Chapter Six – The Game Without Blinds
I knew what he wanted.
Julian Archer wasn't just power and polish — he was a man with edges, the kind who carried tension in his jaw, the kind who wanted to be obeyed but secretly craved resistance. He didn't want a yes-woman. He wanted someone who could be soft enough to ease his fire, but bold enough to throw sparks at it too.
And I'd studied him long enough to know exactly how to play that balance.
So, I did.
That morning, when I leaned down to hand him a file, I let my shoulder brush his arm, close enough that the scent of my perfume lingered between us. I spoke in a low tone, just above a whisper, though the room was quiet enough for others to catch the way his eyes flickered down at me.
"Thought you'd want this right away," I said.
His lips parted, and he pressed them together quickly, jaw tight.
When I walked away, I caught it — the faintest lip lick, so subtle nobody else would notice. But I did. Oh, I did.
Elaine nearly broke her neck trying to beat me to his office later. She grabbed a stack of reports I'd prepared, hurrying toward his door in her little kitten heels. Halfway there, one heel caught in the carpet and she stumbled forward, sending the papers flying like oversized confetti.
I stopped in my tracks, arms crossed, watching her scramble.
"You good, Elaine?" I asked sweetly.
Her cheeks flushed bright pink. "I—I just thought Mr. Archer needed these immediately."
I stepped around her, plucking the top file off the mess. "I'll make sure he actually gets them."
The look on her face was priceless — like she'd swallowed a lemon whole.
When I entered Julian's office, I caught the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. He smoothed it away instantly, but I saw it.
Elaine wasn't even competition. She was slapstick comedy in kitten heels.
By mid-afternoon, the office buzz was thick enough to taste. Eyes followed me, whispers trailed me, and I could practically hear the rumor mill churning. But it wasn't until I stepped out of the copy room that the real storm hit.
Margaret stood there, arms folded, eyes sharp as daggers. And she wasn't alone. Behind her loomed three other women from the senior admin pool — all with the same tight mouths, pursed lips, and judgmental stares.
"Well, well," Margaret sneered. "If it isn't little Miss Homewrecker herself."
Her posse nodded, one muttering, "Shameless." Another hissed, "Inappropriate for a workplace."
I smiled, slow and dangerous, refusing to flinch. "Ladies. To what do I owe this… warm reception?"
Margaret stepped forward, voice rising. "You parade around here with your skirts too tight, your blouses unbuttoned, and your perfume choking the hallways, thinking you can seduce your way into something that doesn't belong to you. You're a disgrace."
Her posse murmured their agreement like a bitter choir.
"Some of us worked decades for this company, and now we have to watch it turn into a soap opera."
"It's pathetic."
"You think being a homewrecker makes you powerful?"
I tilted my head, letting their words wash over me without a single crack in my smile. "Sounds like jealousy, Margaret. Must be exhausting, being bitter full-time."
Gasps echoed down the hallway. Margaret's face went red, fury sparking.
Before she could spit another insult, a voice cut through the tension.
"Jealousy?" Tasha's tone was sharp enough to slice glass. She appeared at my side, cool and unbothered, arms crossed. "That's right! These women are just mad because Amira walks in here and turns heads they couldn't turn on their best day."
The older women gasped again. One sputtered, "Excuse me?"
Tasha smirked. "You heard me. Y'all want to clutch your pearls and talk about homewreckers, but nobody was worried about your marriages when you were sneaking off to happy hours with half the finance department back in the day. Don't act brand-new."
Laughter rippled from nearby desks. People were watching now, openly enjoying the show.
Margaret's mouth opened and closed like she'd forgotten how words worked.
I stepped in closer, my smile sweet but cutting. "Funny thing about people who scream the loudest about propriety. They're usually the ones hiding the dirtiest secrets."
The hallway erupted with oohs. The posse behind Margaret shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting away.
Margaret's voice shook with rage. "You're inappropriate. You're a disgrace to this office."
"And yet," I said softly, leaning in just enough for her to feel the sting, "everyone's talking about me. Not you."
The laughter came louder this time, unabashed. Margaret's posse shrank back, their power dissolving in the face of the spectacle.
Tasha laid a hand on my shoulder, grinning. "C'mon, Amira. Let's not waste our time. Some people don't deserve the spotlight."
I let out a soft laugh, pivoting on my heel, leaving Margaret and her bitter chorus behind as whispers and laughter followed us.
Back at my desk, I felt eyes still on me, but they weren't filled with disdain anymore. They were filled with awe, curiosity, and even a flicker of admiration.
I glanced up — and froze.
Julian was standing at his office doorway, arms crossed, his gaze locked on me.
He hadn't stepped in to stop the fight. He hadn't said a word. He'd just watched.
