Their combined charm was overwhelming, and under the haze of alcohol, Sarah’s resistance crumbled piece by piece.
She told herself she wouldn’t actually go through with it, that she would just pretend, but deep inside she knew she was being cornered.
Refusing once was brave; refusing three of them, again and again, would make her look stubborn and ungrateful.
And so, after half an hour of playful pressure disguised as sisterly encouragent, Sarah’s lips curved into a weak, resigned smile.
She set her glass down, feeling her pulse hamring in her throat.
"Fine... just once. Then we drop it," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the music.
The three managers exchanged knowing glances and victorious smiles, as though they had won a ga.
They straightened her clothes, adjusted her hair, and whispered last-minute encouragents into her ear.
And so it was that thirty minutes later, Sarah stood up.
Her legs were unsteady from both nerves and drink, but she forced herself forward.
The room seed to quiet as she walked, or perhaps it was only in her imagination.
Every step toward Ross’s table felt heavier than the last, as though her shoes had been filled with lead.
Ross sat at the center of attention, surrounded by executives and sycophants, laughter booming around him as glasses clinked.
He looked relaxed, powerful, untouchable—a king at his throne.
And now, Sarah was being pushed forward to play the role of entertainnt.
Her heart pounded, her palms sweated, and yet she forced herself to keep going.
All eyes seed to follow her, curious, expectant.
And when Ross finally turned his head and saw her approach, his smile froze—just slightly—before his eyes narrowed with interest.
Sarah didn’t hesitate—she wanted to get this over with quickly before she lost her nerve.
The place was pulsing with heavy bass, lights flashing across the packed dance floor, and the sll of alcohol and perfu thick in the air.
Pushing past swaying bodies, she made her way toward Ross.
When she finally reached him, she leaned in close, her lips almost brushing against his ear as she spoke, her voice firm but urgent.
"Boss, do you have a minute? I’ve got sothing important to tell you."
Ross turned, his sharp eyes catching hers even in the dim lighting.
His expression softened with a faint smile.
"Sure. Co with , Sarah. And don’t call boss—call Ross."
"Yes, boss." Sarah answered automatically, then gave a small, teasing smile, almost apologetic.
It was an open secret that Ross had long wanted everyone to call him by his given na, but over the years not a single person had followed his request.
Out of respect—or perhaps reverence—they all insisted on calling him boss.
He had earned the title.
With dozens of wives and influence that stretched across continents, Ross had more power than anyone she knew, yet what truly set him apart was his work.
His philanthropy, his vision, and the sheer scope of what he had achieved went beyond anything history had ever seen.
To many, he wasn’t just a leader—he was a living legend.
Ross gave her a knowing look but said nothing more.
He placed a guiding hand at the small of her back and began leading her through the press of bodies.
Wherever he walked, the crowd seed to part naturally, as if his presence alone demanded space.
Sarah followed close behind, her pulse quickening with every step.
They left the thundering music behind, slipping into a quieter hallway lined with offices.
The silence felt almost jarring after the chaos of the club floor.
Ross pushed open a door to one of the empty rooms and held it for her.
She stepped inside, nerves bubbling in her chest.
The office was dimly lit, with a sleek desk, leather chairs, and the faint scent of cigars lingering in the air.
Closing the door behind them, Ross leaned casually against the desk, his arms crossed, his gaze steady on her.
"Alright, Sarah," he said, his voice lower now, stripped of the noise and distractions.
"We’re alone. What’s so important that you had to fight through all that noise just to tell ?"
Sarah swallowed, suddenly aware of how close they were, how intense his eyes looked when nothing else competed for her attention.
Her fingers twisted nervously, but she forced herself to et his gaze. This was it.
Although Sarah could have leaned in and stolen the kiss—just to follow through with the challenge—the thought alone made her heart pound with guilt.
The temptation was there, yes, but the truth was stronger: she was a happily married woman, and she wasn’t about to betray her vows, not even for a harmless dare.
Instead, she took a deep breath, steadied her nerves, and decided to co clean.
"I’m sorry, boss," she confessed, her voice dropping low.
"The managers gave a challenge to kiss you. I..." Her lips trembled slightly as the words faltered. She couldn’t bring herself to finish.
Ross leaned back, his expression calm and unreadable, yet his eyes revealed the faintest spark of amusent.
He picked up where she had left off, his tone smooth.
"I see. That’s fine then. Let’s just stay here for a couple of minutes. When you go back, you can tell them you did it. That should be enough to keep them satisfied."
He crossed the room with the ease of soone who owned every place he walked into.
Sliding into the chair behind the desk, he pulled out his phone and began idly scrolling, his deanor casual, as though none of this mattered to him in the slightest.
Sarah lingered by the door for a mont, unsure whether to stay or excuse herself.
But Ross’s composure had a gravity of its own, pulling her in.
She walked across the room and took a seat in one of the leather chairs opposite him.
Her back was straight, her hands clasped neatly together on her lap, but her eyes refused to behave.
They kept drifting toward him.
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