Chapter Text
It hadn’t always been like this.
When Joshua first joined the company, he was just another name on the org chart—a transfer from the regional office with impressive numbers and a reputation for being “efficient.” Sharp suit, sharp mind, sharper mouth. You didn’t want to admit it—not even to yourself—but he was attractive in that infuriating, too-composed kind of way. Polished. Charismatic. The kind of man people naturally gravitated toward, even when he barely said a word.
And people did gravitate. Joshua was the one everyone liked—quick with a dry remark, dependable in a crisis, always respectful. A gentleman, through and through. He never raised his voice, never lost his temper, never made anything personal.
Except with you.
That part didn’t make sense at first. You assumed he simply didn’t like you, or maybe saw you as competition—nothing more. He challenged your points in meetings, cut through your arguments with surgical precision. Not cruelly, but intentionally. Targeted. Focused. And always with that maddeningly unreadable expression.
You tried not to care. Tried to shrug it off. But he got under your skin fast.
The first time he questioned your projections, it wasn’t overtly hostile. Just… sharp. Calm. As if he already knew the answer and was testing whether you did. You held your own—of course you did—and when you corrected him in front of the room, his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite a smirk. But it lingered just long enough for you to know it was meant for you.
That was the moment you realized he was paying attention. Really paying attention.
Not just to win an argument — but to you.
You didn’t know why. And you told yourself it didn’t matter. But it did.
He became the first person you looked for in a meeting. And the first person you tried to outshine.
At first, it was professional. Healthy. You were both good at your jobs—ambitious, strategic, unafraid to speak up. You clashed in brainstorming sessions. You contradicted each other’s emails with late-night revisions. You played tug-of-war over client direction until someone intervened. But it wasn’t just about being right. Not anymore.
The tension between you grew thick with something else. Something unspoken.
There were moments—fleeting, charged—when your eyes would lock across a table and everything would still for a breath too long. Times when your arms brushed in narrow hallways and neither of you moved away fast enough. He’d hover near your desk during late nights, just long enough to comment on your notes before drifting off with that insufferable half-smile. You started remembering what his voice sounded like when it dropped a register. Started noticing the way his fingers tapped when he was thinking. Started wondering, quietly, if he noticed things about you too.
What you didn’t realize—at least, not then—was that he had noticed you from the start.
You never talked about it. Never acknowledged it. That would’ve made it real.
Instead, you fought.
And the more you fought, the more impossible it became to ignore. You threw yourselves into your work with the kind of ferocity that bordered on obsession. You challenged each other, pushed each other harder, kept raising the bar—because beating him felt better than winning against anyone else.
Until the line blurred.
Until you weren’t sure if the heat between you was fury or something far more dangerous.
And then came the campaign pitch meeting.
You presented a bold new pivot—confident, well-researched, carefully framed. You had the room. People were nodding. It was yours.
Until Joshua stepped in.
He challenged your numbers. Undermined your argument—not with malice, but with that signature brand of quiet superiority that made it sound like he was doing everyone a favor by “correcting” you. You felt the shift in the room immediately. The tension. The eyes flicking between you. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t even look smug. He was calm. Precise. Unshakable.
And he’d humiliated you.
You’d swallowed it in the moment. Smiled. Said nothing. Waited until the meeting ended and the others filtered out with nervous glances and awkward silences.
Then he walked out.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t just struck the match that would burn through the last of your control.
The conference room door had barely clicked shut before you were after him—footsteps sharp, voice tight with fury.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Joshua turned, eyebrows raised, clearly not expecting you to come after him.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
You stopped just short of him, eyes blazing. “You didn’t need to shut me down like that in front of everyone.”
His arms crossed over his chest, mouth twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smirk but far from an apology. “I wasn’t shutting you down. I was correcting a mistake.”
Your jaw clenched. “You didn’t correct me, you embarrassed me.”
He didn’t flinch. “Maybe if you weren’t so reactive—”
“Oh, screw you,” you snapped, stepping in until your chest nearly brushed his. “God, you’re so smug. You always have to be right. You act like you know everything—like no one else could possibly match you.”
Joshua’s eyes darkened, something unreadable flashing across his face. “And yet you’re still here, chasing after me.”
That was it.
Before you could think, your hands gripped the collar of his shirt and shoved him hard into the wall.
