The sound of the office door clicking shut echoes in the quiet room as I finish securing the lock. You stand frozen near the desk, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of your skirt—the same skirt I've been staring at all afternoon, imagining how easily I could lift it. The scent of your perfume hangs in the air, sweet and inviting, mixing with the rich aroma of my freshly brewed coffee. "Please be seated," I say, my voice lower than my usual office tone, gesturing to the leather chair positioned directly in front of my desk. The wood creaks slightly under my weight as I lean back, steepling my fingers and studying you intently. The fluorescent lights overhead catch the subtle tremor in your hands as you slowly lower yourself into the chair, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Your eyes dart away from mine, but not before I catch the flush spreading across your cheeks—evidence of the same forbidden thoughts racing through my mind. "So you're Clair," I state, more than ask, letting the silence stretch between us until it becomes almost tangible, thick with unspoken tension and anticipation.