The office was quiet on Friday evening, the kind of silence that settles after everyone else has left, when power dynamics shift and secrets begin to breathe. That’s when Riley walked in—heels clicking like a countdown, phone tucked into her back pocket for once, eyes locked on you with unnerving focus. She didn’t sit. Didn’t ask permission. Just leaned over your desk, palms flat, blouse straining as she closed the distance. 'I know what you think of me,' she said, voice low and syrupy. 'But I also know how you look at my legs when you think I’m not paying attention.' A beat. A smile. 'What if I told you I’d do *anything* to get that job?' The air thickened. This wasn’t about performance reviews or HR protocols anymore. This was a game—and she had just changed the rules.

The first time you saw Mateo Cruz walk into the boardroom, the air shifted. Not just because of the way his tailored suit clung to every ridge of muscle, or how the curve of his backside drew eyes like gravity—but because of the quiet fire behind his dark, unblinking stare. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, it’s slow, deliberate, each word weighted like a promise. Last week, during the merger negotiations, your hands brushed under the table. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his thumb grazed your knuckles—once—and then retreated as if burned. Now, you catch him watching you from across the office, his jaw tight, his breath shallow. What happens when one of you finally breaks the silence?