Arianna was perched on Maxwell’s lap, her eyes darting nervously around the room. She was busy mentally drafting a dozen different excuses to make a quick exit.

Maxwell watched her, his gaze heavy. Her cheeks were flushed a soft rose, the color bleeding into her elegant, swan-like neck and down to her porcelain earlobes. Her eyes were shimmering, framed by long, dark, curled lashes, yet she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. Her hands, however, were being remarkably bold, tracing the firm contours of his abs through his shirt.

Maxwell couldn't help a low, amused chuckle, his mood clearly lifted.

Arianna turned to him, looking bewildered. "What?"

There was a smudge of milk on the corner of her lips; the white contrast against her naturally crimson skin was distractingly vivid. Maxwell stared at the curve of her mouth, his eyes darkening with a storm of intent.

Arianna stayed silent. She felt the blistering heat of his stare, and it was precisely that intensity that robbed her of her words. She turned to face him fully.

Without a second of warning, Maxwell leaned in and kissed her.

His handsome face filled her vision, and Arianna froze like a deer in headlights. Her brain short-circuited, wiping every coherent thought from her mind. His thin lips pressed against hers, lingering for a soft, fleeting moment before he pulled back—the perfect gentleman. His hand remained cupped firmly around the back of her head, keeping her close.

He rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the cramped space between them. His voice was a low, jagged rasp. "Can I kiss you?"

Arianna: "...!!"

Isn't that a bit late to ask, considering you already did?

What kind of game was this? Acting first, asking later? A "kiss-and-ask" policy? Arianna desperately wanted to give him a live demonstration—like, say, frantically groping his abs, taking full advantage of the situation, and then politely asking, *'May I touch your stomach?'*

But that was just a daydream. Arianna was all "bold heart, coward’s soul." She said nothing.

Maxwell let out a soft laugh and pinched the nape of her neck. "Arianna, can I?"

He pitched his voice lower, a deep, resonant rumble that was pure, unfiltered seduction. The deed was already done. What could she even say?

Arianna nodded, just as she was about to speak, Maxwell leaned in and claimed her mouth once more.

This time, the kiss was fiercer, a sudden deluge of heat and impatience. Amidst the storm of his lips, the realization finally hit her: he wasn't asking about the first kiss; he was asking for permission to go further.

Arianna: ...Who even does that?

The hand resting on her waist tightened, his grip firm enough to make the muscles in his forearm flex—the kind of raw, masculine energy that left her reeling. He bit lightly at her lower lip, his tongue grazing the seam of her mouth, sending a jolt of electricity straight to her toes.

Arianna’s eyelashes fluttered. Her fingers, which had been resting on his shoulders, began to curl into his shirt. The kiss evolved, shifting from a gentle spring rain into an unstoppable downpour. When he finally deepened it, sliding his tongue into her mouth, Arianna’s composure shattered completely.

The room grew thick with the sound of their shallow, frantic breaths and the wet, rhythmic slide of their mouths. He held her head captive, devouring her, his hunger bordering on obsessive, as if he intended to consume her whole.

Before things could spiral further out of control, Maxwell pulled back, pressing one final, lingering kiss to her lips. His voice was gravelly. "Arianna."

Her brain was still firmly in "system failure" mode. She hummed a response, her tone soft and sweet—far too intimate for comfort.

Maxwell laughed, his thumb brushing a stray drop of moisture from her lip. He watched her with a searing gaze, waiting for her to say something. Under the pressure of his attention, Arianna scrambled to her feet, clutching her glass of milk like a lifeline. "I'm heading back now. Get some sleep."

She tried for "carefree and collected"—as if being kissed half-senseless was just a regular Tuesday.

Maxwell stood up as well. "Let me walk you."

Why did he have to be so unpredictable? Her room was down the hall—did he really need to escort her?

Arianna walked with a stiff, robotic gait, her arms and legs moving in awkward, synchronized patterns until she reached her door. She turned around to face him. "Alright, I'm here. You go back."

Maxwell looked at her for a long moment. Finally, unable to resist, he pulled her into an embrace, ruffling her hair. He let out a soft, satisfied sigh. "Why are you so cute, Mrs. King? Goodnight."

***

Arianna barely slept. As the sky began to bleed the faint grey of dawn, she finally drifted off, only to be haunted by a dream that replayed the scene exactly as it had happened. She was in his lap, his hand cupping her head, lost in the rhythm of his lips. Then, the scene shifted. Suddenly, he was pressing her down into the mattress. Maxwell braced himself on his arms, looking down at her with that same intense, lazy smirk. "Arianna, can I?"

In her dream, her courage was boundless. She nodded. Maxwell laughed, and his hands began to work the buttons of her clothes, stripping them away inch by agonizing inch... The temperature in the room climbed, hot enough to set her skin on fire.

***

When she woke up, Arianna couldn't meet Maxwell’s eyes. Every time she looked at him, the dream came rushing back—the way he was both gentle and ruthlessly dominant, the way he had whispered into her ear, asking if she truly loved him. She remembered clutching his shoulders, tears blurring her vision, nodding as she was caught in the swell of his tide.

In the end, she skipped breakfast entirely, concocting a flimsy excuse and bolting to the office.

Diana James arrived early, and the two bumped into each other in the lobby. Diana stared at her, horrified. "You've only been in Charlotte’s department for a few days—how have you managed to turn into such a wreck?!"

Arianna touched her face. "Is it that obvious?"

Diana linked her arm through hers. "You look like you've aged six months overnight."

Arianna: "...That is remarkably fast."

After a bit of lighthearted ribbing, they got back to the task at hand. "How is it in the new department? How is Charlotte?"

"She's actually quite good," Arianna said earnestly. "The other colleagues are helpful, too. If I don't understand something, they're always willing to show me the ropes."

"That's great!" Diana squeezed her shoulder firmly. "Keep at it, Arianna. Move up the ladder. I believe in you!"

Arianna felt a surge of gratitude. "Thanks. You too. Let's both keep fighting."

As the words left her lips, a scoff echoed nearby. Jenna Lawson strolled past them, clutching her designer bag, and let out a single, airy, "Oh, please."

The sarcasm was dripping off her tone, the disdain clear enough to imply she’d heard every word of their pep talk.

Diana looked up at the ceiling, mirroring the tone. "Oh, please." She nudged Arianna, whispering, "Quick, do it with me."

Arianna tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling too. "Oh, please."

Diana: "Oh, please, please, please."

Jenna: "..."