You clock those curves the moment your coworker leans against the filing cabinet, and every professional instinct you have dissolves on the spot.

You imagine pulling the door shut behind you, the latch clicking into silence while your hands find the hem of that work blouse. You feel the warmth radiating off skin that has been driving you insane through every pointless meeting, every accidental brush in the break room.

You already know exactly what you would do with a stolen hour and a locked door between you and the rest of the world.