Chapter nine: Ogling my boss

Lily’s POV......

The elevator chimed softly as it reached the executive floor. My reflection in the mirrored walls stared back at me—hair neat, blouse pressed, makeup subtle enough to scream competent.

Second day on the job.

New start, new composure.

No breakdowns, no overthinking.

I clutched the file Mrs. Lawson had asked me to deliver and walked toward Andrew Sterling’s office. The early morning quiet of the floor made my heels echo too loudly, each click amplifying the tension in my chest.

His door was open.

I hesitated, knocked once, then froze.

He wasn’t at his desk.

I looked around and saw him.

He was shirtless.

Andrew Sterling—billionaire, CEO, untouchable—stood in the corner of his office gym, glistening with sweat as he worked the punching bag like it had insulted him personally. Every motion was precise, brutal, and mesmerizing.

I should have looked away. I didn’t.

His muscles flexed with each hit, his jaw tight with focus, a single bead of sweat trailing down his neck. He wore only black joggers that hung low on his hips, and for one horrifying, beautiful moment, I forgot how to breathe.

My brain short-circuited. The file in my hands slipped slightly.

He turned—eyes sharp, assessing, catching me mid-stare.

“Miss Hart,” he said, his voice low and calm, betraying nothing. “Something you need?”

I blinked rapidly, praying the ground would open up and swallow me whole. “I—uh—Mrs. Lawson asked me to drop this off.”

He grabbed a towel, wiping his face without breaking eye contact. “You can leave it on the desk.”

“Right. Of course.”

I crossed the room too fast, setting the folder down with all the grace of a malfunctioning robot. When I turned to leave, he added—

“And Miss Hart…”

I froze.

“Bring me a cup of coffee.”

Coffee. Right. Easy. Normal. Something I could do without making a fool of myself.

“Black,” he added. “No sugar.”

I nodded quickly and fled before I said something stupid.

---

By the time I returned with the coffee, he was dressed in a crisp navy shirt, sleeves rolled, tie loose. The scent of his cologne hit me like a trap.

I placed the cup on his desk. “Here you go, sir.”

He took one sip and frowned. “Too strong.”

“I’ll fix it,” I said, tight-lipped.

Back to the break room. Added a splash of milk. Returned.

He tasted it again. “Too sweet.”

I smiled thinly. “Right. My mistake.”

One more trip. Black again, this time with half a sugar cube.

“Now it’s too plain,” he said flatly.

I stared at him, incredulous. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

I bit my tongue so hard it almost bled.

Something inside me snapped. I turned on my heel, went to the fridge, and poured fresh orange juice into a glass. I walked back, set it firmly on his desk, and smiled.

“For the petulant child that you are.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

The room went dead silent.

Andrew looked up slowly, his gaze locking with mine. For a split second, I thought he’d fire me on the spot. Then—his lips twitched, barely, like he was fighting a smirk.

“Noted,” he said coolly. “Now, shall we head to the meeting?”

I blinked. “Meeting?”

He stood, already reaching for his jacket. “Did Mrs. Lawson not brief you? Board meeting. 9:30.”

“Oh, right. Yes. Of course.”

I scrambled to grab my tablet and followed him out, praying my cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

---

The conference room was all glass and tension. A dozen executives sat around the long table, laptops open, eyes sharp. Andrew took his seat at the head, every inch the commanding CEO again.

I sat beside him, typing notes as fast as I could while trying not to glance at him. He spoke with crisp authority, dissecting financial projections and marketing failures like he was born to rule the room.

The man radiated control. Absolute, infuriating control.

And I… I couldn’t stop remembering how he looked earlier, shirtless and focused, muscles flexing under the light.

Focus, Lily. You’re at work.

Halfway through the meeting, he leaned toward me slightly. “Schedule a dinner for me tonight,” he said under his breath.

I nodded, whispering back, “Any preference?”

He scribbled a name on my notepad: The Obsidian Room.

I jotted it down quickly, assuming it was a restaurant.

When the meeting ended, he gathered his notes and dismissed everyone. His gaze flicked to me briefly. “Confirm the reservation before 2 p.m.”

“Yes, sir.”

He walked out, leaving a wake of silence and awe behind him. The other executives looked relieved he was gone. I exhaled, finally.

---

Back at my desk, I pulled up my computer and searched The Obsidian Room.

The first result made me freeze.

A red-lit website filled the screen—velvet, shadows, and far too much skin. The tagline read: “Where control meets desire.”

Not a restaurant.

A private members-only strip and BDSM club.

My jaw dropped.

I scrolled further, skimming the description. Discretion guaranteed. Exclusive clientele. Invitation-only.

I sat back in my chair, heart racing.

Of course. Of course he’d go somewhere like that. Andrew Sterling—the man who never smiled, never attached, never cared. It fit him too perfectly.

Still, something about it made my stomach twist—not in judgment, but something else. Something I didn’t want to name.

I quickly minimized the page just as __jenna walked past

I looked toward Andrew’s office. His door was slightly ajar, his silhouette visible behind the glass wall—composed, unreadable, untouchable.

Whatever world he lived in, it was miles above mine.

And yet somehow, I was standing right on the edge of it.

I opened my planner, forcing my hands to stop trembling, and typed the note:

> Reservation confirmed — The Obsidian Room, 8 p.m.

Then I hit send.

And tried not to think about what kind of man my boss really was.

---

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