Our eyes met, and a slow shiver ran down my spine. Because in that unreadable stare, I saw it — the recognition. He knew I'd mastered the role he craved.
Soft but strong. Confident yet yielding. Dominant enough to press his buttons.
I smiled at him, subtle but deliberate.
And for the first time, I saw it: the faintest, smallest curve at the corner of his lips.
Julian's gaze never wavered.
Even as the office chatter returned to a low buzz after Margaret's bitter posse retreated, I could feel his eyes pinned to me. He hadn't said a word during that entire public clash, but when he finally moved, it was with deliberate precision. He pushed off his doorway, gave a slight tilt of his head, and disappeared back into his office.
A summons.
I smoothed my skirt, smirked at Tasha, and followed.
The door shut behind me with a heavy click.
"You're reckless." His voice was low, restrained, and sharp. He didn't look up from the papers on his desk. "Do you even realize what you're stirring up out there?"
I crossed the room slowly, each step measured. "Oh, I realize."
His eyes snapped to mine then, blazing. "This isn't a game, Amira. You think the gossip, the spectacle, it doesn't matter? It does. It matters for me. For this company."
I leaned against his desk, close enough to touch, tilting my head so my hair spilled forward just slightly. "And yet," I whispered, "you can't stop watching me. You like me this way. Don't lie to me, Julian."
His jaw flexed, that tell-tale tic I'd learned to read like scripture. "You're out of line."
I smiled, soft and devastating. "So punish me."
The silence between us grew thick. I could hear the faint hum of the AC, the muffled shuffle of voices outside, but in here it was just his breathing — sharp, uneven — and mine, steady and deliberate.
I slid closer, perched on the edge of his desk, and let my fingers brush his tie. "You don't want meek. You don't want boring. You want strong, confident… but someone who knows when to yield. Someone who can push you, then soften right when you need it."
His eyes darkened, his lips parting slightly.
"I've studied you," I whispered, threading my fingers through the silk of his tie. "I know exactly what you want. And you know what? I like it. I like taking control… and then letting you take it back."
He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. "Amira—"
But I pressed a finger lightly to his lips. "Shh. Just admit it."
He didn't admit it with words. He admitted it with a kiss — slow at first, testing, then deeper, harder. His hand slid to the small of my back, pulling me closer as I curled into him, tender but demanding, letting him feel the exact push-pull I knew he craved.
When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, his breathing ragged.
"You're dangerous," he murmured.
"Only to the parts of you that want to stay asleep," I replied softly. "And you're tired of sleeping, Julian."
By the time I left his office, the whispers had doubled. Eyes followed me like I carried dynamite in my purse. Maybe I did.
I thrived on it.
But the day wasn't done. Not even close.
Cassandra arrived just before three o'clock.
I heard her heels first — that confident, clipped rhythm echoing down the hall. Heads lifted, voices hushed, and there she was: polished perfection in a cream blazer, hair glossed, lips a precise shade of red. She carried a sleek bouquet of lilies and a small silver frame.
Territory markers.
I didn't move. I leaned casually against my desk as she glided right past me into Julian's office, placing the frame squarely on his desk — a wedding photo, by the glint of it. She set the flowers down like she was christening sacred ground.
"Darling," she said, loud enough for half the floor to hear, "I thought your office could use a touch of home."
My lips curved. Oh, this was rich.
From my angle, I caught Julian's face — composed, polite, but tense. He murmured something, too low for the rest of us to catch. Cassandra laughed lightly, her manicured hand brushing his arm.
The room buzzed. Gossip roared in whispers.
I stood, smooth as silk, and walked toward the open office door. "Beautiful lilies," I said brightly, pausing just inside the doorway. "But you'll want to keep them watered. They wilt so fast if you don't tend to them."
Cassandra's smile faltered. Just slightly.
"And frames," I continued, tilting my head at the picture. "Funny thing about those — sometimes they trap a moment that doesn't really exist anymore. Just… a picture, not reality."
Gasps fluttered through the hall. Cassandra's eyes went icy.
Julian straightened, his voice a warning growl. "Amira—"
But I didn't wait. I smiled sweetly, turned on my heel, and walked away, my heels clicking a confident rhythm.
The whispers behind me were immediate. Some horrified. Some thrilled. All feeding the storm.
Later, in the break room, Tasha nearly dropped her coffee when I told her.
"You really said that? To his wife? In front of everyone?" Her laughter was so loud it drew stares.
"She started it," I said innocently, stirring sugar into my tea. "I just… added a little spice."
Tasha snorted. "A little spice? Girl, you threw the whole damn pantry at her."
I grinned, sipping my tea. "Good. Let her know. She wants to mark her territory? I'll burn it down."
