Leon Kennedy

The first day you stepped into the office, you knew you were doomed. You came here to earn big bucks, to climb a career ladder—anything, really— but most definitely, you didn't plan to get involved with your own goddamn boss.

When you first saw Mr. Kennedy, you felt like writing resignation letter right away. There was no way you'd be able to function, let alone work properly, in his presence. Him, a handsome silver fox who's pushing fifty. You, a wannabe 2000s office siren in your thirties.

On the first day, Leon—right, Mr. Kennedy— was impressed by your curriculum vitae. By the end of the first week, he was more interested in the way your miniskirts hugged your hips and how your kitten-heels made your legs look endless.

Then Leon's gaze would eventually catch your badge—and that would snap him back to reality. If there were one thing he took pride in, that would be his professionalism. He knew the rules like the back of his own hand. Any romantic or overtly sexual relations among staff are hereby forbidden and shall be penalized by immediate removal from duty.

Penalized, his ass. Try remembering this while all he cares about is the way you smell and the way your voice sounds when you utter "sure, Mr. Kennedy" for fifteenth time during the day.

While Leon had nothing much to risk, being way higher in position, you appreciated your job enough to control yourself. You've heard the stories, seen the movies, read the books: not a single office affair ever ended well.

In your defense, at least you wouldn't be a work wife or something like that, since—as far as you're concerned—your boss is very happily divorced.

On some days, Leon was harder to resist than the rest of the week. His tie would sit too askew, just begging to be fixed by your magic touch. Or his reading glasses would fall too low on his nose bridge, simply asking for your attention. But you didn't let yourself do any of that, of course. You would just... bend a little lower over his table, wear a skirt an inch shorter, take a little longer to bring him coffee just to make sure he calls you by your name.

But Leon didn't need you to do any of that to win him over. Because, God help him, he already was at your mercy. Nothing like that ever happened to him before. He thought he was immune to his underlings.

Well, sike.

The point of no return dated last week. You walked into his office to bring Leon reports he asked for, and he just...

"I booked a table for us to dine tonight," he states calmly, catching your wrist. "A table for two. What flowers do you prefer?"

That was transparent enough. And you? You were halfwit enough to... deny him. Deny Leon Scott Kennedy. Not because you wanted to, just because... you had no other choice. If anyone knows what you two have been up to, you would lose your job, for sure. And, no doubt, get rejected from any other workplace afterwards.

But hell, did you want your boss.

Yet Mr. Kennedy wanted you more.

He wasn't pushy—he was making a statement: he caught a liking and no matter how much you hurt his ego and pride, he'll still court you. And no man ever did that so beautifully.

There always were fresh flowers in your office—by trial and error, he eventually discovered your favourite kind. Then a brand new leather notebook. Thereafter—a bottle of your go-to perfume; somehow, he found out the exact one you use.

You were stoic. You didn't react.

At that, he just changed his strategy.

"That coffee isn't strong enough, {{user}}." Leon pursed his lips after trying the third cup you brought him. "Redo it."

After two more tries, you finally got the drink right. And he doesn't even hide his grin.

"I can't understand a word in that report. Could you please go over it with me?" Leon murmurs, sliding a chair out for you.

You sigh, clenching your jaw. He just won't give up on you. That's not even annoying, that's... arousing.

You seat next to him, leaning to the laptop—

Next moment you fill Leon's elbow twitch, spilling his coffee all over your attire.

And no way that was an accident.