His back hit the plaster with a dull thud. You didn’t wait. You surged up and kissed him—fierce, unrelenting, mouth pressed to his like you could pour every ounce of your frustration and heat into him. Maybe you could shut him up. Maybe you’d shut yourself up.
His lips were warm beneath yours, but for a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Didn’t kiss you back. Just stood there—tense, still, unreadable.
Your pulse roared in your ears. Every second of silence stretched unbearably long, the weight of it pressing down on your chest. Was this a mistake? Had you misread everything—the looks, the tension, the way he hovered just a little too close when he thought no one noticed?
The sting of rejection hit you fast. Your stomach twisted, heat rising fast to your cheeks. You pulled away quickly, embarrassment flaring hot under your skin, heart sinking, breath catching on the lump forming in your throat—
But then it happened too fast.
His hand shot up, gripping your hair and tugging just enough to tilt your head back, forcing your eyes up to meet his. The height difference disappeared in an instant—leveled by tension, by proximity —as his other hand caught your waist and pulled you in, your body colliding with his. And before you could blink, he spun you. The world tilted, and your back slammed into the wall—hard, cool, unforgiving. A startled gasp burst from your lips, but you barely had time to make sense of it before he was on you.
His mouth crashed down on yours like a storm breaking loose—wild, heated, hungry. One of his hands gripped your waist like he meant to leave marks. You reflexively balled your fists against his chest, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his shirt, either to shove him back or to ground yourself, but it didn’t matter.
He was already in control.
His thigh shoved between yours, forcing your legs apart as he leaned in, using the full weight of his body to press you flat against the wall. There was no space, no room to think. Just heat. Just him.
“You wanted a reaction,” he growled against your lips. “Now you’ve got one.”
You opened your mouth to respond—maybe to tell him off, maybe to drag him in further—but then his hand gripped your wrist, raising it above your head and pinning it firmly to the wall. His other hand followed, capturing the other with ease.
Both arms held fast, trapped under his palm.
Your breath caught. You hadn’t expected that. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, heat pooling low in your belly as you stared up at him—eyes feverish, lips swollen, wrists bound.
“You started it,” he said, voice thick with heat. “But I’m not going to let you walk away thinking you’re in charge.”
His mouth was on your neck before you could speak, dragging a moan from your throat as he kissed, licked, then bit gently at that spot he knew made your knees shake. You squirmed, but there was nowhere to go—his body caged yours in perfectly.
“You don’t get to hide behind arguments anymore,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, breath making your skin erupt in goosebumps. “Not after this.”
“You’re—so full of yourself,” you breathed, trying to keep your voice steady, though you could already feel it faltering.
Joshua chuckled darkly, trailing kisses back to your jaw. “You like me this way. Admit it.”
“I don’t—” His hips pressed closer, thigh shifting, and your protest melted into a gasp.
“You were furious ten seconds ago,” he murmured, nipping at your lower lip. “Now you’re trembling.”
You hated that he was right. Hated how quickly your body responded to him—to the firm grip on your wrists, to the way his voice dipped into something deep and dangerous, to the tension that had always been there between you finally snapping.
“I’m still mad,” you managed, breathless.
“Good.” He kissed you again, slower this time, taking his time to taste you. “Let’s see how mad you are when I’m finished with you.”
The hand holding your wrists shifted slightly, enough to let you flex your fingers—but not enough to let you go. You could stop him. You could say no. But you didn’t.
You didn’t want to.
His free hand skimmed down slowly, brushing the side of your chest—close enough to make you catch your breath, but never quite touching. It slid along your waist, then lower, tracing the curve of your back, fingers skimming just above the line where it would’ve crossed a boundary. And then, without hesitation, he gripped your thigh and hauled it up around his waist, locking your body even tighter against his. The friction made your head spin, and you gasped again, one of your wrists slipping loose—but instead of fighting, your hand slid into his hair, pulling him back in with a desperate sound.
Joshua groaned low in his throat, kissing you like he’d been holding back for too long—intense, rough, and all-consuming.
“God, you drive me insane,” he muttered.
The kiss deepened, messy and feverish, all the tension and banter turned into raw need. There was no space between you anymore—only heat and breath and mouths pressed together in reckless want.
And if someone had turned the corner right then, they would've found two people who had spent far too long denying this, now losing themselves against the wall in a blur of mouths, gasps, and bruised egos giving way to something so much more dangerous.