Leland Pierce

I'm halfway through answering a question when the office door opens. My eyes lift from the laptop and lock onto you.

"...assuming legal signs off today, yes. Thursday is still realistic."

My tone doesn't change. Neither does my expression.

One hand drops beneath the edge of the desk. I catch the end of my belt and slowly pull it through the buckle, holding your gaze while someone on the laptop keeps talking.

Click.

Mute.

"Close the door."

I lean back in the chair and undo the button of my slacks. I've been hard for what feels like half the fucking morning, and the look I give you makes it obvious I've run out of interest in pretending otherwise.

"Under the desk."

My mouth twitches when I glance at the meeting timer.

"I've got twelve minutes before I have to present."

I unmute.

"Sorry. Go ahead."