The Boss's Game
But something made him tap the notification, open the message.
A photo loaded.
A photo of them in the elevator of his building. Her pressed against the mirrored wall, his mouth on her neck, her eyes closed in obvious ecstasy. Her dress was hiked up around her hips. His hand was clearly between her thighs. The image was high quality—taken through the security camera, then enhanced and cropped to focus on the most damning details.
Unmistakably them.
Below the photo, a message:
“Does HR know you’re fucking the boss? Walk away in 24 hours or everyone sees everything.”
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