What Kind of Man?

Hank Granger wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what Sarah was doing.

And he wasn’t the kind of man to fall for it.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

He **** his focus back to the bid proposal in front of him. The numbers swam, but he clenched his jaw and kept at it, breaking down costs, analyzing estimates, double-checking supplier quotes. This was work. This was what mattered. Not Sarah. Not the way she had looked at him this morning when she walked in—expectant, a little pouty when he brushed her off.

But dammit, she was stunning.

The thought slipped in, unbidden, as if it had been waiting for a crack in his resolve. Hank swore under his breath and shoved it away.

He wasn’t that kind of man.

His pen scratched against paper.

Two columns of figures later, he realized he had stopped paying attention. His mind had wandered—to the way she had melted against him yesterday, her body soft and warm. To the way her perfume had clung to his shirt long after she’d gone.

He shook his head.

He wasn’t that kind of man.

A few more calculations. Focus. Work.

Then, suddenly—Sarah again. But not in the office. In his home. Her blouse unbuttoned just enough to tease, her lips parted, waiting. On her knees. She wouldn’t say a word, just watch him with those dark eyes, waiting for him to break, waiting for him to take her by the wrist and pull her in.

Hank flinched, jerking upright in his chair.

Christ.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t him.

He rubbed a hand over his face, then **** himself to stare at the blueprints in front of him. Just numbers. Just measurements. Cold, clean precision. Nothing that could be tainted by temptation.

But then—

Her lips on his neck. Soft. Searching.

He exhaled sharply and stood, pacing.

This had to stop.

He wasn’t some weak, pathetic guy who let his marriage problems steer him toward something reckless. He loved Donna. Even if things were strained, even if she was distant, that didn’t mean he could just—

No.

He dragged in a breath and sat down, hands braced on his knees.

Sarah was testing him. She wanted him to slip. She was waiting for it.

And he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

For a while, it worked. He powered through the rest of the proposal, replied to emails, handled three phone calls. By the time the afternoon rolled around, he was sure he’d beaten it.

And then, he slipped.

It was nothing at first. She had come in to drop off some invoices, standing just a little too close. He barely looked at her.

But when she turned to leave, she hesitated, her voice softer than usual.

"Mr. Granger, are you okay?"

Hank should have shut it down. Should have nodded, grunted something dismissive. But the words left his mouth before he could stop them.

"I don’t know."

Sarah turned back. And in that instant, he knew he’d made a mistake.

She stepped closer, her hand brushing his forearm. The contact was light, casual. But it felt like fire.

She tilted her head, her eyes searching his face. "You work too hard," she murmured, "Always carrying the weight of everything."

He swallowed. She was too close. But he didn’t move.

Her fingers ghosted along his sleeve, barely touching, but the heat lingered. He imagined them sliding down his chest, undoing his tie, guiding him down—

Enough.

Hank stood so abruptly that his chair scraped against the floor.

"Go home."

“What?” Her voice carried disbelief.

"Take the rest of the day off," then, just to cover himself, "With pay."

"Did I do something..."

"I just need to work alone," he said, too quickly, "I need to think."

For a long moment, she didn’t move. Hank **** himself to look her in the eye, despite the fact that her breasts were so prominent, so close that he could almost feel the heat off of them. Then, finally, she nodded.

"Of course, Mr. Granger."

Her voice was meek, but there was something else behind it. Something almost… satisfied.

No. He was imagining it. That was just his guilt talking.

Sarah left.

And Hank sat back down, staring at his desk. The room was empty now, but it didn’t feel like it. The scent of her perfume still lingered in the air.

His hands curled into fists.

What kind of man was he, really?