Jiho thought, foolishly, that after that night, things might go back to normal.
That he could hide behind his computer, avoid Zoey's gaze, and pretend he wasn't still burning inside whenever he thought of her.
He was wrong.
The moment he stepped into the office Monday morning, Zoey was waiting.
Not in a grand, dramatic way.
No — she sat at the far end of the open workspace, her sharp black suit immaculate, her heels crossed, a cup of coffee balanced neatly in one hand.
When Jiho tried to hurry past her desk, she called out — loudly enough for everyone to hear:
"Jiho."
He froze.
Slowly, he turned, heart hammering.
Zoey smiled, lazy and confident.
"Come here," she ordered.
Jiho obeyed — because what else could he do? — feeling the eyes of several coworkers glance toward him curiously.
When he stopped before her desk, Zoey leaned back in her chair, studying him openly.
Like a cat sizing up a particularly delicious mouse.
"Busy today?" she asked innocently, tapping the rim of her coffee cup.
Jiho fumbled for words.
"I—I have some reports to finish."
Zoey's smile widened slightly.
"Good. I like my employees working hard."
There was a loaded edge to her words — one Jiho knew all too well.
Before he could retreat, she added, almost as an afterthought:
"Meet me for lunch. One o'clock. No excuses."
Jiho opened his mouth to protest, but Zoey was already turning back to her computer, dismissing him without a second glance.
He stumbled back to his desk, flustered.
When lunchtime came, Jiho found himself sitting across from Zoey in a cozy little café just down the street.
She had picked the place — quiet, upscale, full of expensive dishes Jiho couldn't pronounce.
Zoey ordered for both of them without asking.
"You need to eat better," she said simply, waving away his weak protests.
The meal was delicious — and stressful.
Jiho spent most of it fumbling with his chopsticks while Zoey watched him with open amusement.
Every time he dropped a piece of meat or fumbled with his cup, she chuckled under her breath.
At one point, when he struggled with a particularly slippery dumpling, Zoey reached across the table, plucking it easily with her own chopsticks and holding it up in front of his mouth.
"Open," she commanded, her voice low and teasing.
Jiho turned bright red.
"I—I can do it—"
"Open," Zoey repeated, smirking.
Jiho obeyed, cheeks burning, letting her feed him like a child.
The dumpling was delicious, but Jiho barely tasted it over the pounding of his heart.
"Good boy," Zoey said under her breath, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes.
Jiho nearly choked on his food.
The teasing didn't stop after lunch.
Back at the office, Zoey found small ways to "bully" him all afternoon:
Assigning him ridiculous little tasks just to see him squirm.
Calling him out during meetings with sweetly sarcastic comments.
Brushing her hand across his back when passing by, just enough to leave him dizzy and flustered.
Jiho didn't know what was worse — the teasing, or how much a part of him craved it.
This wasn't just a fling anymore.
It was something deeper.
Dangerous.
Addictive.
And Jiho had no idea how to stop it.
{End of Chapter 6}