Office

I’d been putting up with his looks in the office for months. The day I read his private messages, I made a decision his wife should never have provoked.

When she shouted my name in the parking lot so everyone could hear, I knew the whole week of office tension was about to explode.

When she dialed maintenance for the second time that night, she already knew it wasn’t to ask him to clean anything.

As soon as we left the parking lot she slid her hand inside her pants. I drove looking for the first dead-end road I could find.

I went up to the garage with the envelope in my backpack, dark glasses, and my skirt blowing in the wind. That morning, I didn’t know I’d leave as someone else.

When she arrived at the party in that dress, I knew something was going to happen. No one imagined we’d end up in her apartment, the four of us, teaching her everything.

When I went into the truck to check the pallets, he climbed in behind me. No one else was in the warehouse. And we both knew exactly what was about to happen.

The question I asked him on a Friday night in bed was only the beginning. The game had been running for weeks, and he had no idea.

When she dragged me to the bathroom with one hand in my sweater, we stopped being boss and employee. There was no turning back.

I’d spent weeks avoiding all of them. I wanted them worked up and waiting for that weekend. When I left the office on Friday, everything was already planned.

Four coworkers, a pool, an entire night. The best vacation send-off I could have imagined.

The night Camila said she’d never done any of that, we all smiled. A few hours later, she was the one asking for more.

I sat as far away from her as possible at that dinner. But I ended up with my hand on her waist and her hips pressed hard against mine.

We had spent two years sitting across from each other without knowing we were both keeping the same secret: a parallel life full of desires no one would have guessed.

Three office colleagues invited her to stay after ten. They didn’t know Camila had her own rules for nights like this.

I was warned she was bitter, that she hated men. What no one said is that behind that armor she’d gone years without anyone truly touching her.

When I told her I couldn’t focus, she came around my desk, stopped beside me, and said the one line that changed everything between us.

When she shouted my name in front of everyone and told me to drive her home, I knew Sunday wouldn’t end with a simple goodbye in the parking lot.

Every excuse to cross the room was a calculated provocation. Every touch, a promise of what we’d do when we were finally alone.