His office, my rules

ELI

Maya and I barely made it out of Carter’s office before she started.

“So.”

I side-eyed her. “So, what?”

Her grin was wicked. “You. Him. Alone. Office. Dark suit. That jawline.”

I groaned. “Maya—”

“Don’t ‘Maya’ me. I saw your face when you walked out. You looked like you just got caught watching porn at the library.”

I covered my face with my hand. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you make it too easy, sunshine.” She linked her arm through mine, leaning in close. “Come on, spill. Did he say something dirty?”

I nearly choked. “What? No!”

“Uh-huh. That’s a yes face if I ever saw one.”

I scowled. “There is no ‘yes face.’”

“There’s definitely a yes face. Yours is red.”

“I’m not red.”

“You’re tomato soup, babe.”

I tugged my arm free. “It wasn’t anything. He told me to organize papers.”

“Oh wow,” she gasped dramatically. “So sexy. Papers. God, I’m wet already.”

“Maya.”

“What? You don’t think office sex is hot?”

My brain short-circuited. “We are not talking about office sex—”

“—with Professor Vale.” She waggled her brows.

I wanted the ground to swallow me. “He’s cold. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t even smile.”

“Exactly. Ice daddy vibes. Don’t you watch TV? Cold men are the hottest. Brooding. Tragic pasts. Silent in bed until—”

“Shut up,” I hissed, grabbing her wrist. Students were passing us in the hall.

Which was exactly when she leaned closer and whispered, way too loud: “Bet he’s packing serious dick.”

Three heads turned.

Someone snorted.

I died inside. “MAYA!”

She cackled, completely unbothered. “Relax, sunshine. They’ll forget.”

I tugged her down another corridor, muttering under my breath. “I’m never walking with you again.”

“Yes, you are,” she sing-songed. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” I snapped, still red.

But no matter how much I denied it, my brain wouldn’t shut up.

Not about Maya’s filthy jokes. Not about the whispers in the hall.

Not about the way Carter had looked at me.

Cold. Sharp. Like he could see straight through me.

I told myself he didn’t care. That he was like that with everyone.

But then I remembered the jacket. The heat of it over my shoulders. The way it smelled like him.

And I hated myself a little for wishing he had said something dirty.

By the time I got home, I was dead.

Not literally. But close. My body was a sack of bricks, my brain a fried circuit board.

I dropped my bag by the door, kicked my shoes off, and collapsed face-first on the bed.

“Five minutes,” I mumbled into the pillow. “Just five.”

But the second my eyes shut, the world shifted.

It was his office. Papers scattered across the desk.

And me—on his lap again.

Just like before.

Only this time, he didn’t let me go.

His hand locked firm on my waist, keeping me pressed against him. His chest solid against mine, his eyes dark, unflinching.

“Running again?” His voice was low, dangerous.

My throat tightened. “I—no, I just—”

“Liar.” His hand slid higher, up my back, pulling me closer. “You always run.”

“I’m not—”

“Then stay.”

My breath hitched. His lips brushed my ear. “Stay, Eli.”

Heat. Everywhere. My pulse hammered. My body betrayed me, leaning in, wanting.

His mouth curved, cold and sharp. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

I gasped.

I woke up drenched.

Sheets tangled, skin sweaty, breath ragged. My hand clutched the pillow like I’d been holding onto him.

“Oh my God.” I buried my face. “No. Nope. Absolutely not.”

It was a dream. A stupid, disgusting, hot-as-hell dream.

Of him.

I groaned into the pillow. “I hate myself.”

Before I could recover, my phone rang on the nightstand.

Maya. Of course.

I fumbled it to my ear. “Hello?” My voice was hoarse.

She cackled instantly. “Oh my God, why do you sound like you just ran a marathon? Or like—you know.”

“Maya.”

Her laugh got louder. “Sunshine, were you dreaming about Professor Tall-Dark-And-Frozen?”

I shot upright. “WHAT?!”

“Your voice says it all,” she teased. “I knew it. You totally were.”

“I was not!”

“You so were. Don’t lie to me, Eli Rivera. I know your tones.”

“Maya—”

“Bet he was pinning you against a desk. Or maybe against the chalkboard? Oh my God, yes—‘Bend over, student.’”

“MAYA!”

She was wheezing with laughter now. “Don’t hang up—”

Click.

I tossed the phone down, face flaming.

I flopped back into bed, groaning. “I need therapy.”

But no matter how hard I tried, Carter’s voice lingered in my head.

Stay, Eli.

And it terrified me how much I wanted it.

Morning came way too fast.

I dragged myself out of bed like a zombie, hair sticking up in every possible direction, brain still fried from the dream. (Yes, that dream. No, I don’t want to talk about it.)

Coffee. Lots of it. That was the only reason I made it to campus without collapsing.

By the time I sank into my seat in lecture, Maya was already there, tapping her pen like she’d been waiting to pounce.

She leaned in. “So. Did you sleep well?”

I gave her a look. “Don’t start.”

Her grin was evil. “Oh, I’m starting. You hung up on me last night, sunshine. Rude. So. Tell me. Did Tall-Dark-and-Frozen do dirty things in your dreams?”

“Maya.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Please, I’m begging you. Stop.”

She poked my arm. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are. Look at you. Red as a tomato.”

I flicked her forehead.

“Ow!” She rubbed it dramatically. “Abuse. I’ll sue.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll shut up long enough to pass this class.”

She stuck her tongue out but finally turned back to her notes. Blessed silence.

For about five minutes.

We headed straight to his class after.

The air in the lecture hall felt heavier somehow, like everyone sensed something. Carter stood at the front, writing on the board in clean, sharp strokes. His suit was dark, crisp, perfectly tailored. He didn’t even have to try to look intimidating — he just was.

