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But I do.
I lean back in my chair, barely hearing the conversation happening around me. The office hums with mundane corporate misery—the clack of keyboards, the low murmur of voices, someone’s depressing sigh from two cubicles over.
And right in the middle of it, my phone lights up again.
Unknown Number: Are you slacking off?
My lips twitch.
Me: Excuse you, I’m being a very responsible employee.
Unknown Number: Are you?
Me: No. I’m staring at a spreadsheet and contemplating my life choices.
Unknown Number: Do I need to stage an intervention?
Me: Only if it involves you paying my rent so I can quit this job and pursue a career in leisure.
Unknown Number: And here I thought you were a hardworking woman.
I smirk, thumbs tapping out a reply.
Me: Oh, I am. I just think I’d be really good at being rich and doing nothing.
A second later?—
Unknown Number: Dangerous mindset. You might fall into bad habits.
Me: Like what?
Unknown Number: Like getting spoiled.
I don’t have a response for that, because Jesus Christ.
A slow heat curls in my stomach, and I have to physically fight the urge to fan myself with the nearest stack of papers.
This is not normal.
I shouldn’t be this invested.
I shouldn’t be sitting in a stale corporate office, heart skipping because a man I don’t even know is teasing me through a screen.
And yet, when my phone buzzes again, I bite back a smile before looking down.
Unknown Number: Still there, or did I make you blush?
I chew my lip.
This is bad.
This is very bad.
I don’t text back right away.
Instead, I stare at the message, fully aware of how ridiculous this is.
I shouldn’t feel this warmth spreading through my chest. I shouldn’t be reading and rereading his words, my stomach twisting just a little too much at the thought of him sitting somewhere—maybe in an office, maybe in his bed—waiting for my reply.