My Boss's Online Confession

[Him: My subordinate keeps coming on to me. Should I just fire her?]

I almost kept scrolling. Then I read how he described her. The clothes. The little daily habits.

The longer I read, the more she sounded like me.

So the next day I wore the most boring thing I own. White blouse. Blue skirt. Standard office wallpaper.

The post updated.

[Him: Shameless. Look how provocative she dresses.]

The photo attached was my outfit. Mine, lifted straight off the internet.

[Commenters: ???]

[Me: ?!]

Chapter 1

I stared at the photo until my eyes hurt.

It was my outfit. Same blouse, same skirt, down to the wrinkle.

I tapped his profile and scrolled all the way back to the start. Better than anything streaming.

The oldest posts were the polished kind. Markets. Stock plays. Numbers that made my eyes glaze over.

Then, one day, the posts changed.

[Him: There's a girl at the office. Bright eyes, always smiling at me. Everyone else ducks into a stairwell when they see me coming. What's going on?]

[Commenters: She likes you, obviously.]

[Him: Office relationships are banned at my company.]

[Commenters: Okay, but do YOU like her?]

[Him: Like, don't like, who has the time. No woman in your head, the trades come clean.]

[Commenters: Married to his job. Pack it up, folks.]

After that it got worse.

Fewer posts about the market. More and more about the girl.

Until yesterday's, which broke five thousand upvotes with comments in the thousands.

[Him: My subordinate keeps provoking me and it's wrecking my focus. What do I do?]

[Commenters: Fire her.]

[Him: I'm a principled manager. I don't fire people on a whim.]

[Commenters: Define "provoking." We need details.]

He wrote an entire essay.

[Him: Every Monday at the staff meeting she dresses provocatively and stares at me with these shining eyes while I present.]

[Him: I mentioned I minored in literature in college. Turns out she writes on the side.]

[Him: My handle is Endless Summer. Her nickname is Jelly.]

[Commenters: I followed you this far. What do Endless Summer and Jelly have to do with each other?]

He replied in about two seconds.

[Him: Think about it. You eat jelly cups in the summer. She picked a summer snack. That means she likes summer, and I am Endless Summer. She's basically confessing. It's that obvious.]

[Commenters: Right. So obvious.]

That was the moment I started to wonder if the girl in his posts was me.

Because in our work chat, my nickname is Jelly.

No deep reason. I just really like jelly cups.

But I never paid attention to anyone's handles. Whoever Endless Summer was, I didn't have the first clue.

Day job: office drone. Side gig: I write, and I have a following. Everybody knows that part.

My pen name, though? I never tell a soul.

But that nickname, Jelly? That one was mine.

Chapter 2

The comments were merciless.

[Commenters: OP, that's not her provoking you. That's you making it up.]

[Commenters: Right? Those two nicknames have nothing to do with each other.]

[Commenters: This is killing me. OP is three seasons deep into a romance and the girl is still on the opening credits.]

[Him: Then explain why she works so hard to impress me at every meeting.]

[Commenters: Wild theory. Maybe she wants a raise?]

I sipped my coffee in the break room and tried to work out who he was.

But first, to be safe, I had to confirm one thing.

Was the subordinate actually me?

The next day I wore the most basic outfit on earth. White blouse. Blue skirt. It wasn't even Monday. No staff meeting.

Then my boss, Brody, called a surprise huddle out of nowhere.

The huddle ended.

Right on cue, the post updated.

[Him: This woman is dangerous. Look how provocatively she dressed today.]

I pulled up my burner and fired off a reply.

[Me: How provocative? Post the pic.]

In under an hour my comment had a thousand likes. More than his original post.

To prove the haters wrong, he posted a photo.

White blouse. Blue skirt.

[Commenters: ???]

Every single reply was a question mark.

He scrambled to defend himself.

[Him: You don't get it. She wore THAT today, just to see me.]

Wore what.

What was I even wearing.

[Me: That what? Which part?]

[Commenters: Now I'm curious too. What is it?]

[Commenters: Isn't this just a normal commute outfit? Where's the provocative part?]

[Commenters: Honestly it's a little plain. I don't get OP.]

He'd had enough. He finally cracked.

[Him: The tights. I'm a leg guy. She did it on purpose. Long, straight legs out for everyone.]

[Him: And there's a gardenia tattoo on her ankle. Lethal.]

Case closed. The subordinate was me.

Because I have a gardenia tattoo on my ankle.

My name is Sloane. Gardenias are my favorite flower.

[Commenters: Who else is at their desk pretending to work, cackling so hard their face hurts?]

[Commenters: OP is down BAD for this girl.]

[Commenters: Liked and forwarded to my group chat. This is gold.]

He panicked.

[Him: Forget it. I can't explain it to you people.]

[Him: I don't like her, okay.]

[Him: My focus is my career right now.]

[Commenters: They cremated this man and his jaw is still running.]

So now I knew. I was the girl.

I just had to figure out which one of them was Endless Summer.

Chapter 3

So I did what any reasonable woman would do. I opened an investigation.

I had two direct bosses.

One ran the business side. Warren. Married. Hard pass.

