The sun had no right to be this warm. Not after last night.
Sienna lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling of her tiny apartment as if the plaster might crumble and explain the mess of thoughts crowding her skull. Her comforter was pushed halfway down the bed, her tank top twisted, her heart refusing to beat in a calm, adult rhythm.
Julian had kissed her.
Or maybe she'd kissed him. Did it matter?
It wasn't a brush of lips. It wasn't curiosity.
It was a collision — fire, urgency, restraint slipping like silk off a shoulder. It was hands that had lingered too long, and a gaze that told a thousand truths neither of them had dared say out loud.
She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned softly, dragging her palms over her face.
She didn't do this. She didn't blur lines. She made to-do lists. She color-coded her calendar. She kept her heart out of things, especially at work, especially with men like Julian Blake.
Her phone buzzed again on the nightstand. For the third time this morning.
She didn't move.
Because she already knew who it was.
And once she read that message, she'd have to come back to reality — back to the boardrooms and clipped conversations and fake small talk — back to pretending her boss hadn't kissed her like a man starving for something he wasn't supposed to touch.
⸻
Scene 2: The Message — Trouble Spelled in Five Words
She finally reached for her phone.
Julian Blake
We need to talk. Office. Noon.
Her pulse fluttered. Her mouth went dry.
Five words. Five cool, calculated words that didn't match the man who'd looked at her like he wanted to undo every layer of her, every wall she'd built.
She stared at the screen, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, but she didn't type.
What would she say?
"About last night…"?
"Let's pretend it didn't happen"?
No. That wasn't honesty. That was fear.
And she didn't know if she wanted to be fearless or foolish.
⸻
Scene 3: The Office — Too Bright, Too Close
She walked into Blake & Co. like her heels were made of concrete.
Every floor tile echoed like a drumbeat of her mistake. Every glance from coworkers felt heavier than usual — like they knew. Like they could see it on her: the disheveled shame and secret thrill of last night.
She reached the top floor.
The glass doors were slightly ajar. His office was bathed in light — almost too much of it. Cold. Clear. Unforgiving.
Julian stood by the window, suit perfect, posture stiffer than usual. He didn't turn as she stepped in. Just clasped his hands behind his back and said, "Close the door."
She obeyed.
And then the silence wrapped around them.
"I shouldn't have kissed you," he said, finally turning to face her.
His voice was low. Controlled. Wrecked.
"And yet you did," she replied softly.
He moved to his desk, bracing his hands against it like it was the only thing grounding him. "It was… reckless. A lapse in judgment."
She flinched, even though she tried not to.
"A lapse," she repeated, her voice hollow. "Glad to know what it meant to you."
His head snapped up. "That's not what I meant."
"No? Because it sounds like you regret it."
Julian walked around the desk, closing the space between them with deliberate slowness.
"I don't regret it," he said. "But I do regret the timing. The setting. What it could cost both of us."
She swallowed, throat thick. "And what exactly is this, Julian?"
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But it's dangerous."
She looked up at him, arms crossed tightly. "So is pretending it didn't happen."
They stared at each other for a long moment — both waiting for the other to flinch.
He didn't.
Instead, he said, "We need boundaries."
And she nodded. "Fine. Boundaries."
But neither of them sounded convinced.
⸻
Scene 4: The Boardroom Ambush — Whispers Turn to Threats
Later that day, the meeting room was filled with suits and strategy, but all Sienna could feel was heat creeping up the back of her neck.
They weren't looking at her, but they were talking about her.
The board chairwoman's smile was thin. Too thin.
"We're hearing whispers," she said coolly, eyes on Julian. "About impropriety. Office gossip. Distraction."
Julian didn't flinch. "I keep my personal and professional life separate."
"With all due respect, Mr. Blake," said another board member, "it doesn't look that way."
The table shifted, silence falling sharp and uncomfortable.
Sienna kept her expression blank — the way she'd trained it. But her heart pounded. Not out of guilt. Out of frustration.
You don't know what this is. You think this is a weakness?
She felt Julian's eyes on her, but she didn't look.
There were too many eyes in the room already.
⸻
Scene 5: After Hours — Drawing a Line in Sand
That night, his office was quiet. Lights dimmed. City glowing in the windows like a distant galaxy.
Julian sat across from her on the leather sofa, tie loosened, jaw tight with conflict.
"Things are going to get worse," he said. "If we don't fix this."
"I don't want to be a liability," Sienna whispered.
"You're not."
"I don't want to be a secret either."
He turned to her then, eyes intense. "You're not a secret. You're the one thing I don't want to lie about."
She blinked fast.
"We draw the line here," he said, quieter now. "No touching at work. No late-night slips. We keep this professional. For now."
"And after 'now'?"
His voice was a low confession. "We'll burn that bridge when we get to it."
They sat in silence.
He didn't touch her.
She didn't lean in.
But both of them felt it — the pull. The want. The line they were pretending to respect while already standing with one foot over it.
⸻
Scene 6: Tiny Moments — A Thousand Cracks in the Wall
Despite the rules, temptation danced at every corner.
A glance held too long in a morning meeting.
A hand brushed accidentally in the elevator.
A flash of a smirk when she corrected his calendar — again.
In the breakroom, she reached above him to grab coffee filters, and he didn't step away. The space between them sizzled — tight and electric.
"Boundaries," he murmured, eyes trailing down to her lips.
"Right," she whispered. "Those."
Neither moved.
But everything inside them did.
⸻
Scene 7: Confession Hour — The Line Fades
On Friday night, after most of the building had emptied, Sienna stayed late to finish a campaign draft.
She didn't expect Julian to still be there.
He leaned in the doorway of her office, sleeves rolled, eyes darker than usual.
"You work too much," he said.
She arched a brow. "That's rich coming from you."
A beat.
He stepped inside. Closed the door.
"I told myself I could manage this," he said.
"This?"
"Wanting you."
Her breath caught.
"I thought I could separate it. Keep things tidy. But every time I see you—"
"Julian," she whispered, standing now, the desk between them suddenly not enough. "You can't say things like that."
"I have to. Because pretending isn't working anymore."
She didn't move.
And then he did — slowly, like she might vanish if he moved too fast.
When he reached her, he didn't kiss her.
He simply touched her cheek. Light. Reverent. Like she was something sacred.
And she leaned into it, her eyes fluttering closed.
They didn't cross the line that night.
But they stared at it. A long, aching look.
And neither of them turned away