Chantelle

I looked at my reflection that morning; there I was, wearing a white cropped shirt, a short leather skirt with fishnet hose, and black pumps.

I took extra care with my hair and makeup too; I almost burnt my hair. I couldn’t believe I was doing all of this for him.

When he arrived, I was typing a report at my desk. He paused in front of me, eyes scanning me slowly, expression unreadable. Then he smirked, the kind that made butterflies flutter in my stomach.

“Good,” he ...