It's a Friday night like any other, but unlike others, I have opted to hole up in my office, buried in work, shying away from the bustling nightlife of the city. The sound of flipping pages moves in a rhythm as my fingers clack ferociously yet meticulously against my keyboard. My eyes mostly stay glued to the screen, occasionally flicking to glance at the papers before me.

My flow is ultimately disrupted by the shrill sound of my ringtone bouncing against the walls of my once quiet office.

Riiingg.......Riiinnggggg.......

The ringing is soon followed by the monotonous voice of my answering machine. "Hi, it's Kaia. I can't come to the phone at the moment; please leave a message after the beep."

A distressed voice I know too well erupts from the speakers. It belongs to my best friend since high school, Nelly.

"Kaia, it's Nelly. I know you're there. Pick up the damn phone."

The phone rings again, and this time I answer on the second ring. I sigh, "Hello?"

"Kaia, where have you been? I have been trying to reach you all day."

"Well, good evening to you too," I respond, the hint of a small smile playing on my lips.

"I didn't call you for the exchange of pleasantries," she chides. "Now tell me why you've been MIA."

"Well, I've been pretty preoccupied at the office today, caught up in loads of work. I've barely had anything to eat—a two-day-old granola bar serving as sustenance."

"Excuses, excuses, excuses," she responds. "That's all I hear right now. Besides, if you truly haven't eaten, it serves as all the more reason you should join us tonight. We're getting a bite to eat before heading to the club."

"But Nelly—" I interject.

"Pick you up at 9. Love you!" she counters abruptly, hanging up and leaving my feeble attempt at an excuse lodged in my throat.

I lean back into my office chair, eyes closed, rubbing my temples in an attempt to collect my thoughts. The stress of the just-ended call creeps up on me. My eyes open after a few minutes to the ghastly sight of my desk. Files and documents are strewn across it, standing out like a sore thumb in my otherwise pristine office. The minimalist design and sleek white furniture usually radiate a sense of calm, but today, the mess is overwhelming.

Reluctantly, I get up and my chair creaks at the lack of weight. I sort the files into two piles: finished and unfinished. I put them into the filing cabinet and stuff a few documents I plan on working on over the weekend into my binder. I turn off my computer, switch off the lights, and head out the door, book and binder in hand.
"Looks like I'm the last one to leave work again," I think as the sound of my stilettos clicking on the tiled floor echoes through the empty hallway.

I look at my watch to see the time. 7:35 p.m., it reads. "Looks like I've got a little over an hour and thirty minutes to get home and throw on something decent," I mutter in annoyance.

"Ah, Miss Nicolson," comes an annoying male voice ahead of me. I look up, but not before plastering my face with a polite smile to mask my annoyance. Before me is Jack Ambrose, the firm's heartthrob and man-whore. His recent marriage acts as an accessory, failing to prevent him from engaging in his frivolous activities.

"Good evening," I respond curtly, quickening my pace and heading straight for the elevators as he struggles with his office door. A few moments later, he manages to catch up to me, falling in step with me in the process.

"I noticed you came in a different car this morning," he says casually, though his deep blue eyes are sharp. "Was it an Uber?"

I raise an eyebrow quizzically. "Is this man stalking me?" I think. "Yes, I did have to take an Uber this morning," I respond. "My car has a few mechanical issues, so it's at the mechanic's."

The elevator opens with a ding, signaling its arrival. He gestures for me to enter first and follows  his six foot tall frame closely behind. We both reach for the basement button, where the car park is. His hand lingers over mine a bit longer than I would have liked. I quickly withdraw my hand, and he pushes the button.

An uncomfortable silence ensues, and I feel his burning gaze on my bosom. "Why don't I have a little fun?" I think to myself, pressing my binder into my chest, emphasizing my cleavage, angling myself better toward him, and moving inconspicuously closer. "You look a bit stressed this evening," I say in a sultry voice, batting my eyelashes and looking up at him with wide, hazel innocent eyes. My 5-foot petite height and doe eyes add an advantage.

He clears his throat, clearly affected by my antics. His hands running through his shaggy blonde hair. "Ye... yeah, my workload has put me under stress today. Would you like a ride home?" he asks, his voice husky and strained.

"I don't see why not, Mr. Ambrose," I respond, my voice a little bit above a whisper.

My fun is cut short with the arrival of the elevator on the basement level. We walk towards his sports convertible, and he opens the passenger door, ushering me inside.

To my surprise, we reach my apartment in record time. The car ride itself is uneventful—him with his crappy attempts at flirting, and me bored out of my mind, trying to feign interest. I give him a quick peck on the cheek before stepping out. "Thanks for the ride, Jack," I say with a sweet smile, then walk away, making sure to add an extra swing to my hips. 

My apartment is tucked away on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by trees and overgrowth, with the closest neighbor kilometers away—secluded and quiet, just the way I like it.

Upon entering , I head straight to the bathroom and take a hot shower. The steaming water cascades over my skin, soothing my sore neck muscles, which have been tense from hunching over my laptop all day. The warmth seeps into my body, melting away the day's stress.

 After toweling dry I look through the assortment of clothes in my closet, I opt for a mid length black dress with draped straps made from a luxurious silk fabric. The dress hugs my body perfectly accentuating my curves. I pair it with strappy heels and minimum gold jewelry making it the perfect combination of classy yet alluring.

My long 3c curly  hair is swept up into  a sleek up do with a few loose strands to frame my round face. With a final glance in the mirror, I make my way downstairs into the parlor and pour myself a drink. I sit and wait for the arrival of Nellie wine glass in hand anxious of what the night may have in store.