I didn’t expect it to work. In the moment, I wasn’t even sure why I’d said it. He was so important to me that it was physically painful to imagine not seeing him every day, but surely I didn’t mean so much to him. What was the threat of quitting compared to all the other threats I could have made?

He knew I meant that one, though. I wouldn’t have meant it if I told him I’d press charges or sue him for sexual harassment. I’d have grounds, but I wouldn’t do it.

I really would quit.

I would have to.

I would feel guilty, even if this part wasn’t my fault. I had followed him around the office for years with doting puppy dog eyes, seeing to his every need and adoring him, regardless of whether or not I ever would have acted on it. There was a shameful part of me that couldn’t deny wanting him, even in that moment, even that awful way. If he ignored my objections and pushed into me anyway, I wouldn’t hate him. I’d hate me, because my willpower might be strong, but not that strong. Eventually, I would get lost in the feeling of having him inside me. The sensation of his hands on me, maybe even his mouth on mine. I would get swept up, and no matter how much I swore I didn’t want it, I would know it wasn’t entirely true.

And I wouldn’t be able to bear the aftermath. I wouldn’t be able to go back to business as usual the next day when he was sober, to continue wrapping birthday, anniversary, and Christmas gifts for his wife and pretending nothing had happened between us.

I’d never be able to meet his gaze and not remember what it was like to have him pinning me against that wall, driving into my body. If I felt his lips pressed to my skin even once, that would be it—I’d be completely lost.

I’d pierced the fog of alcohol shrouding his typically clear judgment, and beneath the fog, he knew that, too.

Without apology or explanation, he let me down and moved away from me. He tucked his cock away and pulled his pants up with some effort, then walked back over and sat down at his desk.

“Go. Enjoy your date.”

It was the coldest I’d ever felt.

Funny, since a moment earlier I’d been on fire.

I was still against the wall, disoriented and not entirely certain what had just happened, what was happening still.

I reached down with shaky fingers and straightened my skirt. He was the drunk one, but I was the one who felt like throwing up.

I didn’t know what to say or do, so I fled his office without another word.