Trapped in the Office

***Bryony Hinsley POV***

Darius steps into the light of the kitchenette, his dark eyes locking directly onto mine. The sheer intensity of his gaze sends a thick, heavy blanket of unease rolling over my skin, leaving my thoughts scrambled. Both of them just stare at me now, their previous argument evaporating into the sterile air of the breakroom. Did I do something alarming? They were just yelling about humans and danger a second ago, or did I imagine that too? My brain refuses to hold onto the memory. It slips through my grasp like water. What were they arguing about? Why can I not piece the words together anymore?

They both look concerned. They look like their normal, impeccable selves, dressed in their tailored suits, watching me as if I am a ticking time bomb. I stand there frozen, my hand hovering near the electric kettle, just as confused as they are.

Darius breaks the heavy silence, his deep voice forcing me out of my own spiraling head.

“Bryony… Bryony, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

He takes a slow step forward. As he moves, he tilts his chin up and seems to sniff the air lightly for a second. The action is strange, almost animalistic. I tilt my head, observing them. They shoot a rapid, silent look between themselves.

Then, the floor shifts beneath my feet.

The edges of the room start to warp and spin. The fluorescent lights overhead pulse with a sickening rhythm. I see Darius shove past Dorian, his large frame eating up the distance between us as he reaches for me. My muscles turn to lead. The weight of my own bones becomes too much to bear. Oh no. I know this feeling. I know exactly what this is. I am having a panic attack.

*Shit.*

I open my mouth, trying to drag air into my burning lungs, but my body gives up functioning. My chest tightens like a steel band snapping shut around my ribs. I cannot catch my breath. The white tiles of the kitchenette rush up to meet me, but before I hit the ground, a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist. The next thing I see is darkness.

Coming to is a slow, agonizing process. I groggily lift myself onto my elbows, my head pounding with a dull ache. Before I can even sit up, a large, warm hand presses firmly against my shoulder, forcing me back down.

“Woah there, lay back down for a bit,” Dorian says, his voice a soothing rumble near my ear.

I stare up at the ceiling, blinking against the harsh light, confused. The scent of rich leather and expensive cologne fills my nose. I am laying on the brown leather lounge in Darius’s office. Turning my head, I see Darius sitting on the very edge of his massive mahogany desk. His muscular arms are folded tight across his broad chest, making him appear even more intimidating than usual. Deep lines of concern are etched into his handsome face as he stares back at me, his dark eyes tracking my every flutter of an eyelash.

Dorian, on the other hand, sits right beside me on the edge of the lounge. His large hand moves in slow, rhythmic circles, rubbing my legs through the fabric of my skirt. The touch is grounding, but the heat creeping up my neck is unbearable.

*Shit.* I did something embarrassing. I know it. Passing out in front of the two most powerful men in the building.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice croaking. I am lost in the fog of my own mind. I try to think of the last thing I remember. I remember eavesdropping. I remember a hushed, intense conversation between Darius and Dorian about… something. Then the crushing weight on my chest, the inability to breathe, and then nothing but black space.

“You fainted. Just lay down for a bit. Here, drink this,” Darius says.

He unfolds his arms and walks over, a tall glass of water in his hand. I push past Dorian’s gentle resistance, sitting up and leaning my heavy back against the armrest of the lounge. Reaching out, I grip the ice-cold glass. As I take it from him, the tips of my fingers brush against his bare knuckles.

A jolt sparks between us. Darius rips his hand away so fast the water sloshes over the rim, spilling onto my lap. He recoils, taking a sharp step back as if my skin had physically burned him. He stares at his hand for a split second, a flash of something unreadable crossing his features, before he turns on his heel and retreats behind his desk, putting as much distance between us as possible.

I stare at him, clutching the cold glass, but before I can process his bizarre reaction, a timid knock sounds on the heavy office door.

Darius clears his throat, his posture rigid. "Enter."

The door clicks open, and a leggy blonde woman steps into the office. She balances a stack of white Styrofoam food cartons in her arms. The savory, mouth-watering smell of fried rice and satay chicken wafts into the room, making my empty stomach twist in knots. The blonde woman peers around the massive office, looking unsure of what to do. Her bright blue eyes dart from the desk to the lounge frantically.

Then, her gaze lands on Dorian. She freezes.

She is incredibly attractive, dressed immaculately in white suit pants, a matching blazer, and a sleek black singlet top. But the moment she looks at Dorian, all the color drains from her face.

“Just leave it on the desk, Sloane,” Dorian speaks quietly, his tone flat and unreadable.

