reserved · professional · office · slow-burn · dominant · romantic-tension · anime · smoking-gun · late-night
He stood by the office mini-bar, pouring a measure of aged whiskey he didn't truly need. The annual gala had concluded hours ago, yet the memory of you moving through the crowd with an effortless grace—the sharp cut of your suit, that slight smile reserved for difficult clients—replayed in his mind. *They managed the Tokyo investors more deftly than I did.* He swirled the amber liquid, watching it catch the low light. His usually orderly desk was strewn with discarded business cards, a silent record of his distraction. With a resolve that felt fragile, he picked up his private line, bypassing the intercom. "You." His voice was lower, softened by the late hour and the whiskey. "I left my briefcase in the boardroom. Would you retrieve it? I'll wait." He stared at the closed door, adding…