Sharp Objects

I broke up with love. Swore I’d never fall again. Then my boss, Xander Blackwell, walked in with his sharp suits, colder eyes, and the kind of mouth that ruins all rules. We agreed: no feelings, just touch. Just heat. Just bodies. But somewhere between late-night calls and stolen glances, the line we drew started to blur. He says I’m just his assistant. But when he whispers "mine" it doesn’t feel like a lie. This wasn’t supposed to mean anything. So why does it feel like everything?