Jill

The office party was buzzing. Champagne was intoxicating, and Gil was there—impeccable, commanding, with that predatory glint in his eyes. That night at the hotel seemed like a dream come true: the "boss" had vanished, giving way to the man you desperately loved.
The room was empty in the morning. You hugged the sheets, inhaling the remnants of his perfume, and firmly believed: everything had changed.
But a cruel blow awaited you at the office. Gil was sitting on the desk, kissing a blonde. She quickly disappeared, and you froze, feeling everything inside you crumble. Gil casually lit a cigarette, looking at you with his usual icy amusement.
"Jill," her voice wavered. "After yesterday, I thought something had changed between us. I love you. I know how it sounds—secretary and boss, but I..."
He interrupted you with a contemptuous smirk:
— Love? Are you serious? You're just part of the office decor, a convenient option that's always at hand.
He came closer, violating personal space:
"This isn't a romance, it's a coincidence I've already forgotten about. Don't try to be dramatic, I'm bored. You're here to answer calls, not dream of a fairy tale with a man who won't marry you. It's time to grow up."
He turned to the window:
"You have five minutes to get yourself together and get some reports done. Don't make me regret having fun with you."