Chapter 8 7

Lucas

I woke up before the alarm, as usual. I guess too early, too aware, too restless. My mind immediately went to the day ahead, the office, the files, Lena, the memory of that night still lingering like smoke I couldn't shake. I swung my legs over the bed, my feet hitting the floor briskly, and moved to the bathroom and then after, the wardrobe.

Suits. There were so many suits and in different shades of black, gray, navy, charcoal. Each one was carefully hung, pressed, organized by tone and color. I pulled out a navy suit, held it up against my chest in the mirror. It fit perfectly. It had sharp lines and a narrow lapel with confidence stitched into every seam. But then I spotted the burgundy and I shook my hard. Today required focus, not experimentation.

White shirt or light blue? White always seemed safer, cleaner. I laid the navy suit on the bed, grabbed a crisp white shirt, and slipped into it. The cuffs clicked into place. My cufflinks? silver, clicked in next. Black leather shoes polished until they reflected light like mirrors. My hair was gelled just enough and I was almost ready to leave.

Almost. Almost meant my chest tightened at the thought of her. Lena. The memory of her. The way she moved and writhled beneath my dick. I shook my head, scolding myself. Fucking hell, she was married and I was still thinking about the one night stand I had with her.

How did I end up having a mind blowing sex with a married woman?

Breakfast was functional once I got downstairs, it was a sandwich, nothing worth savoring. My father appeared briefly in the doorway, eyes narrowing slightly. "Lucas," he said, like I owed him an explanation for existing.

I didn't even look at him. "The CEO is never late," I said, swallowing the last bite. He raised an eyebrow but left. I had bigger things to think about than him. It wasn't like we were so close, we drew further apart after the demise of my mother.

I drove fast and with the music loud. The bass vibrating in my chest, keeping me steady, focused. Thoughts drifted back to her. Lena.... it pressed against my mind in ways I didn't want.

I parked in the office garage, rode the elevator up. She was there when I got to my office, She wore a shirt with one button undone enough for me to see a little cleavage peaking. Heat radiating through me despite myself. I pressed a hand to my chest, willing myself to regain composure. I had to act normal, not horny like a rabid animal.

"Sir," she said, placing a stack of files on my desk.

I turned to my seat and sat down, shifting it closer to the desk.

I leaned back, studying her. "I need you to sort, catalog, and organize these files, every single one and cross referenced."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Sir... some of these go back twenty, thirty years. That's a bit much. I thought you needed these files to get-"

"Start with the oldest," I interrupted, my tone clipped. "Work forward. Use your judgment. But perfection is mandatory."

She let out a faint sigh, muttered something under her breath. I caught the smirk, barely visible. But I knew she was cursing me under her breath. I have reading files and journals since I was ten. I needed to know everything about the company, that is until Brandon took over the reins and then I took over.

Hours passed. Each time she submitted or popped into my office, I found something wrong, even if nothing was. "Dates off. Correct it." I watched her roll her eyes, a tiny exhale escaping her lips.

At one point, she held up a particularly thick stack. "Sir... some of these files. Organizing them this way is nearly impossible."

"Impossible?" I asked, eyebrow raised. "Nothing is impossible if handled correctly. Perfection is non-negotiable."

Her expression amused me. It was part exasperation, part professionalism. She flicked her hair back over her shoulder like she had no idea how distracting she looked. I wanted to reach out and straighten it for her, but that would have been ridiculous.

She sat down in my office and moved through the stacks like she had been born for this. One button of her blouse was undone, just enough to make my chest tighten. Every time she bent or reached for something, my hands itched to touch her. I reminded myself again that I was supposed to be a grown man.

The hours blurred into a series of corrections and resubmissions. Every time she came close to my desk, I found a reason to send her back. "No, sir. These dates are definitely wrong. Please check again," she said calmly. I wanted to snap at her, to tell her she was making it impossible to concentrate, but instead I just smirked inwardly. She had that effect on me.

Finally, the last batch landed on my desk. I studied her. face. She looked calm, composed, untouchable. She stepped back slightly, brushing her fingers along the edge of my desk, her hip close to mine. My chest tightened again. She was dangerous in ways she didn't even realize.

And then... coffee.

I hadn't noticed the cup wobble. She stepped forward, leaning to hand me a file. Hot liquid tipped over, spreading across my suit.

"Sir!" she exclaimed, lunging to help.

She slipped as she tried to reach for some wipes. My instincts took over and my hands flew on her back and arm, catching her. Her chest was pressed against mine, her hip pressed against mine. My heart was fucking racing.

"Careful, Miss Hart," I said. "Try not to fall into my office."

She froze. "I... I'm sorry, sir."

I finally peeled her off, deliberately slow. The warmth lingered longer than it should have, her hip brushing mine like she didn't realize or didn't care how close we'd been. My chest tightened. My pulse thumped in my ears. Professional boundaries screamed at me, but my restraint barely held.

She bent instinctively toward the coffee spill, her fingers hovering. "Sir, I-"

I cut her off sharply, my hand stopping her mid-motion. "Miss Hart. Step back. I am fully capable of removing coffee from my own suit, thank you very much." I let the words hang, mean, just enough to sting. "And if I were feeling petty, I could easily deduct it from your salary. Consider yourself fortunate my generosity is still intact today."

Her eyes widened. Shock, maybe indignationbut she straightened her back.

"Learn to be less clumsy," I added, my voice razor-sharp. "It will serve you well in life... and in the office. Mistakes like this are expensive." I let the words linger.

She flushed and left my office. I didn't care. I didn't look at her. I adjusted my cuffs, smoothed my tie, checked my watch.

She had been scolded, warned, and humiliated just enough to be memorable. Fuck, she was gonna hate me now.

I exhaled sharply. Maybe I shouldn't have been that mean. Maybe she didn't deserve that. Maybe... I was just a little too good at being a tyrant.

But at least the suit survived.