Not a Single Glance

(Sebastian’s POV)

My office carried the faint smell of sex and Vanessa’s jasmine perfume as I walked out of my office bathroom, still adjusting the cuffs of my shirt as the door clicks shut behind me. She’s still sprawled across the black leather couch near the windows, skirt hiked around her hips, blouse unbuttoned just enough to remind me why I keep her around. Her dark hair is mussed in that artful way she thinks looks effortless, lips swollen from earlier.

She stretches watching me through half-lidded eyes.

“Sebastian…” Her voice is honeyed, the way it gets when she wants to linger. “We’ve got twenty minutes, plenty of time before the investor dinner”.

I don’t answer right away. Instead I cross to the desk, pick up my phone, and check the time 7:42 p.m.

“Get dressed,” I say without looking at her. “We’re leaving in three minutes.”

Her smile falters. She sits up slowly, smoothing her skirt down with deliberate movements. “You’re in a mood tonight.”

“I’m on a schedule.” I button my jacket, already mentally running through the talking points for tonight’s dinner with the Singapore fund managers. “Vanessa. Now.”

She stands, movements stiffening into something almost professional. The shift is instant from lover to employee. She retrieves her heels from where they’d been kicked under the coffee table, slips them on, and buttons her blouse with quick, practiced fingers. Her lipstick is smudged; she doesn’t fix it. Good. Let her walk out looking freshly fucked. It’s a reminder to anyone who might see us that she belongs to me when I want her to.

She approaches, reaching to smooth my tie. I catch her wrist before she makes contact.

“Don’t.” I said coldly, already irritated. Does she know when to stop?

Her eyes narrow, but she drops her hand. “You’re really going to pretend that didn’t just happen?”

“It happened. It’s over. We have an appointment.” I release her wrist. 

She exhales, giving a small sound of frustration, but she obeys. She always does.

We step into the private corridor outside my office suite. The hallway is quiet, most of the floor cleared out hours ago. Only the security lights hum softly overhead. Vanessa walks half a step behind me, heels clicking in perfect rhythm with mine. I can feel her simmering, the unspoken question hanging between us: When will you give me more?

Never, is the answer. But I don’t say it. She already knows. She just decided not to admit it yet.

The executive elevator doors slide open with a soft chime. I step inside first. Vanessa follows, standing close enough, her perfume wraps around me again, insistent. I hit the button for the lobby.

The doors are closing when a small hand shoots out to stop them.

“Sorry, sorry!” A woman slips through at the last second, breathing a little hard, clutching a leather tote to her chest.

Mara Reed.

I don’t know why her name comes to me so quickly. Maybe because she has caught my interest lately. She’s one of those background people, quiet, competent, always buried in her work. Never once have I caught her looking at me the way every other woman in this building does.

She straightens the instant she registers who she’s trapped with. “Mr. Kane. Ms. Hale.” Her voice is calm, polite, and perfectly neutral. No little gasp, no flutter of lashes, no subtle lean in the hope of being noticed. She simply reaches past me, careful not to touch and presses the already-lit lobby button again, as if confirming it will make the elevator move faster.

Vanessa stiffens beside me. I feel the sudden territorial spike in her posture

Mara stands with her back almost against the opposite wall, gaze fixed on the digital floor display ticking downward. 28… 27…

Up close, without the buffer of a conference table or cubicle wall, I notice things I never bothered registering before. The delicate line of her jaw. The faint freckles across the bridge of her nose. The way her lips press together not in nervousness, but in concentration, like she’s calculating how many seconds until she can escape this metal box.

She doesn’t look at me. Not once.

Most women would have stolen glances by now measuring, appraising, hoping for acknowledgment. Vanessa certainly would have and she’s doing it right now, her eyes flicking between Mara and me with thinly veiled irritation.

Mara doesn’t.

The indifference should irritate me. Instead it… interests me. A small, dark spark flickers in my chest. She’s standing in an elevator with the man who owns the company she works for, the man half the city wants a piece of, and she treats me like furniture.

The elevator hums downward. 22… 21…

Vanessa breaks the silence first, voice syrupy sweet. “Working late again, Mara?”

Mara nods once, still watching the numbers. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You know the building locks the lower floors at eight. Security will escort you out if you stay much longer.”

“I’m leaving now.” Flat. No defensiveness. No attempt to curry favor.

I feel Vanessa bristle beside me. She hates being dismissed.

10… 9…

The silence stretches, thick with unspoken things. Vanessa shifts her weight, deliberately brushing her arm against mine. Claiming. I don’t react.

I couldn't help but notice how exhausted she looked. Maybe it was work stress.

The doors slide open on the lobby level.

She steps out first, quick and efficient, without a backward glance. Her heels click across the polished marble as she heads toward the revolving doors and the night beyond.

Vanessa and I follow more slowly. My driver is already waiting at the curb, black Maybach idling. The doorman nods deferentially.

Vanessa touches my sleeve as we cross the lobby. “She’s odd, isn’t she? Never says more than two words unless you force them out of her.”

I don’t answer.

Instead I watch Mara disappear through the revolving door, swallowed by the glittering chaos of Manhattan. One small figure carrying whatever weight she carries, moving like someone who has already learned the world doesn’t owe her attention.

Vanessa is still talking, voice low and suggestive. “You’re quiet tonight.”

I finally looked at her. “Get in the car.”

She obeys, sliding into the back seat with practiced grace.

I pause on the sidewalk, staring after the direction Mara disappeared.

Why was she different from the other women?

Every single one of them looks at me like I’m a prize to be won, a ladder to climb, a fantasy to fuck.

She looked through me like I was nothing.

Like I didn’t exist.

A slow possessive heat coils low in my gut.

I’ll make sure to break that resistance.

And have her in my bed.