Chapter Five - Fires Behind Closed Doors
The week had barely begun, and already I felt like I was starring in an office soap opera everyone was tuning in for.
I could hear it in the way whispers trailed behind me. Could see it in the smirks, the half-hidden glances, the fake smiles when I passed. They thought they were subtle. They weren't.
And then there was Elaine.
Elaine, who suddenly believed she was Mrs. Archer's bodyguard-slash-fairy-godmother, buzzing around Julian like a fruit fly that refused to die.
"Mr. Archer, I thought you might like your coffee with an extra splash of—oops!" she squeaked one morning, tripping over absolutely nothing and nearly launching the cup at his desk.
Julian's hand shot out just in time, steadying the mug. His jaw flexed. "Thank you, Elaine. That'll be all."
She laughed nervously, cheeks red as she scrambled to fix the spill on his saucer.
From my desk across the hall, I almost choked on my water. I'd seen toddlers with better hand-eye coordination.
Later, I caught her balancing a stack of files so tall it wobbled, straining just to carry them into his office before I could. Halfway through the doorway, one slid off the top and smacked the floor with a slap so loud the whole floor turned. Elaine bent down, bumping her head on the desk corner, sending the rest tumbling like dominos.
"Smooth," I muttered, striding past.
Her glare nearly burned a hole in me, but I just smiled. Elaine wasn't competition. She was comic relief.
Around noon, the atmosphere shifted. A hush fell over the floor like someone had just spotted royalty.
I didn't need to look up to know why. The scent of expensive perfume arrived first—roses and vanilla with an edge of money. Cassandra.
She swept in wearing another trench, this one ivory with a cinched waist and boots I'd only seen in magazines. In her hand, another upscale lunch bag, embossed with gold lettering.
I froze in place as she breezed right by me, tossing me the faintest smile—polite, but razor-sharp. "Good afternoon," she said in passing, like she was the president making rounds.
Julian stepped out of his office at the exact moment she arrived. His eyes flicked to me, then back to her, tension rippling through the space.
"Surprise," she chirped, lifting the bag. "You work too hard, darling. You'll forget to eat if I don't remind you."
She leaned up, brushing her lips over his cheek, and the whispers spread like wildfire.
I clenched my jaw, plastering on a sweet smile as if it didn't sting. Cassandra lingered, pulling out little containers, chatting with nearby staff like she owned the place. "Julian always forgets his meals," she announced brightly, voice carrying. "But that's what I'm here for."
Laughter chimed in response, but I noticed the way people looked between me and her. They were watching every detail, weighing every interaction.
Julian guided her into his office with that politician's smile of his, but I caught the flash in his eyes. He wasn't enjoying this spectacle either.
Still, Cassandra had made her move. She'd marked her territory.
And everyone had seen it.
The whispers were vicious the rest of the afternoon.
"That's his wife? She's gorgeous."
"Did you see Amira's face when she walked in?"
"Girl, you just know something's going on."
I ignored them. I kept working. But my blood simmered.
Even Elaine had the nerve to pipe up. "Mrs. Archer's just so thoughtful, isn't she?" she said in this sing-song tone as she walked by my desk. "Such a… presence."
I tilted my head at her, smiling sweetly. "Yes, Elaine. It takes real presence to hover around the office with takeout bags. Maybe you'll manage that one day."
Her eyes went wide, then narrowed as she stomped away. The laugh I let out was low and satisfied.
By the time evening came, the office had emptied, and the tension I'd been carrying all day solidified into resolve.
I wasn't backing down. Not from Cassandra. Not from the whispers. Not from anyone.
Julian's light was still on when I crossed the hall. I pushed his door open without knocking.
He looked up instantly, his tie loosened, his jacket hanging off the chair. The lamplight threw shadows across his face, sharp angles softening in the glow.
"Amira," he said, voice clipped. "What are you doing here?"
I closed the door behind me, leaning against it. "Making sure you don't forget to eat."
His eyes darkened. "That's not funny."
"Neither is your wife parading through here like it's her catwalk." I crossed the room slowly, deliberately. "You can't pretend you didn't see it, Julian. You can't pretend you don't feel this."
He pushed back from his desk, standing tall. "You need to stop."
"No," I said, stepping closer, lowering my voice. "You need to stop pretending. Everyone already knows something's between us. Why deny it?"
His jaw clenched, the muscle twitching, eyes blazing like he was fighting himself. "Amira—"
I cut him off, standing so close I could feel the heat rolling off him. "Say it. Tell me you don't want me. Tell me you didn't almost break when I kissed you."
His breath hitched. For a moment, silence. His hand tightened on the edge of the desk, knuckles white.
Then he snapped.
"Enough," he growled, voice low but raw, the word trembling with everything he'd tried to hold back. He stepped into me, closer than ever, his eyes burning into mine. "You don't know what you're playing with."
I smiled, slow and dangerous. "Oh, I know exactly what I'm playing with."
The air between us pulsed, hot and heavy, seconds away from combusting.