Tasha shook her head, chuckling, but her eyes glimmered with both admiration and caution. "You're wild, Amira. But I'll say this — you've got the whole place hooked. They can't stop watching you. Not him. Not her. Not even Elaine, who's probably writing a tragic diary about it as we speak."
I laughed, picturing Elaine sobbing over spilled ink. "Let her. The story only ends one way."
When I passed Julian's office again, Cassandra was gone. The flowers remained, the frame gleamed under the afternoon light — but his eyes weren't on either. They were on me.
And in that moment, I knew: this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Because the war had shifted, and I wasn't just playing anymore.
I was winning.
I woke up that morning with a mission.
Not just to walk into the office. Not just to exist in Julian Archer's orbit. No — today, I wanted to shake him. To push him so far off balance that even he, the man who lived in control, couldn't pretend anymore.
So I chose my skirt carefully. Shorter, sharper, daring. My blouse fit just right, the fabric soft against my skin. I left the house knowing every step I took would be a statement.
By the time I walked into the building, I already felt eyes following me. But it wasn't for them. It was for him.
Julian was in his office, standing by the window with his jacket off, sleeves rolled, tie loosened just enough to make him look human instead of untouchable. He didn't hear me right away — or maybe he did and just pretended not to. Either way, I let the silence stretch as I stepped in with a folder in hand.
"Morning," I said lightly, my tone dipped in honey.
He turned, and for a flicker of a second, I saw it — the surprise, the shift in his eyes as they traveled down. He caught himself fast, but not fast enough.
I set the folder on his desk and leaned forward, close enough that my perfume lingered between us. "You know," I said softly, my voice meant only for him, "you really should think about putting blinds on these windows."
His brow furrowed, but I didn't stop. I shifted, guiding his hand as I placed the papers down. My move was deliberate, slow enough for him to feel how bold I was being.
His palm landed against my lower lips and his hand stilled instantly, his entire body tense.
"Amira." His voice cracked low, sharp, but I could hear the fracture in it. He wasn't prepared for this.
I tilted my head, my lips curving. "Feel that?" I whispered, already wet against him.
He gulped.
For the first time since I'd known him, Julian Archer looked stunned. His eyes darkened, his breath hitched, and his jaw clenched as though he didn't trust himself to speak.
The silence was thick, electric, his restraint snapping at the edges. His fingers flexed slightly, instinct betraying him before he caught it.
I smirked. "Blinds would help," I murmured, my voice dipped with a tease and a soft moan, like I was feeding him the though he tried so hard to resist.
His lips parted, his control teetering. I saw the exact moment he almost gave in — his fingers starting to move into me — when—
Bang.
Elaine slammed the door open against the wall, her arms full of paperwork and her balance nowhere to be found.
"Mr. Archer! I—oh!" Papers slipped, scattering across the floor like white flags in a storm. She dropped to her knees with a squeak, fumbling and muttering under her breath.
Julian jerked his hand back, straightening so quickly you'd think nothing had happened. "Elaine," he barked, sharper than usual. "Put in an order for blinds. Immediately."
Elaine blinked up at him, wide-eyed and confused. "Blinds, sir?"
"Yes. Today." His tone left no room for questions. "And knock next time!" he snapped.
She scrambled to her feet, papers half-gathered, cheeks flushed scarlet. "Y-yes, sir. Right away, sir."
I stepped aside gracefully, smoothing my skirt. As I passed Elaine in the doorway, I leaned down just enough to catch her eye.
"You heard him," I said with a wink, my smile wicked. "Chop chop. Can't have him so distracted now, can we?"
Her mouth dropped open. I patted her shoulder sweetly, then glided away, leaving her frozen in the doorway.
Back at my desk, I could still feel Julian's eyes through the glass. His silhouette moved, pacing once, twice, before stopping. He didn't come out. He didn't call me back in.
But I knew.
I'd rattled him.
The whispers in the office grew louder — people pretending to work while stealing glances, pretending not to notice the tension that thickened every time I walked past his door.
I thrived in it. This was my battlefield, and every step was a victory.
When Elaine finally bustled past with a notepad, muttering about blind vendors and installation times, I couldn't help myself.
"Make sure they're thick enough," I called after her sweetly. "Wouldn't want anyone distracted by things they shouldn't see."
Laughter rippled nearby. Elaine's shoulders stiffened, her pace quickening.
By the end of the day, the air was still buzzing. Julian hadn't said another word, but he didn't have to. Every stolen glance, every tightened jaw, every shift in his breathing when I leaned a little too close told me exactly what I needed to know.
I had him.
And tomorrow, I'd push further.
Because this wasn't about games anymore. This was about winning.