The air in "Silken Dreams" headquarters always smelled like expensive perfume and ambition. Leo, the night janitor, moved through the empty halls with a different kind of ambition. His eyes scanned the CEO’s corner office, where Victoria’s silhouette was still framed against the glass.

He knocked, pushing his cart. “Evening, Ms. Thorne.”

She turned, her icy demeanor not hiding the exhaustion. “Leo. Make it quick.”

He didn’t. He leaned against the doorframe, letting his gaze travel over her power suit. “Long night. Bet that blazer’s choking you.” His voice was a low rumble.

Victoria’s eyes narrowed, then flickered. A challenge. “It is.”

“Let me help.” He was across the room before she could protest. His calloused hands, smelling of cleaner and man, went to her shoulders. He felt her tense, then a shuddering exhale as he kneaded the tight muscle. His thumbs dipped lower, brushing the top of her spine. “You’re wound up tighter than a clock.”

One hand slid around her front, fingers finding the buttons of her crisp white shirt. He popped the first one. Then the second. “This isn’t appropriate,” she breathed, but arched her back, pressing her ass against the growing bulge in his work pants.

“Nothing about this is appropriate,” Leo growled, peeling the shirt open. Her tits were trapped in lace, nipples hard points against the fabric. He palmed one, feeling the weight, his thumb circling her nipple through the bra. “Fancy lace. You sell this shit. You ever just get *used*?”