-POV Derby The folder with the compliance logs stayed on the corner of his desk, completely forgotten. By the time the office clock ticked past 8:00 PM, the tense, transactional energy that usually defined the forty-second floor had completely dissolved. We didn't scramble to fix our clothes, and Jordan didn't slide his corporate mask back on to dismiss me. Instead, he sat on the edge of the low leather sofa by the window, his long legs stretched out, while I sat beside him with my knees pulled up, sharing the glass of amber whiskey he’d poured earlier. It was an quiet, domestic kind of rhythm that felt a thousand times more dangerous than any quick hookup against the wall. "You're doing it again," Jordan said, his voice a low, lazy rumble through the quiet room. I looked up from the amber liquid swirling in the crystal glass. "Doing what?" "Thinking too much." He reached out, his long, scarred fingers gently wrapping around my ankle, his thumb sliding over the bone in a slow, c
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