The other managed my department. Brody. Single, and a clown. Possible.

Then there was the big boss, Royce, the one technically over all of us.

Stupid handsome, the kind that feels like a personal insult. But a cold-blooded money machine, ice all the way down.

Word was he didn't do women. Just money. Odds: basically zero.

Which left Brody at the top of my list.

To smoke out who the poster really was, I messaged him from my burner.

[Me: Do you work at Meridian Technologies?]

He replied fast.

[Him: How did you know?]

I looked up.

Brody was over at the printer, humming to himself. Some breakup song stuck on a loop, badly off-key. Fully committed to the performance. His phone wasn't even in his hand.

So...

It was Royce?

The thought slid in and refused to leave.

One way or another, I had to rule him out.

I knocked back a shot of something strong in the break room before I could make myself knock on Royce's door.

He was at his desk, reading in a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. The last of the sunset traced a thin gold line down his profile.

Sharp brow. High, straight nose. A face God had clearly taken His time on.

The air around him was cool. Cedar and leather, expensive and far away. Exactly like the man.

He glanced up when I came in. His eyes were deep and cold as a winter pond. Not a degree of warmth in them.

One look and I wanted to back out the door.

A man like this, posting that kind of thing online? Not a chance.

But I was already standing in his office. Nothing left but to push the plan through.

"What is it."

His voice came low and even, every word landing like it wasn't open for debate.

The weight of him was too much. Alone with him, my palms went damp. I kept the polite smile glued on anyway.

"It's it's like this. There's an event on the app, and we'd love to invite you. I wasn't sure if you had the time."

He lifted a hand. "Bring me the file."

He read through it, careful. His knuckles were long, carved like ice. An expensive watch sat on a pale wrist.

Familiar. I'd seen those hands on that account.

I shut my eyes and just asked it. "Mr. Royce, what's your handle on the app? I need it for the notes."

He cut me a look. Said nothing.

The poster's handle was Endless Summer.

Royce pulled up his profile.

I dropped my gaze and held my breath without meaning to, waiting on the answer.

Chapter 4

The second the name on the screen hit my eyes, the air left my lungs.

Royce Ashford.

His handle was just his real name.

Not Endless Summer.

The whole office went quiet. Eerily quiet.

I was leaning in too close, and a strand of my hair came loose and slipped across the back of his hand.

He went still. Completely still.

His thin lips pressed into a flat line. The hand under my hair didn't move, didn't pull back, just locked there, knuckles tightening by the second.

"I'm I'm so sorry, Mr. Ashford." I scrambled upright.

He clearly couldn't stand me touching him.

I had to be out of my mind to suspect him.

Out in the hall my legs barely held me up. Close call. But I could basically cross Royce off the list.

So who was it?

I was still turning it over when the poster updated.

[Him: You all swore she doesn't like me. Well, she came after me again. She reported some pointless little thing and then let her hair fall across my hand on purpose. This woman has too many tricks.]

My pupils blew wide.

This...

That could not be a coincidence.

The poster really was Royce?

Royce thought I was seducing him?

I wasn't.

Which meant...

He was into me?

The second the thought landed I shook my head hard, like I could knock the nonsense loose.

A slave-driver like him, catching feelings? For me?

Sure, the man was unfairly good-looking. But he was a machine.

Brutal on his staff. More brutal on himself.

The year the company went public, he ran the same schedule for twelve straight months. Out at midnight. Back at four a.m. The security guards were ex-military, and even they tapped out before he did.

Someone once said Royce would have to carve dating out of his lunch breaks. Sleep was already maxed out. Any less and he'd just drop dead.

I risked my neck and turned to spy on him through the glass.

Still working. Dead serious. Phone face-down beside him.

But that post had updated way too perfectly.

Poster or not, I'd made up my mind to play with fire.

He kept swearing he didn't like the subordinate. Fine. I wanted to see exactly how long that mouth could hold out.

Time to give the audience a little show.

I slipped back in on my burner and started poking him.

[Me: You're not some old, ugly creep sitting here fantasizing about your own subordinate, are you?]

[Commenters: Oh no. We were all busy roasting OP and forgot the subordinate's the one in danger.]

[Commenters: She's out here grinding for a promotion and her greasy boss turns it into a seduction plot.]

The comment section turned on a dime.

Every reply went after the poster's face and his whole vibe.

Someone even dug up a stock photo of a greasy creep and posted it. This, they announced, is what OP looks like.

Chapter 5

At first OP tried to defend himself. Six foot two. Eight-pack. Devastatingly handsome. Women lined up around the block for him.

[Commenters: lol on this app everyone's six-two with a billion in the bank.]

[Commenters: oh sure, your fan club stretches to the moon, and yet here you are fantasizing about your subordinate.]

[Commenters: dug through OP's old posts. case closed. this is a fake-rich LARPer.]

The pile-on kept growing. More of them, vicious now.

[Commenters: gross. this guy's a real-life troll. and the subordinate dresses up cute to bait him? disgusting.]

OP had nothing left. No comeback. He was probably on the other end of that screen, choking on his own rage.