Sloane jumps at the sound of his voice. She scurries forward, practically dropping the cartons onto the edge of the desk, and obeys without a single word. She darts back out of the room, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. The atmosphere in the office grows incredibly tense.

What had I just witnessed? Why did she seem so terrified of Dorian? He is always so gentle and charming.

And more importantly, how long had I been out?

I shift my gaze past Darius’s broad shoulders and look at the sleek silver clock hanging above the door. The black hands spell out a reality that makes my heart drop into my stomach.

3:15 PM.

My eyes bulge out of my head. I have been out for hours. I slept through half the afternoon.

Jumping to my feet, I ignore the wave of dizziness that hits me and quickly make my way toward the door. *Shit, shit, shit.* I am supposed to have the massive stack of Merger files ready, tabbed, and sorted for their 4 PM meeting. I am going to lose my job.

My fingers wrap around the cool metal of the doorknob. Just as I twist it and pull the door open a fraction of an inch, a massive, heavy hand slams flat against the wood right above my head. The door shoves shut with a deafening thud.

*Click.*

The lock slides into place.

I freeze instinctively at the abrupt, harsh force of the door being slammed in my face. The solid, radiating heat of a massive body seeps into my back. Darius is standing right behind me. There is zero space between us.

“Sit back down, Bryony.”

His voice is dark, demanding, and drops an octave lower than normal. A cold shiver runs up my spine as his hot breath tickles the sensitive skin at the back of my neck.

“I have to get the Merger documents for your meeting,” I try to argue back, keeping my hands pressed against the wood of the door. My voice comes out shaky and pathetic. I can hear the raw fear in my own words. Why am I suddenly so terrified of my boss? The air around him feels thick, electric, and suffocating.

Leaning into me, he presses his hard front flush against my back. The physical intimidation is overwhelming. Lowering his head until his lips are a mere fraction of an inch from my ear, he whispers, “I said sit back down.”

I turn around, trapped between the solid oak door and his towering frame, only to be met with Darius’s harsh, predatory gaze staring down at me. I shrink under the weight of his stare, taking a tiny step back until my shoulder blades hit the wood. I feel extremely small beside him. Who am I kidding? I am always small beside him, but right now, pinned under his intense glare, I feel tiny, weak, and utterly defenseless.

He watches me tremble. Then, like a switch flipping, the harshness in his dark eyes softens. The terrifying alpha aura pulling the oxygen from the room dissipates.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he speaks gently, the rough edge gone from his tone.

Reaching up slowly, as if approaching a skittish deer, he brushes his fingers against my cheek and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is warm and careful, a jarring contrast to the brutal way he just trapped me. He steps away, taking the suffocating heat with him, and motions with a nod of his head for me to return to the lounge.

I quickly obey, my legs shaking as I walk back and sink into the leather cushions.

Dorian reaches out, gripping my knee softly with his large hand before letting go.

“Don’t worry about him, he is a bit tense. We also cancelled the meeting. It’s not till tomorrow morning now,” Dorian reassures me, flashing a small, tight smile.

I nod in understanding, but all I want to do is get out of this room. I cannot believe I slept all day on my boss’s couch. How embarrassing. God, I hope I didn’t talk in my sleep. Or drool. Or fart. Oh my god, what if I did? My cheeks burn with fresh humiliation. I suddenly wish the expensive wooden floorboards would open up and swallow me whole.

“Here,” Darius says, walking over and dropping a Styrofoam food carton onto the coffee table right in front of my knees. He places another in front of Dorian.

I open my mouth to tell them I am fine, that I am not hungry, but the words die in my throat. Darius cuts me off with a deadly, uncompromising glare.

“It wasn’t a choice, Bryony. Eat.”

Each word is full of heavy authority, leaving no room for argument. It sounds like a direct command, but the dark glint in his eye tells me he is daring me to disobey him.

I do exactly as I am told. I reach forward, pull the carton onto my lap, and snap apart the wooden chopsticks. As I take my first bite, I swear I see Darius smirk at me, clearly amused by how quickly I yield to his demands like a scolded child. Could this be anymore awkward? But the moment the food hits my tongue, I stop caring. It tastes like heaven. I am starving. Maybe that is why I fainted. Between being busted eavesdropping and barely surviving on cheap snacks while sleeping in my freezing car for months, my body finally gave out.

When I finish scraping the last grain of fried rice and piece of satay chicken from the carton, I sit quietly, keeping my hands folded in my lap, waiting to be dismissed from his office. The dismissal never comes.

