The morning sun filtered through the tall glass windows of Thompson's massive office, glinting off the polished mahogany desk and the leather-bound chairs that filled the space. Thompson sat behind his desk, relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips as he shared a joke with David. The laughter between them was easy, unforced—like the kind of laughter that comes from years of shared history and unspoken understanding.
They were deep in conversation when David, leaning casually against the window frame, decided to steer the discussion toward something more serious.
"So…" David began, his voice measured but curious, "what exactly are your intentions toward Sylvia?"
Thompson's smile widened, a soft glow of warmth and certainty in his expression. "I love her," he said simply, but his voice carried the weight of sincerity. "I've loved her for a long time, but I still want to wait a little before I propose. I know she's been expecting it, but I want the moment to be perfect."
David's brow furrowed slightly. "You do realize your late mother never liked Sylvia, right? I hope you're aware of that."
Thompson leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the window. "I'm aware," he said quietly, a touch of defensiveness in his tone. "But you shouldn't worry about what my mother thought. She was just concerned about Sylvia's frequent trips and vacations. She didn't have the chance to know her well before… well, before she passed."
David's eyes narrowed slightly, studying him closely. "And what about her staff? Have you considered what you'd do if one day you decided to dismiss any of them?"
Thompson chuckled, catching the hint behind David's words. "I know exactly why you're asking," he said, leaning forward. "Go on… say the name."
David's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Chantel," he said, his tone teasing but edged with concern. "I don't know what you see in her. She's just a small girl, and… honestly, I wonder if it's just a fling. Is it really her you're interested in, or… is it just for—"
"David!" Thompson interrupted, his voice firm but amused. "If I wanted a fling, I have plenty of girls flocking around me every day. But Chantel… she's different. There's something about her. I don't know exactly what yet, but I can't ignore it."
Before David could respond, a soft knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Thompson looked up, his expression shifting slightly from contemplation to mild surprise. The door opened slowly, and there she was—Sylvia, smiling brightly, a neatly packed lunchbox in her hands.
She didn't spare David a glance. Her eyes were fixed entirely on Thompson. With a confident stride, she crossed the room and gently pressed a soft peck to Thompson's lips.
David straightened, a faint frown crossing his features. "Thompson, I'll see you later," he said, his tone carrying a subtle warning, but he didn't linger. There was no arguing when Sylvia's attention was solely on Thompson. Without another word, he left the office, leaving the two of them alone.
Sylvia didn't wait for him to leave before she made herself comfortable. She settled gracefully onto Thompson's lap, her eyes sparkling with mischief and affection. Thompson's arms instinctively wrapped around her waist, holding her steady.
"Thompson, this is your office," he reminded her gently, though there was an unmistakable softness in his tone.
"I know," she said, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. "But it's not bad to visit my man, is it?"
He tried to suppress a smile, but it failed spectacularly. "It's just… unusual. People could walk in."
She laughed lightly and planted another kiss on his lips. "I was bored," she admitted. "I thought I'd bring your lunch—and maybe brighten your day a little."
Thompson chuckled, his fingers brushing through her hair as he held her close. "You've definitely brightened it," he murmured, his voice low and tender. "You always do."
Sylvia leaned back slightly, teasingly tapping his shoulder. "You know, you hardly ever get to see me like this, do you? Relaxed, carefree…"
"I notice everything about you," he said, his tone firm. "Even when you're teasing me or pretending not to care, I notice."
Their conversation drifted seamlessly into laughter and gentle teasing, the kind that only comes from deep familiarity and mutual affection. Sylvia reached for the lunchbox, opening it and pretending to examine its contents with exaggerated interest.
"I made you a healthy lunch," she said, though her tone was light and playful. "You need to eat properly when you work this hard."
"I appreciate it," Thompson said sincerely, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You always know how to make me feel cared for."
She smiled, a quiet, radiant smile that made his chest tighten. He could feel her heartbeat through the warmth of her body pressed against his. She shifted slightly, leaning closer, and whispered, "I like moments like this. Just us. No one else, no interruptions."
"I like them too," he replied, his voice husky. "Moments like this remind me why… why I love you. And why I want to spend my life proving it to you."
Sylvia's fingers traced the edges of his hand as she leaned in, pressing another soft, lingering kiss to his lips. "Then don't waste a single second," she whispered, and her voice carried a mixture of command and affection that made him laugh quietly.
For a few moments, they simply held each other, savoring the closeness, the stolen intimacy in the office space that usually buzzed with meetings and the hum of corporate life. Thompson's hand rested gently on her back, while hers traced the contours of his arm, anchoring herself in the comfort of his presence.
"I could get used to this," Sylvia said softly, tilting her head against his shoulder. "Being your little escape from all the seriousness."
"And I could get used to you," Thompson murmured, brushing his lips across her temple. "Always my little escape. Always my constant."
Their laughter, their whispers, their soft kisses… it filled the office with a warmth that made it feel less like a workplace and more like a haven. Outside, the city carried on, oblivious to the bubble of intimacy that existed within those four walls.
Even David's absence didn't matter anymore. Here, in this moment, it was just Thompson and Sylvia, and for once, nothing else mattered. No business deals, no family expectations, no judgment from the past. Only them.
And yet, as Sylvia rested in his arms, a small part of Thompson's mind lingered on the unspoken—the complexities he knew would arise, the pressures of family expectations, the whispers about his late mother's opinion. But for now, he pushed them aside. For now, he focused on the warmth of her smile, the softness of her voice, and the intoxicating reality that she was his.
This moment—this stolen, tender, unruly moment—was theirs, and nothing could take it away.