The office was quiet after hours.

The hum of the city had faded into a low background buzz behind the 34th-floor windows, and only the soft tap of Sasha’s heels echoed across the hardwood floors. She glanced at the glowing time on her phone — 10:17 p.m.

Everyone else had gone home hours ago.

Except for Mr. Grayson.

Her boss.

Cold. Brilliant. Always in control. And the reason her panties had been soaked for days.

Sasha had only been working for him for two weeks, but every ...