I dropped into my seat, trying not to look.

Maya shot me a side glance. Then another.

“What,” I hissed under my breath.

She smirked. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re drooling.”

I flicked her forehead again.

“OW! Stop assaulting me!”

“Then stop talking.”

Before she could reply, Carter turned. “Settle down.”

The room went silent instantly.

His eyes scanned the rows — cold, unreadable — until they landed on me.

My stomach dropped.

“Mr. Rivera,” he said. “Stand.”

My chair scraped back loudly. I stood, heart racing. “Yes, sir?”

He tilted his head, like he was already bored. “Explain the doctrine of promissory estoppel. Apply it to Central London Property Trust Ltd v High Trees House Ltd.”

I froze.

Half the class turned to look at me.

I wanted to sink through the floor.

I cleared my throat. “Uh… promissory estoppel is when a promise is enforceable by law, even if it’s not supported by consideration. Because the promisee relied on it to their detriment.”

Carter didn’t blink. “And High Trees?”

I gripped the edge of the desk, forcing myself to think. “During WWII, the landlord agreed to reduce the rent. When the war ended, he tried to claim back the full rent. The court held that he couldn’t go back on his promise because the tenants relied on it.”

The words rushed out too fast, but they made sense.

Carter studied me. Silence stretched.

Then—his lips curved. Slight. Barely there. But real.

A smirk.

“Correct,” he said finally. “Sit.”

I sat fast, pulse racing, ears burning.

Maya leaned in, whispering, “Oh my God, he smirked at you.”

“Shut up,” I hissed.

She grinned. “No wonder you’re sweating.”

“I hate you.”

But the truth? That smirk stuck in my head like glue.

The rest of class blurred. All I could see was the way his mouth curved, sharp and knowing, like he’d been testing me. Like he enjoyed watching me squirm.

When the bell rang, everyone scrambled to leave.

I tried to follow, but his voice cut through the room.

“Rivera. Stay.”

I froze.

Maya gave me the world’s filthiest wink. “Have fun, sunshine.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, but she was already gone.

The room emptied. Silence settled.

I clutched my bag tighter and walked down to the front.

He didn’t look up immediately, just stacked papers with sharp precision. Finally, he said, “You have assistant duties.”

I swallowed. “Right. Of course.”

His eyes flicked up, pinning me in place. “Don’t look so nervous. You passed Richards’ test. You should be confident.”

“I’m not nervous,” I lied.

His brow arched faintly. “You’re stuttering again.”

“I am not!”

“You are.”

My face flamed.

The hallway to his office was too quiet. Every footstep echoed. My pulse was loud in my ears, like it wanted to give me away.

Carter walked ahead of me, crisp, straight-backed, precise. He didn’t say a word. He never said a word unless it mattered.

Halfway down, he stopped at the coffee machine.

“Do you want one?” he asked, already sliding in a coin.

I blinked. He was actually asking me? “Uh—yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

He pressed the buttons. One black for himself. One with milk for me. He handed me the cup.

I took it carefully. “Thanks.”

He just nodded, like it was nothing.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, me sipping nervously, him looking like he owned the building.

By the time we reached his office, my nerves were on overload. I was so focused on not tripping, not spilling, not embarrassing myself—

That I bumped straight into him.

The coffee tipped.

Right onto his shirt.

“Oh my God!” I yelped, jerking back. “I’m so sorry!”

Hot liquid stained across his chest, dripping down the perfect white cotton.

He looked down, calm as ever. “Relax.”

“I just ruined your shirt—”

“You didn’t.” He was already shrugging out of his blazer, unbuttoning his shirt like this was routine.

My mouth went dry.

He slipped the shirt off, and—holy shit.

Muscle. Sharp lines. Tattoos curling across his chest and down his arms, dark ink on pale skin.

I froze. Completely froze.

He pulled a fresh shirt from the cabinet, casual, like stripping in front of me wasn’t ending my entire existence.

I forced myself to breathe. Don’t stare. Don’t stare. Don’t stare.

I stared.

He caught me.

His eyes flicked up, catching mine mid-gawk. One brow lifted, slow, deliberate.

“You done?”

I choked. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t staring!”

“You were.” His voice was flat.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

I turned away fast, clutching my coffee cup like it could save me.

We sat down after that. Or, well, he sat down. I was still trying to remember how to breathe.

Documents were stacked in front of me. I focused hard, trying to drown in the words. Contracts. Citations. Deadlines. Anything but the image of ink curling across his ribs.

Silence filled the office, heavy but sharp. He typed. I scribbled. Paper rustled.

Then his pen rolled off the desk.

We both reached.

Our hands brushed.

Heat shot up my arm like electricity.

I jerked back instantly, knocking my own folder onto the floor. “Sorry—sorry!”

He picked up the pen calmly. “You react like I burned you.”

I swallowed hard. “You—you startled me.”

“I didn’t move.”

“Still.”

His eyes pinned me, cold, unreadable. “You’re jumpy.”

I hugged my notebook tighter. “You’re… you. That’s why.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You.” I gestured vaguely at his entire existence. “Tall. Cold. Covered in tattoos. Staring all the time. You’re… intimidating.”

His mouth curved slightly. “Good.”

“Good?!”

“It keeps people focused.”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “You’re impossible.”

He leaned back in his chair, pen between his fingers. “And yet, here you are. Still working in my office.”

I glared at him, heat creeping up my neck again. “Only because I have to.”

He didn’t reply. Just smirked again, faint, sharp, and went back to his laptop.

And that stupid smirk stayed in my head the rest of the day.