Chapter 3: Late Nights, Hidden Glances
The office was quiet—or at least as quiet as a building buzzing with the city below could be. The hum of fluorescent lights and the faint whir of the HVAC system filled the room as Emerson Lane stared at the spreadsheet on his laptop. He'd been working for nearly three hours straight, but Lafayette's earlier instructions still echoed in his mind: Precision matters.
A soft knock at the glass door pulled him from his concentration. He looked up to see Lafayette leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face.
"You're still here," Em said, trying to mask surprise with a professional tone.
"I like to see how people work under pressure," Lafayette replied, stepping inside. His presence was like gravity, pulling Em's focus toward him. "It tells me more than a résumé ever could."
Em swallowed. "I—I just wanted to make sure the reports were perfect."
Lafayette's eyes softened for the briefest moment, just enough to make Em's chest tighten. "Good. Ambition is important… but don't forget to breathe."
Their eyes met, lingering longer than appropriate, and Em felt a flicker of something hot and unfamiliar. A flutter of nerves, a jolt in his stomach. It wasn't just respect he felt anymore—it was curiosity, fascination… and something else. Something electric.
As the evening stretched on, Lafayette remained nearby, occasionally offering suggestions or corrections, his voice low and smooth. Em noticed details he hadn't before—the subtle flex of Lafayette's hands as he leaned on the desk, the faint scent of his cologne that lingered like a whisper, the way he watched Em with an intensity that was both unnerving and thrilling.
At one point, Lafayette reached over to point at a figure on the spreadsheet. Their hands brushed, deliberately or not, and Em's breath hitched. "Careful," Lafayette murmured, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Don't want any mistakes."
"I'm fine," Em said, trying to steady himself, but his voice betrayed him. He was not fine. Not even close.
The night wore on, and the office emptied. Phones were shut off, emails answered, and the city outside darkened into a mosaic of lights. Yet Lafayette remained, watching, guiding, sometimes just standing close enough that Em could feel the warmth radiating off him.
"I usually don't stay this late," Lafayette said casually, leaning against the desk. "But something tells me you don't mind."
Em's heart skipped. "I—uh… I like finishing the work properly." He tried to keep his tone neutral, but the heat in his cheeks betrayed him.
Lafayette smirked. "Good. Discipline matters… though sometimes, I wonder if people can handle the temptation of staying too close."
Em blinked, unsure whether Lafayette was speaking about work or something else entirely. His stomach twisted with a mix of anticipation and fear. The air between them seemed charged, every glance, every brush of skin electric.
A silence stretched between them, one neither rushed to fill. It was a different kind of intimacy, subtle and dangerous. Em realized he was aware of every detail—the way Lafayette's tie fell just so, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint tremor in his voice when he was focused. He wanted… he wasn't even sure what he wanted.
Finally, Lafayette straightened, a faint smirk curling his lips. "I'll leave you to finish," he said, though the casual tone did nothing to mask the intensity of the gaze he left lingering. "Don't keep me waiting too long tomorrow."
Em nodded mutely, his mind spinning. After Lafayette left, he sank back in his chair, heart racing, and ran his hands through his hair. Every nerve in his body seemed alive, buzzing with a tension he couldn't shake.
He was already thinking about tomorrow. Already wondering how close he could stand to Lafayette without burning himself. Already imagining moments that would be inappropriate if they happened, but irresistible all the same.
That night, when Em finally closed his laptop and left the office, the city lights blurred into streaks as he walked to the subway. His thoughts refused to settle. Lafayette's smirk, his voice, the accidental touches—every detail replayed, a loop of temptation he couldn't escape.
And somewhere, buried under nerves and excitement, Em admitted the truth to himself: he was hooked.
Not just by the job. Not just by the intrigue. But by the man himself.
The temp who had stumbled onto the 23rd floor thought he was prepared for anything. He was not. Not even close.