CHAPTER TWELVE
Selene
The office was too quiet.
Not the kind of productive silence where everyone was immersed in work—no, this was something else. It was the heavy, waiting kind of quiet. The kind that prickled against the back of my neck.
I kept my eyes on my screen, fingers tapping against the keyboard as I finished typing out an email. I refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. If they wanted to talk, they'd have to find someone else to whisper about today.
"Morning," a soft voice broke through the static.
I looked up, surprised to see Lisa standing a few feet away from my desk, clutching a file close to her chest. Lisa was one of the few people who hadn't made me feel like an intruder since I started working here. She was sweet, in an always-apologizing kind of way.
"Morning," I replied cautiously.
Lisa shifted on her feet, eyes flicking around like she was making sure no one was watching. "Rough start to the week?"
I almost snorted. That was one way to put it.
"You could say that."
Her smile was small but genuine. "Office gossip travels fast… but not everyone listens to it."
I blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected kindness. "Good to know."
She lingered a little longer, as if she wanted to say more, but then her eyes darted behind me — toward his office.
"Does he always make the glass walls go dark?" she asked, lowering her voice.
I followed her gaze but quickly looked away. The last thing I needed was to get caught staring.
"Only when he feels like watching without being watched," I muttered before I could stop myself.
Lisa's eyes widened, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. "That's… unsettling."
You have no idea.
The moment she walked away, my inbox pinged.
Subject: Coffee
Message: Black. No sugar.
- C.S.
No 'please'. No 'thank you'. Just those three clipped words, the kind that made my fingers itch to type something snarky back.
Instead, I pushed away from my desk and grabbed my purse. I needed the walk to the break room anyway — if only to shake off the heat still lingering under my skin from yesterday.
By the time I returned with his coffee, I felt slightly more in control — until I stepped into his office.
Charles sat behind his desk, tie knotted perfectly, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He didn't glance up when I walked in — but I could feel him tracking every movement, like a predator pretending not to notice its prey.
I placed the coffee on the desk — just out of his reach — and turned to leave.
"Testing your boundaries, Miss Graham?"
His voice was velvet-wrapped steel, curling low in my stomach.
I glanced over my shoulder, trying not to let the way he leaned back in his chair — legs spread, fingers tapping lazily against the desk — affect me.
"Wouldn't dream of it, sir."
That damn smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he didn't call me out on the sarcasm.
Instead, he reached for the cup — forcing me to watch his long fingers wrap around the cardboard sleeve, brushing exactly where mine had been moments before.
I hated how aware I was of every tiny, insignificant movement.
"You're learning." He took a slow sip, eyes locked on me over the rim of the cup. "Good girl."
I should have walked out right then.
I should have thrown the coffee at his head.
Instead, I clenched my jaw, spun on my heel, and marched straight back to my desk.
---
The day dragged on with endless little games.
Emails that made me trek back and forth across the office. Requests for files that didn't matter. Questions that could have easily been asked over the phone.
Every time I stepped into his office, he was already watching me — like he'd been waiting.
By the third trip, I was ready to snap.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I muttered under my breath, placing yet another file on his desk.
He didn't even blink. "I enjoy efficiency."
"Bullshit."
The word slipped out before I could catch it.
For a second, I thought he might let it slide — but then he slowly leaned forward, forearms resting on the desk, his eyes darkening like a storm rolling in.
"Watch your mouth, Miss Graham."
I should have been scared.
Instead, heat coiled low in my belly.
I made it all the way to the door before he murmured,
"I liked the red lacy bra better."
I froze.
My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and throat. I turned slowly, my mind racing to replay every moment of the day — trying to remember if I had ever let him see.
Oh, God.
The freaking glass walls.
I swallowed hard, schooling my features into something cold and unaffected.
"Pervert."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"You could have looked around to check whether you're alone before stripping. Not my fault you're not observant ."
"Not my fault you're a creep."
He didn't deny it.
I spun on my heel, leaving him to his coffee and whatever demons he was battling behind that pristine mask.
---
The constant trips to his office. The veiled taunts. The way his eyes lingered just a second too long on the curve of my hips or the hollow of my throat whenever I leaned across his desk.
I hated him.
I hated how aware I was of him.
I hated that he knew exactly what he was doing.
