My hardcore Boss

Chapter 2.1 : Shopping

Half an hour later, we're walking through the city center with hot dogs and sodas in hand. My blouse is pinned together with safety pins—hardly glamorous, but it'll do. My eyes are still a little red, and I feel a bit raw, but somehow... better. I really thought he was going to fire me after my little outburst, but instead, he offered to buy me lunch and a new blouse. Maybe he's not as much of a jerk as I thought.

As we walk, I steal a glance at him. He has this intensity about him up close, a kind of quiet strength. His face is all clean lines and angles—a sharp jaw, green eyes shadowed just enough to make him look serious, almost brooding. His lips are fuller than I expected, framed by a bit of scruff that he probably forgot to shave this morning. He's sturdy, taller than me by a few inches, and seems completely at ease, even in a suit and tie on a scorching day. It's strange, seeing him like this—almost human.

After we finish our food, we duck into a shop to find me a blouse. I pick out a plain white shirt, comfortable and safe, something that covers me up. But when I show him my choice, he frowns slightly.

"Why don't you try something else?" he says, handing me a red silk top with lace trim and a plunging neckline. "Consider it a bonus."

I stare at the top, my cheeks heating up. "Isn't this a bit... much for work?"

"Just try it on," he says with a smirk that leaves me feeling off-balance.

Reluctantly, I take the blouse into the dressing room, slipping it on. It's soft, luxurious, the kind of fabric that almost feels too good against my skin. I glance in the mirror, feeling a mixture of admiration and embarrassment. This isn't something I would normally wear, but... it does look nice.

I barely have time to take it in when the curtain pulls back, and he steps into the dressing room.

"As I thought, red suits you," he says, his voice low, his gaze moving over me with a kind of calm assessment. "You should keep it. My treat."

He turns to leave, leaving me standing there, flushed and speechless. I don't know how to take his gesture—it feels oddly intimate, unsettling, like he's seeing a part of me I don't usually show.

That evening, as I settle in at home, my thoughts keep drifting back to him. I sit down with Rudolf purring beside me, a glass of wine in hand, scrolling through last night's programming on Xstream. I don't know what I'm hoping to find, but my curiosity gets the best of me. There it is—Other Ways.

I hesitate, feeling a strange flutter in my stomach. I know I'm being ridiculous, but... I click on it anyway.

At first, the film is just slow shots and quiet dialogue, something artsy with too much lighting. But twenty minutes in, my heart skips a beat. A new character appears on screen, and it's him. Or... someone who looks exactly like him.

My throat goes dry as I watch him move across the screen, his expression intense, more open than I've ever seen him at work. Part of me wants to laugh it off as a coincidence. It can't actually be him... can it?

But the resemblance is uncanny. The jaw, the green eyes, the scruffy beard—it's all there. I watch, transfixed, feeling my cheeks heat up as the scene shifts. There he is, tying a woman's hands to the bedpost, his face a mixture of concentration and something I've never seen before: desire.

I glance around my empty living room, irrationally self-conscious. My heart pounds, and I can feel warmth pooling low in my belly, a pull of curiosity mixed with a wave of shame. What am I even doing? This is insane. But I can't stop watching.

As he kisses the woman, his mouth moving along her skin, I feel a strange ache in my own body. I shift on the couch, biting my lip, trying to fight the urge to touch myself. I shouldn't be feeling this way—especially not about my boss, if it's even him. But the scene is... mesmerizing. The way he moves, the look on his face, so different from his usual scowl at the office. It's like he's a different person entirely.

I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of it. It's just a movie. It's probably not him. But the thought lingers, a whisper I can't quite ignore. What if it is?

I force myself to stop the video, shutting my laptop and burying my face in my hands. What's wrong with me? My face is burning, and my heart is racing, but I'm not sure if it's from excitement or embarrassment. All I know is that I can't get the image out of my head—my boss, tangled up in sheets, his face flushed, his mouth parted, his gaze softened in a way I've never seen.

It's absurd. It has to be someone else. And yet, as I get ready for bed, that strange ache still lingers.