Pass Work of to Emily

There were too many accounts waiting for me—contracts, approvals, endless signatures stacked like a dare. Normally I’d glide through them before lunch, but weeks of broken sleep had left me raw. Every night I turned restlessly in sheets that refused to cool, every morning I woke already tense. The fatigue sat behind my eyes like static, and the low pulse of arousal I couldn’t explain made it worse. I told myself it was stress, nothing more, yet the harder I tried to focus, the more the numbers blurred and the air in my office seemed to thrum against my skin.

The numbers refused to behave.

Every line I signed seemed to breed two more, until the desk looked like a graveyard of contracts. I’d already triple-checked the same report, and still the figures swam before my eyes.

Enough.

I tapped the intercom. “Emily, get in here.”

A pause, then the faint sound of her chair scraping back. She entered a moment later, tablet clutched to her chest, hair a little mussed as if she’d run. Always running.

“Yes, Executive Lux?”

Her voice had that tremor of nerves I used to enjoy—proof that she still cared about what I thought. Today it grated and thrilled me in equal measure.

“I’m reallocating some accounts,” I said, sliding the top stack toward her. “You’ll audit the subsidiary contracts and flag any anomalies before tomorrow’s meeting.”

Emily nodded, eyes wide. “Of course.” She leaned over my desk and I couldn't help but stare down her blouse a little. Emily was small and petite with small perky little breasts that…..

She waited for me to dismiss her. I didn’t.

“Sit!” I gestured to the visitor chair. She perched on the edge of it, trying to look composed. The scent of her shampoo drifted across the desk—clean, fruity, irritatingly pleasant.

The smell made me think that her skin must tate sweet and that if i ran my tongue….. I caught myself staring at her but then buried my head in the files once more. The next time a glanced up Emily crossed her legs. Smooth and toned, legs that went on for miles. Her skirt had exposed more or her thighs.

Was she doing this on purpose, to embarrass me? Or did she want me to stare at her? God what was wrong with me?

“Anything unclear?” my voice cracked as I spoke. At some point my mouth had become dry and I needed a glass of water.

“No, Executive Lux.” It was her normal voice the way she said it but it sounded like silk…. Like.

Her lips formed the words carefully, as if each one mattered. I caught myself staring and turned away. The hum of the office filled the silence between us.

“Take the rest to your desk,” I said. “Finish what you can before end of day.”

She gathered the files quickly, relief obvious, and stood. As she reached for the door, I added, “Close it behind you.”

The glass sealed with a soft chime. The room was suddenly too quiet again.

“Yes, Executive Lux.”

She slipped out, leaving the faint scent of her shampoo behind. Through the transparent wall I could see her cross the open floor—posture perfect, hands steady, the picture of professionalism. For a moment pride warmed me. Then the warmth turned into something else, something that made it hard to breathe.

Stop. Focus.

But my eyes kept finding her, the way her hair caught the light of the monitors, the way she leaned toward the screen when reading. The hum of the building seemed to throb in time with my pulse.

“Directive mode,” I ordered.

The glass obeyed, rippling to smoky opacity. Emily vanished; only the faint blur of motion remained behind the tint. The world shrank to the sound of air circulation and my own heartbeat.

Better. Safer. Almost.

With the view gone, her image stayed anyway, sharper now because it was entirely in my head. I pictured her at her desk, calm, efficient, unaware of the effect she had. The thought pressed against the inside of my skull like heat, spilling into every corner until it was impossible to tell where irritation ended and desire began.

Work, I reminded myself, but the word no longer sounded convincing.

I sank back into the chair, hands folded in my lap, breathing until the rhythm steadied. The opaque glass reflected a ghostly version of myself—poised, flawless, untouchable. Exactly what everyone expected to see.

Despite everything I managed that day, the stack of files still loomed on the edge of my desk—accusing, unfinished. The numbers I had touched blurred together; the rest waited in silent judgment. My reflection in the glass looked composed enough, but my body felt hollowed out, the exhaustion behind my ribs still pulsing. Tomorrow’s executive meeting blinked on the schedule display, a neat red reminder that control was only ever borrowed. I shut down the console, straightened the papers, and told myself I’d finish the rest in the morning. The growing arousal had lessened a bit for now, but that