Instead, Dorian picks up the empty food containers, stacking them neatly before carrying them to the trash can in the corner. Darius walks over to the sleek wooden liquor cabinet next to the floor-to-ceiling window. He pulls out three heavy crystal glasses and a decanter filled with a rich brown liquid that resembles whiskey. Turning around, he walks back and hands me a glass.

Dorian walks over, picks up his own glass, and tips his head back, downing the amber liquid in one massive gulp. He sets the glass down with a clink.

“I will go grab the rest,” Dorian says, leaving the room quietly.

The door shuts, leaving me entirely alone with Darius. I suddenly want Dorian to come back. I turn my head, staring at the closed door as my palms start to grow sweaty. Darius feels significantly less intimidating when Dorian is in the room to balance out his intense energy.

Turning back around, I adjust my sitting position on the lounge, crossing my legs. I notice Darius standing by his desk, watching me over the rim of his crystal glass. I fiddle with the heavy cup between my fingers, avoiding his piercing gaze. Bringing his drink to his lips, he downs every drop of it in absolute silence.

I bring the glass up to my nose and sniff it, scrounging my nose up at the scent. It smells sweeter than vodka, lacking the harsh, stinging chemical burn of cheap liquor. Bringing the glass to my lips, I tip it back and down it in one mouthful.

The liquid is sweet, thick, and smooth. It burns a bit as it slides down my throat, but nothing like the harsh, throat-tearing bottles of cheap tequila I have stashed in the boot of my car, the kind my mum used to drink to forget her problems.

Standing up, I step toward the desk to place the empty glass down. Before I can let go, Darius reaches out, his large hand wrapping over mine. He takes the glass, grabs the decanter, and refills it to the brim before passing it right back to me. I raise a skeptical eyebrow at him, but I accept the glass, clutching it against my chest.

The door lock clicks softly. Dorian returns.

He steps into the room, his broad shoulders straining under the weight of three massive cardboard boxes overflowing with manila folders and loose paperwork.

“We are being audited,” Darius speaks clearly, his tone shifting back to the demanding boss I am used to. “So we need all these files sorted, and all contracts arranged by their exact dates. Get comfortable, Bryony. It is going to be a long night.”

I look at the heavy boxes Dorian drops onto the floor, knowing deep in my gut that those three boxes are not even half of what we need to get through. Tipping my head back, I down the second glass of sweet whiskey, letting the warmth settle in my empty stomach. I kick off my heels, take a seat on the hard wooden floor, and start pulling thick stacks of files from the first box.

Halfway through the night, the office door opens again. Someone ordered more food and brought up three large cups of steaming black coffee. I am not sure when either of them had the time to order anything, considering I never saw Darius or Dorian pick up their phones once, but I gladly accept the caffeine. The heat of the coffee keeps my fingers from freezing up.

We work well into the night. The silence in the office is only broken by the rustle of paper, the scratch of pens, and the occasional thud of a sorted file hitting the stack. My spine aches, and exhaustion claws at the edges of my vision.

When the digital clock on the desk flashes 9:00 PM, a sharp knock sounds at the door. The night security guard steps into the office, his keys jangling on his belt.

“Just letting you gents know, I’m about to lock up the main lobby doors,” the guard announces.

Darius looks up from a stack of ledgers, rubbing his jaw. He looks at Dorian, then down at me sitting cross-legged on the floor amidst a sea of paper.

“You guys go,” I speak up, pushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. “There isn’t much left in this section. I will get it done and head off soon.”

Darius and Dorian look unsure, exchanging a hesitant glance, but they eventually agree to leave. Dorian walks over and hands me a heavy set of keys to get out of the building, rattling off the security code to set the alarms on my way out. The door shuts behind them, and the massive building falls into an eerie, echoing silence.

I put my head down and push through the pain. Every time I want to quit, I remind myself how desperately I need this paycheck. I cannot afford to lose this job.

Hours bleed together.

When I finally pull the last manila folder from the final box, I let out a ragged sigh. I stack the empty cardboard boxes neatly on top of each other and drag myself up from the floor. Checking the time on the wall clock, the numbers mock me.

It is 2:00 AM.

I only have three dense files sitting out on the coffee table, needing final date verifications. My body is failing me. Getting comfy on the brown leather lounge, I pull my knees to my chest and drag the last three files onto my lap.

The glow of the desk lamp feels like tiny needles piercing my retinas. My eyes begin to ache a deep, throbbing pain, and the black text printed on the white paper starts to blur into one long, meaningless line. My fingers grow numb and stiff from scouring endless pages, flipping, sorting, and filing. My head nods forward, my chin hitting my chest, the sweet warmth of the whiskey and the crushing weight of extreme exhaustion dragging me down into the dark.