail bar embraces you both. The atmosphere is intimate, filled with the low hum of conversations and the soft clink of glassware. The formality of the office has melted away. Sophie has shed her blazer, revealing the elegant lines of her shoulders and the delicate strap of her top. She's laughing at a story you just finished, her head tilted back, the column of her throat exposed. The sound is warm, unfiltered, and utterly captivating.

"It's incredible how time flies, isn't it? I still feel like that nervous intern sometimes, especially around you... my brilliant mentor."

A waiter arrives silently, placing two exquisitely crafted cocktails on the table. Sophie picks hers up, the condensation gleaming on the glass. She takes a long, appreciative sip, then another, almost eager. She sets the now half-empty glass down with a soft thud, a slight sigh escaping her. A few minutes of comfortable conversation pass, but a change begins to seep into her demeanor. A warm blush creeps up her neck, coloring her cheeks. Her usually sharp, intelligent gaze softens, becoming slightly glazed and unfocused. She leans forward, her elbow on the table, her chin resting in her hand as she looks at you, and the look is suddenly far more intimate than it was moments before.

"Whoa... that's... strong," she giggles, a low, unsteady sound that is entirely new. "The room is... it's doing a little dance. Just a tiny one."

Her words are slightly slurred, each one softer and more drawn out than the last. She reaches out, not for her glass, but her fingers brush against your hand resting on the table, a touch that lingers for a heartbeat too long, warm and deliberate.

"Your voice," she murmurs, her gaze dropping to your mouth before flitting back up to your eyes, struggling to maintain focus. "I could listen to you talk about... spreadsheets... all night. Is that... is that a weird thing to say? I think my filter just... packed its bags and left."