Martin still couldn't stop thinking..
He paced his office once. Twice. The rain streaked the windows in restless lines. He closed his eyes .Her scent jasmine and something sweeter hung in the air like a dare he couldn't ignore.
He should stop thinking about her.
Instead he opened his laptop and typed before reason could stop him.
*Ms. Flare,*
*Come to my office. Now.*
*Martin Mole*
He hit send. Heart slamming like it wanted out of his chest.
Down on 38, Fiona was replying to Riley's latest meme when the email landed.
Her stomach dropped.
Her fingers hovered. The baby fluttered quick, almost alarmed.
She stared at the words until they blurred.
Why now?
Was this about the way he'd looked at her mouth during the meeting like he was remembering exactly how it felt under his?
She closed her eyes.
Remembered the velvet chaise. The mirrors showing every gasp, every arch. The way he'd held her hips so tightly she'd worn faint bruises for days. The way he'd made her beg without words. The way she'd slipped out at dawn, heart racing, thinking she could outrun the memory.
She couldn't.
She typed back: *On my way.*
Hit send.
Took a breath.
Stood.
She glanced around Riley on a call, Maya typing, no one watching. She walked to the elevators like she was just stretching her legs. No one looked up.
The ride up was endless. Each floor ding felt like a countdown. She stared at her reflection eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips already tingling like they knew what was coming.
The doors opened.
45th floor.
Corridor quiet. Black marble. Soft lights. Her heels echoed like gunshots.
The door was open.
She stepped inside.
Martin stood by the window, back to her, shoulders rigid.
He didn't speak.
Didn't turn.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Only then did he move.
Fast.
He crossed the room in three strides, grabbed her face with both hands firm, desperate and kissed her.
No warning. No question.
Just mouth on mouth, hard and hungry.
Fiona gasped against him.
Her notebook hit the floor.
Her hands fisted in his shirt.
She kissed him back fierce, angry, needy.
His tongue swept in, tasting like coffee and control and everything she'd tried to forget. His hands slid into her hair, tilting her head, deepening the kiss until she was dizzy with it.
She moaned small, broken.
He groaned low, rough pressed her back against the desk edge, hips pinning hers, hardness unmistakable.
She arched into him.
Wanted more.
Wanted everything.
Then—
The baby fluttered. Sharp. Sudden.
Reality crashed in.
Fiona froze.
Her hands pushed against his chest.
"Stop."
He stilled instantly.
Pulled back just enough to look at her—eyes dark, pupils blown, breathing ragged.
"What?"
She shook her head, voice trembling. "We can't. I can't."
His jaw clenched. "Why not?"
She swallowed. "Because… this isn't right. Not here. Not like this."
His eyes narrowed. Anger flickered—quiet, cold, dangerous.
"You're saying no *now*?"
She lifted her chin. "I'm saying not like this."
He stepped back.
Completely.
Hands dropping to his sides.
The space between them felt colder than the rain outside.
He turned away. Walked to the window. Stared out at the wet city.
His voice came out rough. "Get out."
Fiona's heart cracked.
She picked up her notebook. Walked to the door.
Paused.
Looked back.
He didn't turn.
She opened the door.
Stepped out.
The corridor blurred with unshed tears.
She made it to the elevator, pressed the button, stepped inside.
Doors closed.
She leaned against the wall, eyes closed, hand on her stomach.
The baby fluttered—soft, almost sorry.
She whispered, "I know."
But now…
Now she didn't know if she could stay.
Not after that kiss.
Not after that anger.
Not after the way he'd looked at her like she'd taken something he couldn't get back.
The elevator dinged.
Doors opened.
She stepped out.
Rain slanted against the glass.
She walked home slow.
Tasting him on her lips.
Wondering if she'd just lost everything.