Tangled Temptataion: A one night stand with my boss

Ava Monroe adjusted the lapel of her blazer for the fifth time, her nerves a symphony beneath her skin, and the glass-walled conference room on the forty-third floor of Blackwood Enterprises gleamed like a pressure cooker...sleek, polished, and ready to explode. Her thumb grazed the flash drive in her pocket, the one that held three sleepless months of strategy, branding, and hope. This is it.

The Paris campaign wasn't just another account. It was her idea: her pitch and her shot at the senior executive seat.

The conference room buzzed with chatter, tension thick in the air as department heads took their seats around the mahogany table. And her manager, Burke, threw her a tight nod from across the room but offered no smile or encouragement.

With that, Ava took her seat as her spine straightened, with her breathing controlled. She glanced at the massive digital screen across the room, which was blank but would display her work and vision soon.

Then the door opened and the buzz died instantly as Monica Blackwood stepped in elegantly in a gray silk pantsuit, her signature pearl earrings gleaming like miniature shields. The matriarch of the Blackwood dynasty didn't waste time with pleasantries.

"Let's begin." She said as the projector blinked to life, but instead of Ava's intro slide, another deck loaded, having a different font and a different title, which was not hers.

Ava blinked upon seeing this, then her name appeared on the screen... under someone else's. Presented by Simon Hartley.

Her heart stalled as she turned to Burke. "What is this?" she whispered, but Burke didn't meet her eyes.

Simon, three years her junior and mostly known for reheating other people's work, launched into the presentation like he was born to lead it.

Ava's hands clenched into fists in her lap as the layout was hers as much as the messaging, even the emotional hook-"Reawakening Parisian Beauty"-was hers. But Simon was pitching it as if it had come from his own damn soul.

By the time he clicked through the final slide, Ava felt like she'd been stripped bare in front of the room. Meanwhile, Monica offered a small clap, and others followed out of reflex, but Ava didn't move.

When the room cleared twenty minutes later, she was still sitting there, and Burke lingered near the door. "It's politics, Ava," he muttered. "Simon's better connected. Don't make a scene."

"Better connected?" she hissed, her voice low and sharp. "He didn't even understand the third-quarter projections last week. He asked me to explain them."

Burke's eyes darted away again. "This decision came from higher up. You're a valued team member. Let's keep the momentum going."

Ava stood, calm on the outside, a bonfire on the inside. "Don't worry, Burke. I'm full of momentum."

She walked out of the room with her head held high and rage burning like acid in her throat.

****

"You're lucky I didn't drive to that boardroom and key someone's car," Lila said as she slammed down a martini at the corner table of Valen, one of Midtown Manhattan's most exclusive lounges. "Honestly, you should sue."

Ava smirked into her glass of bourbon. "For what? Theft of intellectual property and dignity?"

"Yes," Lila said without missing a beat. "And for making you sit through Simon's nasal voice for twenty minutes."

Ava leaned back, loosening the top button of her blouse, her body still tight with frustration. The soft jazz playing through the speakers did little to settle her mood, but the bourbon was warm and clean as it slid down her throat.

"Cheers to failure," she said, raising her glass.

Lila clinked hers against it. "Screw them. You're better than that company."

But Ava wasn't sure. At least, not tonight. Her whole career had been built on late nights, relentless ambition, and outworking everyone around her. And now, someone with a legacy name and half her experience had just walked away with her campaign-and possibly her future.

"Maybe it's time to jump ship," Ava muttered, swirling the ice in her glass.

"Or push someone overboard first," Lila replied.

Ava laughed, the sound sharp and a little bitter. And soon, she glanced toward the bar, catching a glimpse of a man in a dark suit leaning against the counter. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and cut from the kind of stone sculptors in Florence dreamed about. His profile was chiseled-strong jaw, high cheekbones, and tousled hair like he'd just walked out of a storm, and this made it look good.

Slowly, he turned slightly, and their eyes met, causing a slow heat to unfurl in Ava's chest. But his stare didn't flinch or leer either. It was... curious and intent, like he was trying to place her in a memory that hadn't happened yet.

Lila followed her gaze. "No way. You're not allowed to have that much bad luck in one day and also score Mr. Midnight over there."

"I wasn't planning on-"

"He's walking over," Lila whispered.

With that, Ava straightened in her seat just as he approached. He didn't hesitate ot pause to assess. He just stopped right beside their table and had his eyes still locked on hers.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked.

Ava blinked. "It is," she said, glancing at Lila. "By my very protective best friend."

Lila stood. "And she's late for a facial," she said, grabbing her purse. "You two have fun."

Ava stared at her, betrayed and speechless, as Lila kissed her cheek and whispered, "Get yours, Monroe."

The man watched the exchange, a faint smile curving one side of his mouth.

She sighed. "Have a seat."

"Thanks," he said smoothly, sliding in across from her. "You looked like someone who deserved better bourbon."

"I looked like someone who got screwed."

"By the look on your face, recently and professionally," he replied, lifting his own glass to his lips.

Ava arched a brow. "And what makes you think you're qualified to analyze my night?"

He shrugged. "Lucky guess. Or maybe I'm just good at reading people."

"Or arrogant," she muttered.

"I'll take it," he said with a slight grin.

The tension between them was warm and charged, the kind that curled low in the stomach and warned of poor decisions with unforgettable consequences.

"So," she said, "do I at least get your name?"

He shook his head slowly. "Not tonight."

She laughed. "Mysterious but dangerous."

"Tempting," he said, his voice low.

Her breath caught.

Maybe it was the bourbon or the fact that everything she'd worked for had just shattered, and she didn't care anymore. Or maybe it was that his voice was the only thing tonight that didn't make her feel small.

"I'm not the kind of girl who makes bad decisions," she said.

"But you want to," he murmured.

Their eyes locked as the pause between them felt like gravity shifting.

Then, Ava leaned in. "Just for tonight."