I hated how he made me feel when I just want to hate him.
I was halfway through an email when Lisa appeared at my desk again, clutching a stack of folders.
"Hey... I was going to grab something from the café downstairs. Do you want anything?"
Her voice was tentative — like she was testing the waters between small talk and genuine kindness.
I glanced up, surprised again and a bit wary by the gesture.
"Thanks, but I'm good."
Lisa shifted, looking like she wanted to say more. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice.
"For what it's worth… I think what Becca and Christiana are doing is shitty."
I blinked at her, caught off guard by the bluntness beneath her quiet demeanor.
"Office politics," I muttered, trying to brush it off.
"Office bullshit," she corrected.
The corner of my mouth twitched despite myself.
Maybe not everyone here was a snake.
After Lisa left, I sank back into my chair and tried to refocus — but I could feel him. I could feel his eyes on me.
Behind those glass walls.
Watching.
I refused to give him the satisfaction of squirming.
Instead, I pushed back from my desk, grabbed the adjusted file he'd requested earlier, and marched straight into his office without knocking.
He was exactly where I knew he'd be — seated at his desk, sleeves rolled up, top button undone.
Casual.
Controlled.
A goddamn menace.
I dropped the folder onto his desk with more force than necessary.
"You wanted the revisions."
His eyes flicked to the folder before trailing back up to my face — slow and deliberate.
I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, but I refused to look away.
"Efficient," he murmured. "I'm impressed."
I folded my arms across my chest. "Is that what this is? A performance review?"
His smirk deepened. "Would you like one?"
God, I hated him. I don't think I say it enough.
I hated the way that damn smirk made my pulse skitter.
I hated that he could fluster me without even trying.
I shifted on my feet, trying to appear unaffected. "If there's nothing else—"
"Actually, there is."
His voice was soft — silk over steel.
I froze.
Charles leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
"Close the door."
A flicker of warning danced down my spine — but I did it anyway.
He watched me the entire time — his gaze following the line of my legs, the curve of my hips, before sliding lazily back up to my face.
The second the latch clicked, the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"I saw you this morning," he said, voice low.
My stomach clenched.
"I doubt that."
His smirk was slow — predatory.
"You really need to curb that habit of stripping in the office when you could have gone to the restroom. The black works but like I said the red looks better."
Blood surged to my cheeks so fast I thought I might actually pass out.
"You're disgusting."
"I'm observant."
I wanted to throw the file in his smug face.
I wanted to wipe that smirk right off his perfect mouth.
But more than anything — more than I was willing to admit— I wanted to know what would happen if I pushed him.
"Is that all you called me in here for?" I snapped, hands clenched at my sides.
Charles stood slowly, rounding the desk in that lazy, controlled way that made every inch of me tighten.
I backed up on instinct — until I felt the cool glass of the wall at my back.
He didn't touch me.
He didn't even come close.
But the air between us crackled, heavy with everything unsaid.
"I wanted to see how long you'd keep pretending," he murmured.
"Pretending?"
"That you don't like this back and forth game."
My breath caught.
Every nerve in my body was on edge — strung tight like a wire.
He leaned in just slightly — close enough that I could feel the heat of him, close enough that if I reached out even an inch, I could touch him.
But I didn't.
Instead, I lifted my chin — forcing myself to meet those dark, storm-grey eyes head-on.
"I'm not playing any game, Mr. Stone."
His mouth curved — slow, dangerous.
"Liar."
The word whispered over my skin like a caress.
I was going to kill him.
I was going to kiss him again —or slap him across his arrogant face —or both.
Before I could decide which, he stepped back — putting just enough distance between us to leave me frustrated and aching.
"You're dismissed," he said smoothly, like he hadn't just unravelled me with a single breath.
Bastard.
I slammed the door so hard the glass rattled.
Back at my desk, a cup of coffee was waiting.
The coffee sat in its cardboard cup — black lid, no logo.
No apology note this time.
Typical.
It was still hot, the sleeve warm against my fingers.
Black, no sugar. Just the way I like it.
I stared at it for a long second — then took the first bitter sip without breaking eye contact with his glass walls.
When I finally glanced away, I caught Becca watching from across the room, the hatred on her face put the fear of God in me. I realized he must have asked her to run the coffee errand for me.