***---Harper---***
Wednesdays are cursed. I don't make the rules, I just live under them. Mondays are painful, Tuesdays pile it on, but Wednesdays? Wednesdays are where the universe drags you through broken glass just to watch you bleed.
This Wednesday felt like someone had sharpened the shards.
The office was a hive the second I walked in. PR sprinting with binders, Legal whispering about NDAs, interns buzzing with gossip they pretended wasn't obvious. I caught the words I wasn't supposed to hear.
Pop princess. Assistant. Hotel hallway. Career suicide.
By the time I dropped into my chair, I knew enough. One of our biggest clients had just had his heart detonated in the public. The rockstar. Garret Bannen's closest friend and our most famous client.
Every single person in this building was about to live in hell until the smoke cleared.
The doors to Garret's office opened, and there he was. Same suit as yesterday, shirt wrinkled, no tie to be found. His smell hit me first. Whiskey and control issues. My thighs clenched, traitors that they were.
"Harper. Coffee. My office. Now."
No please. No good morning. Just orders. I stood, grabbed a tray, and followed. Because, again, I enjoy living indoors.
The air inside was thick with liquor and an aching sadness. The rockstar slouched in a chair opposite Garret, sunglasses shoved into his messy hair, hands restless like he was trying not to punch through the table.
"She used me, man." His was voice hoarse. "She never wanted me. She wanted the spotlight. Climbed into my bed for fame, climbed into my assistant's bed for headlines. Now everyone's laughing at me."
I set the coffees down quickly, and stepped back. I wanted to melt into the wall, but I was stuck here, a witness to this man's raw pain. I couldn't leave until Garret let me go. Damn.
Garret leaned back, rumpled but razor-sharp. "We'll spin it. PR will scrub it clean, bury the narrative. You'll take your lumps, she'll go silent, and by your tour, no one will remember. I'll handle it."
The rockstar laughed bitterly, no humor in it. "They're all the same. Groupies with better clothes. Smile in your face while they sink a knife in your back."
Garret's jaw flexed, hard enough to crack. His eyes cut to me suddenly.
"You know what the problem is with women, Harper?" His voice dropped, venom in every syllable. "They don't love. They don't stay. They don't build. They take. They trade sex for leverage, smiles for secrets, affection for access. They climb over bodies, and they don't even flinch while they do it. They bleed a man dry, then leave him choking on the ashes."
I froze. Heat surged up my throat, my cheeks on fire. He didn't blink. Didn't soften. Didn't pretend it wasn't aimed right at me.
"You give them your loyalty, your trust, your everything, and they'll still fuck someone else the second it gets them higher on the ladder." He was sharper now. "And then they'll look at you like you're the crazy one for bleeding."
The silence after his words was heavy. Ugly and suffocating.
My lips parted, but nothing came out.
"Go back to your desk." He snapped, already turning back to his friend.
No apology. No acknowledgment. Just a dismissal like I'd been collateral damage he didn't have time to care about.
I walked out stiff-backed, every nerve buzzing. By the time I hit my desk, my coffee sat like acid in my gut. I stared at my monitor until the screen blurred, heat burning behind my eyes.
He hadn't meant me. Rationally, I knew that. I was the receptionist. I wasn't in his orbit. But God, the way he'd looked at me…it felt like a knife meant for my ribs.
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands. Chloe would send fire emojis and say "fuck him, literally." Nadia would send me HR forms and a "stab him" meme. Neither would help.
So I opened Velour.
Crownless: I know you said no text threads, but what about twenty questions?
For a moment, there was nothing. My heart thudded. Then the dots appeared.
Axiom: That's against the rules. And I'm busy.
Crownless: Hypothetically…
I stared down at the screen, willing him to respond.
Axiom: Hypothetically?
Crownless: Yeah. Hypothetically, what if I said I was using Friday night to keep myself from fucking the person I can't have. What would you say?
A long pause. My thighs clenched.
Axiom: I'd say you're already playing with fire.
Crownless: That's not an answer.
Axiom: Then I'd tell you that whoever he is, he won't exist for you after I've had you.
Heat licked through me, sharp and fast.
Crownless: Pretty bold for someone that hasn't been inside me yet.
Axiom: True.
Crownless: Why are you letting me bend the rules?
Axiom: Why are you poking them?
Crownless: Because I want to know at least something about the man I'm about to fuck. And because I need a distraction from work before I scream.
A pause, and then the three dots flickered.
Axiom: You get one question.
Crownless: Fine. What's your favorite sound?
Axiom: The way your breathing will change when I put my mouth between your thighs.
My pulse stuttered. I typed back, trying to keep my face from flaming.
Crownless: That's…specific.
Axiom: So is my interest.
Crownless: Your turn.
Axiom: Favorite word you want me to take from your lips.
My fingers hovered. Then…
Crownless: Please.
Axiom: Then you'd better mean it.
A rush of heat made my panties damp. I crossed my legs under the desk, shifting.
Crownless: My turn. First thing you'd do when I walk in Friday?
Axiom: Put my hand at your throat. Not to take anything. Just to feel your pulse while you breathe for me. My other hand at your hip to see if you shake.
I bit down on a gasp, disguising it as a cough.
Crownless: And if I shake?
Axiom: Then I tell you you're doing well. And I keep you there until you stop.
Every inch of me went hot.
Crownless: What do you want me to wear?
Axiom: Something new. Something that belongs to me first.
Crownless: Knew it. I'll shop.
Axiom: Black if you want to be worshiped. Red if you want to be punished for making me wait.
My breath hitched.
Crownless: And underneath?
Axiom: Nothing that would survive the night.
I squeezed my thighs together so tight I thought I'd pull a muscle.
Crownless: Your turn.
Axiom: What's the first word you'll give me when I press you against the wall?
Crownless: My yes.
Axiom: Good girl.
My breath caught. I glanced at the lobby, making sure no one was staring at me while my pulse raced like I was in the middle of something indecent.
Crownless: You can't say things like that while I'm at work.
Axiom: Then go to the bathroom and imagine me there.
My lips parted. My body reacted before my brain could argue.
Crownless: You're dangerous.
Axiom: You're still typing.
I shoved the phone under a folder, my chest heaving. My body was a mess, flushed and needy, my head spinning. But when I picked it back up, the dots were still there, waiting.
Axiom: Two days.
Crownless: Two days.
Axiom: Come hungry for my cock.
I locked the phone before I could combust in my chair. The lobby buzzed on. Interns whispering, phones ringing, PR trying not to cry. None of it mattered. My body was already halfway to Friday.
Late afternoon, Garret's door opened again. He came out, sleeves rolled, jacket abandoned. He stopped at my desk, eyes unreadable.
"Harper."
"Sir."
"I was out of line earlier." His voice was rough. "That wasn't yours to carry."
I stood, grabbed my bag. My tone was cool. "Noted."
His mouth pressed tight. "Harper…"
"Good night, Mr. Bannen."
I walked away before he could say another word. The elevator doors slid shut behind me.
Two more days until Friday. Two more days until Room seven.
And right now? I needed Friday more than oxygen.