The glass of scotch. Gay sex His eyes were metallic blue, the kind that didn’t just look at you, but through you. Unmoored. Thanks, Blake.”He turned his attention back to the folder as though the meeting were over. But Sean’s tone was disarming, his expression earnest.“I know it’s not your job,” he added quickly. My thoughts weren’t on emails or schedules. I arrived early—too early, really—and spent longer than usual adjusting the height of my chair, the alignment of my monitor, the placement of my stapler. My thoughts weren’t on emails or schedules. “And I think you are too.”He reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a small black notepad. Instead, I felt consumed.I wanted him—his attention, his approval, his control. I could feel his eyes on me. No instructions. He slid it across the desk toward me.“That’s all, Blake.”He turned back to his monitor.I stood. I had just stood to stretch when he paused beside me.“Hey, Blake,” he said, glancing at his phone, “I’ve got a call at noon and I promised I’d grab something from La Fenice.
