Tension in the Elevator

Claire swore she wasn't going to think about him.

She walked into the office the next morning wearing her highest heels, her tightest pencil skirt, and a silky navy blouse that clung in just the right places.

Not for him, she reminded herself.

For me. For control. For power.

But the moment she saw Aidan Lazaro stepping out of his private elevator, dressed in charcoal and black, jaw freshly shaved and eyes sharp as ever, her stomach flipped like a traitor.

His gaze swept the room.

He saw her.

And smirked.

Claire clenched her jaw, spinning on her heel and heading to her desk like she hadn't just spent the whole night replaying his words in her head.

> "Then I ruin you. Slowly."

She shivered.

"Miss Bennett?"

Claire turned and found herself face-to-face with Aaron Steele, one of the senior account executives on the twelfth floor. Blonde. Boyish grin. Clean-cut. Not her type—but refreshingly normal.

"Hi," she smiled, trying to shake off the tension lingering from the night before.

"You dropped this." He handed her a folder—hers, clearly—and grinned. "You always work late?"

"Only when my boss decides to return like a ghost after hours."

Aaron chuckled. "I could use an assistant like you."

Claire laughed softly. "You can't afford me."

"Ouch," he said, mock-offended. "I'm wounded."

Just then, the elevator behind them dinged.

Aidan stepped out again, this time with two board members behind him. His eyes fell on Claire and Aaron. They were standing too close. Smiling too much.

Claire saw it in an instant.

The switch.

From calm to cold.

From unreadable… to possessive.

He didn't say anything.

He didn't have to.

His gaze was lethal—like Aaron had touched something sacred without permission.

Aaron noticed too, because he cleared his throat awkwardly and stepped back. "Anyway, I'll see you around."

Claire nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

As Aaron walked off, Aidan approached slowly, the two board members falling behind.

He stopped just beside her.

"Steele," he said without looking at her, "has a girlfriend. Pregnant. Three months."

Claire blinked. "What?"

"He's not your type," Aidan continued, voice calm. "And you're not his. But he thinks you're vulnerable enough to say yes."

Her lips parted. "Excuse me?"

Aidan finally looked at her—hard, unreadable.

"Don't flirt with sheep, Claire. You'll only end up bored or bitten."

"You think I was flirting?" she asked, stepping closer. "Maybe I just enjoy conversations that don't come with cryptic threats."

"Maybe," he said smoothly, "you want me to see you flirting."

Claire stared at him. "Why would I do that?"

His gaze dragged down her body. "You know exactly why."

He turned and walked back into his office like nothing happened.

Claire wanted to scream. Or kiss him. Or slap him. Or maybe all three.

Later That Day – 5:45 PM

The building had begun to empty again. Claire typed rapidly, trying to finish up a presentation outline when her phone pinged.

Text from: Aidan Lazaro

> Join me in the elevator. 6:00 sharp.

She stared at it, frowning. The elevator? Why not his office?

6:00 PM came fast.

Claire stepped inside the private elevator that only top execs and Aidan used. She expected him to be there already.

He wasn't.

The doors slid shut. It began to descend.

Then — it stopped between floors.

The lights dimmed.

A second later, Aidan stepped in from a side-access panel, closing it behind him like something out of a spy movie.

Claire jumped. "You just—wait—what?!"

"I control the panel," he said. "This shaft is isolated. No cameras. No records."

Claire backed up a step. "Why… are we in here?"

Aidan didn't speak.

He walked toward her.

"People saw us talking this morning," he said slowly, "too close. Too familiar."

Claire's back hit the wall of the elevator.

"And you're worried about rumors?"

"No," he said. "I'm worried about you pretending like it didn't mean anything."

"I'm trying to keep it professional."

His palm hit the wall beside her head.

"You want professional?" he said, breath warm against her cheek. "Then stop walking around like you want me to drag you into my office and ruin your voice."

Claire swallowed hard.

"You don't own me, Mr. Lazaro," she whispered.

He leaned in. His lips brushed her jaw.

"No," he said, voice dark. "But I will."

His hand cupped her waist, tugging her against him — slowly, deliberately. Claire gasped at the contact.

"You keep testing me, Claire," he murmured. "And I'm running out of patience."

Her hands gripped his suit jacket. "Then stop testing me back."

His lips hovered just above hers. "If I kiss you, I won't stop at just kissing."

"I don't want you to stop," she whispered.

That was the line.

He took it.

Aidan's lips crashed into hers, hard and hungry — nothing soft, nothing gentle. His hands slid into her hair, tugging her head back as he devoured her mouth like he'd been starving since day one.

Claire moaned against him, clutching his shirt, heat exploding under her skin.

His hand ran down her thigh, lifting it, pressing her against the panel. She arched into him, lost in the rhythm, the power, the dominance.

But then—

He stopped.

Just like that.

He pulled away, eyes dark, lips swollen.

"We're done here."

Claire blinked. "What?"

"I told you," he said. "I test. I don't fail."

The elevator resumed its movement. Lights flicked back on.

Ding.

Ground floor.

The doors opened to an empty lobby.

Claire stood there, breathless, burning, lips bruised, chest rising and falling.

He walked out first.

Didn't look back.

But before the doors closed behind him, he turned and said:

"Next time you want more, don't pretend you don't."