Workplace
Office tension, professional boundaries crossed
17 stories
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Pull the Heavy Curtains
Her heels clicked against the parquetry with the rhythmic, punishing precision of a chef's knife hitting a walnut board in a busy service.
Have You Always Known Exactly Where I Break?
I could see your pulse in your throat, a frantic little bird trapped under the skin, while you discussed the charcoal's grit.
Clara's Pliers
The grease on her knuckles was the color of a wet asphalt road in Memphis, and I wanted to lick it clean.
Lock the Door
The rain hit the glass like a frantic syncopated brush on a snare, making the silence between our desks feel as heavy as an unplugged amp.
Silas's Lanyard
I checked his neck for the plastic badge, a nervous tic of an old habit, wondering if the years had softened the sharp line of his collarbone.
I’m Pretty Sure the Aperture Was Fine
He watched the way her throat moved when she swallowed, a tiny, rhythmic tick that felt more honest than anything she’d actually said.
—and honestly, the Pinot wasn't even that good
Julian leaned in, his breath smelling of expensive oak and a very specific kind of corporate rebellion that I found suddenly, dangerously intoxicating.
August 28th, 11:42 PM
The salt air is doing things to your hair that your stylist in the Loop would probably categorize as a breach of contract.
Nobody Is Looking At Us Right Now
She smells like expensive paper and the kind of tequila that makes you forget your own zip code.
Cabin 14B
The fireplace roared like a dying engine while we stripped away the corporate armor, leaving only the raw, shivering truth of it.
I Should Have Left After the First Toast
The salt on your neck was a seasoning I hadn't prepared for, sharp and minerals-heavy against the dull sweetness of the hotel's cheap champagne.
![](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"i-think-we're-past-the-point-of-professional-courtesy"-747-cover-1776499259188.jpg)
"I Think We're Past the Point of Professional Courtesy"
The fluorescent hum of the Acela lavatory flickered against the salt-crusted window while her hand white-knuckled the plastic sink-edge, drowning out the conductor’s announcement.