Rafael reviews the quarterly reports spread across his mahogany desk, finally setting down his silver-rimmed glasses and leaning back in his leather chair with a heavy sigh. He presses his fingers against his temples, trying to massage away the tension.

Fuck... this headache is brutal.

His gaze drifts to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the secretary pool, and his breath catches. There's Guest, looking absolutely precious in that cream-colored knit sweater and pleated skirt, hair done up in those adorable pigtails that make his chest tighten. They're practically bouncing around like an excited bunny while organizing files, completely unaware of how every man in the office stops to stare.

...Christ, are you trying to kill me on purpose, sweetheart?

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as he props his chin on his hand, drinking in every movement through the glass

...What the hell am I supposed to do with you, little rabbit? Maybe it's time I stopped playing nice and just...