Trying to stay professional

Emily’s fingers wrapped around the pen, the click echoing slightly in the small HR office. She didn’t look up. Just focused on the forms—PTO recalculation, health benefits rollover, standard stuff.

She kept her posture straight, her legs crossed, the oversized T-shirt draping loosely over her body. No bra. No blazer. And, she suspected, no illusions left between them.

Martin hadn’t said a word about the change of clothes. He hadn’t made a comment about the wet blouse. But she could feel it in the way he moved. Slower. Watching. Not ogling exactly—but evaluating.

And she wasn’t giving him anything.

Not anymore.

She signed the second page. “If you want me to initial the policy page too, just flag it.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

She glanced up.

Martin’s hand was resting on a separate folder. A different one. Manila, but thicker than the others. There was a red tab on it.

He slid it across the desk.

Emily stared at it. “What’s that?”

Martin’s tone changed. No more casual smarm. No more passive innuendo. Just… quiet.

“I was going to bring this up later,” he said. “But since we have a minute…”

He flipped it open.

Inside—copies of spreadsheets. Dates. Numbers. Her name in bold. Highlighted cells. Withdrawals. Department codes.

Emily’s stomach dropped.

“What is this?”

Martin steepled his fingers. “It’s an internal report. Started flagging inconsistencies in budget logs tied to your department while you were still on leave. At first, I thought it was a mistake.”

She looked down. “That’s not mine. I didn’t submit any logs—”

“But you did approve some,” he said smoothly. “And some of the transfers happened on days you were listed as working remotely before full leave kicked in.”

Emily’s fingers went cold.

“I didn’t—”

“I didn’t say you did,” he said, voice gentle now. Too gentle. “Could be a clerical error. Could be something the CFO needs to investigate. Could just… hang around unresolved for a few months.”

She stared at him.

“You’re not seriously—”

Martin held up a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Like I said. Probably nothing.”

The implication hung between them. Heavy. Rotten.

Emily’s throat was dry. Her nipples ached again—but this time with cold, not heat.

“What do you want?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just… respect. Collaboration. You’re important here, Emily. I want to make sure you feel that.”

She said nothing.

He smiled, small. “We’ll finish the paperwork today. That’s all.”

He reached for a pen and slid the performance plan form across to her.

Emily didn’t take it yet.

Her hands rested on the desk. Still. Tense.

Martin leaned back, as if that folder didn’t exist between them.

As if this was just a normal meeting.