And for once, Julian Archer wasn't in control.
"Enough," Julian growled, his voice rough, a warning tangled with desire.
But I didn't move. I tilted my head, letting my lips hover a breath away from his jaw. "Bet I'm better than that bitch," I whispered, every word deliberate, knowing exactly which button I was pressing.
His breath hissed in, sharp. His eyes darkened in a way I'd never seen before.
"You don't want to test me, Amira."
"Oh, I do," I murmured, sliding my hand up his chest, tugging on his loosened tie. My voice softened but stayed firm, the perfect mix of tender and commanding. "I made sure everyone was gone this time. No interruptions. Just us."
His restraint snapped.
Julian's hand gripped my waist, pulling me flush against him, his mouth crashing onto mine with a growl that vibrated through me. I gasped against his lips, not from surprise but satisfaction. This was what I'd been chasing, what I'd been starving for—the raw, unfiltered man beneath the polished suits.
I kissed him back hard, but when his grip tightened, I slowed the pace, threading my fingers through his hair. "That's it," I whispered hotly, tugging him closer, "take me like you mean it."
He growled again, his lips trailing down my throat, teeth grazing my skin. I moaned softly, but even in surrender, I guided him, pressing his head where I wanted him, murmuring encouragements against his ear. "Don't hold back, Julian. Not for her. Not for anyone. Show me I'm right."
He cursed under his breath, the sound low and rough, and lifted me effortlessly onto his desk. Papers scattered across the floor, but neither of us cared. His hunger was fierce, but I stayed right with him, meeting his urgency with my own.
I cupped his face, forcing his eyes on mine between frantic kisses. "Tell me you don't feel guilty," I demanded. "Tell me you want this."
His reply was a desperate, guttural sound against my lips, his hands gripping me like I was the only thing keeping him standing.
Tender and wild at once, I held him close, but my words stayed sharp, whispering dirty promises into his ear as he lost himself against me. Bet she doesn't touch you like this. Bet she doesn't make you feel alive like this.
Every taunt pushed him further, every kiss made his composure unravel more. By the end, his control was gone, his polished exterior shattered, leaving only the man who couldn't stop taking me.
And I—soft, tender, but dominant in all the right places—let him.
The next morning, I woke with a sore body and a smug smile.
Work was a battlefield, and I wasn't about to walk in empty-handed. If Cassandra wanted to stake her claim with takeout bags, I'd raise her one better.
I packed a homemade lunch in neat glass containers, careful with every detail—rice seasoned just right, roasted vegetables drizzled with herbs, grilled chicken tender enough to fall apart with a fork. It wasn't just food. It was a statement.
When I placed it on Julian's desk at noon, he looked up from his paperwork, surprise flickering across his face. "What's this?"
"Lunch," I said simply, setting utensils beside it. "You need fuel. You've been running on fumes."
His lips parted, but before he could reply, the door opened.
Cassandra.
She walked in with another chic little bag from some upscale bistro. Her heels clicked against the floor as she smiled, poised and polished. "Julian, I thought you'd like something fresh. I—"
She froze mid-sentence. Her eyes flicked to the open container in front of him. Julian was already mid-bite, fork raised, chewing slowly.
The silence was thick enough to choke on.
I smiled, all sweetness and knives. "I had to make sure he eats," I said lightly. "Nothing compares to a home-cooked meal—it takes more effort. But I don't mind."
Her jaw tightened, just slightly, before she forced her face back into a smooth, pleasant expression.
Julian set the fork down carefully. "Cassandra—"
"I'll let you enjoy your meal," I cut in, flashing my most innocent smile. "Homemade deserves to be savored."
And with that, I walked out, heels clicking proudly across the floor.
I didn't leave the hallway, though. I lingered just out of sight, heart thundering with thrill as I waited for her reaction.
The silence inside stretched, then Cassandra's voice—clipped, cool. "You're eating her food?"
Julian's reply was low, muffled, but I heard the edge in it. "I was hungry."
I grinned, satisfied, and finally strutted away.
That night, Tasha and I curled up on my couch with glasses of wine. She kicked off her shoes, shaking her head before I even finished the story.
"You really walked out and left her standing there with her fancy little bag?" she asked, wide-eyed.
"Oh, I did more than that," I smirked. "I told her homemade takes more effort. You should've seen her face."
Tasha burst out laughing, nearly spilling her drink. "Amira! Girl, you're insane. Do you know how much gossip you just fueled? They're gonna be talking about that scene for weeks."
"They were already talking," I said, shrugging. "Might as well give them a show."
She gave me that mix of admiration and caution I knew so well. "You've got the whole office on fire. Some are jealous, some are rooting for you, and Cassandra? Whew. That woman's not gonna let this slide."
I sipped my wine, leaning back, savoring the burn. "Wives always fight hardest when they've already lost."
Tasha whistled low, shaking her head. "You're playing with fire."
I smiled, slow and dangerous. "Good. I like fire."