Y/N told herself it was just work. The stolen glances, the way her breath hitched when Mr. Hayes stood too close—it was nothing.
He was her boss. Professional, distant, always careful not to cross the line. But some nights, when the office was empty and his gaze lingered too long, the air felt heavier.
“Late again,” he murmured one evening, watching her pack up.
“So are you,” she shot back.
A slow smirk. A step closer.
They weren’t breaking the rules. Not yet, atleast.
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