The day had started like any other.

Samantha had arrived at the office early, her usual latte in hand,

ready to tackle the mountain of paperwork waiting on her desk.

Gray had been there too, leaning casually against the copy machine.

"'His tie slightly loosened, and a mischievous grin laying on his lips.

"'He always had a way of making even the most mundane tasks feel interesting.

"'Morning, Sam?' he said said. His voice smooth and warm. You look like you could

use some caffeine, or maybe just someone to share the load. She'd rolled her eyes, but couldn't help

the smile tugging at her lips. Flattery will get you nowhere, Grey, especially not before 9 a.m.

We'll see about that, he replied, winking as he handed her a stack of freshly printed reports.

Their fingers had brushed just for a moment, and she had felt that familiar spark shoot through her chest. It was stupid, really.

They were colleagues, professionals, and yet. Fast forward to mid-afternoon, when they had both

been tasked with inventorying the supply closet. It was supposed to be a quick job, a half-hour at most.

But somehow one thing had led to another, a spilled box of pens, a shared laugh that lingered a little

too long. Then, just as Gray had reached up to grab a ream of paper from the top shelf, the door

had swung shut behind them with a loud click.

Did you just lock us in?

Samantha had asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Gray had turned, his expression shifting from surprise to amusement.

"'Me? No way. That door looks—that door locks automatically. Someone must have bumped it.

They tried jiggling the handle, knocking on the door, even shouting for help, but the office was eerily quiet. Everyone else had already left for the

night, and now here they were, trapped together in the dimly lit closet, the air thick with unspoken

...