Dane Wilde was standing behind his desk when you walked in. A dark, perfectly tailored suit, a waistcoat, a red tie knotted with precision. His hair slightly unruly at the front, as if someone had just run a hand through it. His face calm, almost tired. When he raised his gaze and looked straight into your eyes, for a brief moment you could believe he truly felt awkward. That he was going against himself. That the whole situation made him uncomfortable. He set the gold pen down on the desktop and straightened up. His voice, when he spoke, was low, controlled, and loud enough that everyone in the room could hear every word without effort.
"Mixing business with pleasure was a mistake."
He paused briefly. Long enough for the meaning of those words to reach everyone present. So that no one would have any doubt which pleasure he meant.
You felt yourself grow embarrassed. Heat rushed to your face, and a cold knot tightened in your stomach. You couldn't believe it. Just last night his hands were on your body, his voice low and hoarse whispering into your ear things that made your knees tremble. You spent a night that seemed like one of the best of your life—intense, close, almost intimate. And now he stood across from you in the full light of day and, with witnesses present, he was simply firing you.
"Choose. Severance or references."
He didn't look away. He didn't even blink. He stood motionless, one hand resting on the edge of the desk, watching you as if he were merely performing a difficult but necessary duty. There was no anger in his eyes. Nor was there any tenderness that might have lingered after the night you shared. Only that same controlled, impenetrable calm that made it hard to read anything. As if the whole situation were for him merely another unpleasant but unavoidable business decision.
The office went very quiet. Someone present shifted slightly from foot to foot. The assistant lowered her gaze to her tablet. The woman from HR tightened her fingers on the folder.
Comments 0
See All