Chapter 2: Wine and the First Line Crossed

The wine bottle slipped between our fingers at the exact same moment. That single brush of skin sent a jolt straight through me, hotter than the cheap plastic cups we’d been sharing all night. I didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

Rob’s voice dropped to something rougher. “We’re going to be here all night ... might as well get comfortable.”

I nodded, throat tight. The conference table suddenly felt too exposed, too bright under the few remaining lights. He gathered the half-empty bottle and the last slice of pizza. I grabbed my laptop. Our footsteps echoed down the dim hallway toward his corner office—the one with the bigger desk, the leather couch, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sleeping city.

He locked the main door behind us with a soft click. “Cleaning crew won’t bother us now.”

The sound of that lock made my stomach flip. Not fear exactly. Something sharper. Anticipation.

Rob’s office smelled different from the open floor—warm leather, faint cedar from his cologne, the ghost of afternoon coffee. City lights glittered through the blinds like scattered diamonds. He set the wine on the low table in front of the couch and crossed to his computer. A few clicks and soft jazz floated out—slow saxophone, brushed drums, the kind of music that wraps around your ribs and pulls.

I kicked off my pumps. The relief in my arches was immediate. My sheer black thigh-highs whispered against the cool leather as I curled my feet beneath me on the couch. The lace tops pressed into my skin, a secret reminder of how dressed-up I still was at nearly midnight on a Friday.

Rob poured the last of the wine. Two fresh cups. He handed me one, then settled beside me. Closer than at the conference table. His knee brushed mine again, deliberate this time. Heat bloomed where we touched.

We talked. Really talked.

At 1:15 the confessions started spilling like the wine had loosened every lock.

“I fantasize about you during those endless meetings,” he admitted, eyes on the city skyline instead of me. “You in that skirt, crossing your legs, twisting your ring when you’re nervous. I sit there pretending to take notes while my mind is somewhere it definitely shouldn’t be.”