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Thanks for the brief chat this morning. A very stimulating conversation, and just like our recent lively discussion, you made some excellent points. Very excellent, invigorating points.

However, I’ve realised that I came away from it somewhat confused about a few things. I’d appreciate clarification on what, exactly, this morning’s conversation means for the planning of the event.

I’ll be in and out of my office all afternoon, so best you contact me on my personal number so I don’t miss your call. Eager to know where we both stand.

Look forward to hearing from you.

Nuni

I stared at the cell number written under his name. Well then. I had no excuse now. He’d inadvertently given me the means to apologise over a private channel, except what he wanted was for me to explain what the incident had actually… meant. Which was fair. A totally valid request.

The problem was, I had no idea. Why couldn’t I control myself around him? Was he really that attractive?

Okay, yes, he was. He was, as Hustin had so eloquently put it, a fucking smoke show. A successful, competitive gym rat with a six pack and a nice dick.

But also kind of funny. I mean, that email was a pretty amusing way of bringing up what had happened without outright saying that we’d masturbated in front of each other in a public sauna this morning, which was definitely a strange thing for two business associates to do.

And he’d been surprisingly kind that night in his office when I started panicking. And he had photos of his mum and family in there, which was… sweet. He was a great boss, according to Lipa, not an overly demanding, sexist pig. And I kind of admired how involved he was being in the planning for this event. Most big bosses didn’t give a shit about the details as long as they could take the credit on the night. He seemed like a genuinely hard worker. And he took care of himself, which was never a bad thing. Sure, he was a little over-the-top about it, but I still appreciated it. Admired it.

God, did I actually admire Nuni var Rorik, with his overinflated ego and arrogant, competitive attitude and two-thousand-dollar suits?

I didn’t care about money. I lived pretty modestly. I wasn’t interested in designer clothes or jewellery or luxury vacations, but I could recognise and appreciate the fact that he actually worked for his money. He wasn’t just a spoiled brat with a mummy and daddy footing the bill.

Oh god, I think I actually like him.

That complicated things. That complicated things a lot. It was one thing to want to have sex with him. That was something I could control. Any opportunities for us to actually do that would be few and far between, and I wasn’t an animal driven by my baser instincts.

Well, I’d thought that until this morning.

But actually liking him? Actually developing feelings for him? That was harder to control. Much, much harder. And that made me really nervous.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my phone and programmed his private number into my contacts. It felt like a really stupid idea, but I had to do it. I had to apologise for completely going back on my word just a few days after insisting nothing could ever happen between us again. I owed him an explanation, as utterly humiliating as it would be.

Yes, I’m very sorry for what happened. It was beyond inappropriate. I just can’t control myself around you. You make me too horny. You’re far too good-looking. I can’t stop thinking about how hard you made me come on your desk.

My mouth twitched as I stared down at his name in my phone. He’d probably love that.

Looking up, I glanced around the office. I couldn’t call him here, and I’d already taken my lunch break, so I had no reason to leave the office.

I opened up my notes app to draft a message. There was no way I was going to type it straight into a text to him—what if I accidentally hit send before I’d settled on what I was going to say?

Hi, it’s Anita. I got your email. Can I call you tonight?

I cringed and immediately deleted the last bit. It sounded too personal.

Hi, it’s Anita. I got your email. It’s probably best if I call to discuss it once I’ve left the office for the day.

That was fine. That was still safe. No mention of saunas or indecent exposure in a public place. Or the way he looked while he was having an orgasm. His O-face was unfairly attractive.

I copied and pasted it into a new message and sent it before I could spend all afternoon agonising over it. Then I sat there staring down at my phone, my pulse leaping when three dots appeared just ten seconds later.

Hey. I figured. I’ll be home at 7.30 after the gym. That okay?

Before I could reply, another text came through.

Oh and not to be a total dickweed who thinks he can tell you what to do but maybe make sure you drink enough water today seeing as yeah

Then another. I had a wicked headache when I left the gym. How was swimming by the way?