Taste of sin (1)

Emma

I sat at my desk, staring at the spreadsheet on my screen, trying to focus, but the numbers blurred together.

The office hummed with keyboards, phones, and low chatter, but one conversation kept slicing through my concentration.

“Did you hear?” Sarah from accounting whispered. “Mr. Ryan is getting engaged.”

My fingers froze above the keyboard.

“No way! To whom?” Jennifer from HR asked.

“Some woman from his social circle,” Sarah replied. “Old family friends.”

“She’s so lucky,” Jennifer breathed. “Imagine having someone like Mr. Ryan—all to yourself.”

The conversation grew more animated, and a sense of dread weighed heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Will you please keep your voices down and get back to work?” I said sharply, not turning around. “Some of us are trying to actually be productive.”

The whispering stopped immediately. “Sorry, Miss Emma,” they mumbled, and I heard them scattering back to their desks.

Ryan was getting engaged.

Ryan—my boss, the owner of this company, the man I’d worked under as his personal assistant for the past two years—was getting engaged to someone else.

Of course he was. What had I expected? That he’d suddenly notice me? That he’d look at his assistant one day and realize she was something more than just the person who managed his calendar and brought him coffee?

I’d had a crush on him since my first week here. It was impossible not to—he was brilliant and driven. And yes, he was handsome in that understated way that somehow made it worse, like he didn’t even realize the effect he had on people.

I’d kept my feelings secret, locked away, because I knew there was no future in them.

And now he was getting engaged, and I would have to stand there and smile and congratulate him and watch him build a life with someone else while I scheduled his meetings and organized his files and pretended my heart wasn’t breaking.

I couldn’t do it. I simply couldn’t.

I opened a new document and began typing, my fingers moving quickly before I could second-guess myself.

Dear Mr. Ryan,

Please accept this letter as formal notice of my resignation from my position as your personal assistant, effective two weeks from today...

I kept it professional, brief, and offered no real explanation beyond “pursuing other opportunities.” When I finished, I printed it, folded it neatly, and held it in my hands like it was something fragile.

This was the right choice. The only choice. I would leave with whatever dignity I had left, find another job, and move on with my life.

I stood, smoothed down my skirt, and walked toward his office. I stopped in front of his door and took a deep breath.

Then I knocked.

“Come in," he said in a low, familiar, almost intoxicating voice that made my chest tighten.

I opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind me.

Ryan looked up from his computer. “Emma, why are you here? Did I miss a meeting on my calendar?”

“No, sir.” I walked forward and placed the folded letter on his desk. “I just needed to give you this.”

He picked it up, his brow furrowing slightly. “What is this?”

“My resignation letter.”

“Resignation?” He opened the letter and scanned it quickly. “Why are you leaving? Did something happen?”

“It’s personal,” I muttered, keeping my voice as steady as possible. “I appreciate everything I’ve learned here, but it’s time for me to move on.”

“Personal.” He set the letter down and stood, walking around his desk until he was standing directly in front of me. “Emma, we’ve worked together for two years. If something’s wrong, if I’ve done something to upset you—”

“You haven’t,” I interrupted. “This isn’t about you. It’s just… time for a change.”

He studied me with sharp, intense eyes. “Yesterday everything was fine. Today you’re resigning. Something must have happened.”

“Nothing happened. I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “It’s the right decision.”

“Is it another job offer? I can match whatever they’re paying—”

“It’s not about money.”

“Then what is it about?” His voice softened. “Emma, you’re one of the best assistants I’ve ever had. I... I don’t want to lose you.”

The words should have made me happy. Instead, they tore me apart.

“I appreciate that, sir. But my decision is final.”

We stood in heavy silence. Then he reached out, just a brush of fingers against my sleeve. The contact sent a shiver through me.

“Please.... give me a minute to process this.”

I stepped back, trying to resist the warmth spreading through me. ‘Get a hold of yourself, Emma. He’s getting engaged. This is exactly why you need to leave.’

“There’s nothing to process. I’ll work my two weeks to help transition everything, and then—”

“Did I do something to hurt you?” His voice was almost vulnerable. “Or offend you?”

“No. You’ve been nothing but professional and respectful. This isn’t about anything you did wrong.”

“Then help me understand.” He moved closer again, and I could smell his cologne, something exquisite and expensive that I’d probably remember for the rest of my life. “Because from where I’m standing, this doesn’t make sense. You’re excellent at your job. You seem happy here. We work well together. So what changed?”

You’re getting engaged, I wanted to scream. You’re building a life with someone else, and I can’t stand here and watch it happen because I made the mistake of falling in love with you.

But I couldn’t say any of that.

“I just need to make this change,” I said instead. “For my own reasons. Please respect that.”

He looked at me for a long moment. “I can’t accept this.”

“You don’t have a choice—”

“Emma, you’re important to me.” The words came out in a rush, like he’d been holding them back and couldn’t anymore. “Not just as an assistant. You’re important. To me personally. I can’t just... I can’t let you walk away without understanding why.”

My heart was doing painful, erratic things in my chest. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I value you. I look forward to seeing you every morning. You make everything run smoothly, yes, but also better—just by being here.”

“Mr. Ryan—”

“And I’m saying if there’s anything, anything at all, that would make you stay, I’ll do it. Name it. Better salary, better hours, your own office… anything. Just… please don’t leave.”

I stared at him. He offered everything except what I actually wanted.

Tired of hiding, of pretending, of protecting myself from a hurt that was going to happen anyway.

“You said anything?” I asked quietly.

“Yes,” he responded. “Anything. I’m not losing you over a ‘change of pace.’”

I looked up at him. This was the man I had loved in the dark for seven hundred and thirty days.

If I was losing him to a stranger, I wanted one thing that wasn’t professional. One thing that wasn’t “respectful.”

I wanted him to see me. Not ‘Miss Emma.’ Not the perfect assistant. Me.

“I don’t want a raise, Ryan,” I said, using his first name for the first time. “And I don’t want a better office.”

He froze, his hand hovering near my arm, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Then what?”

I leaned in, letting the last two years vanish. “I want you to sleep with me.”