I messaged him fast.

[Me: Want to prove them wrong?]

He answered quick.

[Him: How?]

[Me: Post one of those transition videos everyone does. Show off the body. The slander falls apart on its own.]

He went quiet.

No reply. His page didn't update.

But the comment section kept hammering him. The thread just climbed.

I lay there liking every cruel comment, one by one, well past midnight.

I was half asleep, reaching for my water glass to wake myself up, when his page posted a video.

I was awake in an instant. My thumb hit play before I could think.

It opened in near-darkness. Just the outline of someone, tall, straight-backed.

Then a single clear ring of a blade cut the silence.

The shot snapped.

Light detonated.

A warm spotlight slammed on from behind him and wrapped him perfectly.

I couldn't see his face. But the camera started at the clean line of his jaw, slid down past the dip of his throat, traced the edge of his collarbone.

Both hands gripped a pair of glowing blades.

His chest was broad, cut clean, the kind of solid that only comes from years of work. Muscle shifting under the low light.

And there, in the hollow of his left collarbone, a small mole surfaced and vanished in the shadow.

Restraint and ruin in the same frame.

Clunk.

My hand went slack. The glass hit the floor with a dull thud.

The video was short. It froze on one clean finishing stance, the light carving the perfect shape of him, then cut to black.

I sat there, staring at the black screen where he'd been. The water spread toward my feet. I didn't move. I'm not sure I could have.

The comment section lost its mind.

[Commenters: WHAT. that body, that presence, and you're telling me this is the creep fantasizing about his subordinate?]

[Commenters: OP I'm sorry, I take it all back, do you need a human keychain]

[Commenters: my mom asked why I'm on my knees holding my phone. ma'am. this is art.]

[Commenters: so WHO is the subordinate?? I need her entire file, right now. who is supposed to survive this.]

Chapter 6

Some of them crossed straight into harassment.

[Commenters: I cannot stop thinking about what this man sounds like first thing in the morning. I need to lie down.]

[Commenters: sir, I have reorganized my entire life around three seconds of your jawline. please advise.]

[Commenters: you nailed the costume. now do the "play" part. with me. thanks, teacher.]

The comments got more unhinged by the minute.

I lay under my blanket shaking with silent laughter, terrified I'd wake my parents in the next room.

Premium content. I savored every bite.

Then one comment stopped me cold.

[Commenters: that mole on OP's left collarbone is criminal. who grows a mole THERE. it's a deliberate trap.]

Right.

If I could just get a look at Royce's left collarbone.

Match the two moles.

Case closed.

Then I'd march over with the video and corner him. Witness and evidence, the whole set. No way out for him.

And then I'd sit him down and explain, very clearly, how exactly I ended up falling for him.

Which left one small problem.

How does a person get a look at the demon king Royce's left collarbone?

I waited a whole week and got nothing. Not one chance to get near him.

Until Monday's meeting.

Our department's numbers had a hole in them. A big one.

The air around Royce dropped cold enough to kill.

He sat at the head of the table. Didn't slam anything. Didn't raise his voice. But every word came down like a blade dipped in ice, splitting the room open and laying the problem out raw for everyone to see.

"This is the final version? After a month?"

One long finger tapped a page in the report. His eyes swept the table. Nobody dared meet them.

"Logic full of holes. Numbers that prove nothing. Do you think the company's money is easy, or that my time is worthless?"

Brody broke into a cold sweat and leaned in to my ear, rushing the words out.

"Sloane, quick, go pour Mr. Ashford a coffee, buy him a second to cool down, just a second..."

His breath spilled warm against the side of my ear. It tickled.

He didn't even finish.

A sharp look cut straight across me and Brody.

Royce threw the entire stack of files to the floor.

His voice jumped an octave at Brody.

"You turn in work this bad and you've still got the nerve to chitchat? You don't want the job anymore?"

The room went dead silent.

Nobody had ever seen him raise his voice like that.

Nobody had a clue what was wrong with him today.

It was just a whisper.

Chapter 7

Brody froze. Didn't dare move a muscle.

I was just as stunned. The foot I'd lifted to go pour coffee crept quietly back.

Maybe Royce caught my little movement, the spooked look on my face. He waved a big hand at me, his voice dropping a few degrees softer.

"Need the restroom? Go."

I was on my feet on pure instinct, walking to the break room like a machine.

I'd barely shut the door behind me when his cold voice started up again in the meeting room.

My heart was a war drum in my chest. But my brain kept rewinding to that video.

The little mole at the left collarbone. So tempting.

Just one check. One.

I doctored the coffee with some cold water on purpose.

By the time I carried it back to the meeting room door, his voice still hadn't stopped.

That insane idea wrapped around me like a vine and held on.

I took a breath and pushed the door open.

The second I set the cup down by his hand, my foot "slipped."

The whole cup of dark coffee splashed clean across the left shoulder of his expensive suit.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Ashford!"

I yelped. And before anyone could react, I practically threw myself at him, fumbling to peel off the soaked jacket and shirt, apologizing the whole time.

"Let me get it! Take it off quick, don't let it burn you!"

My target was clear.

Left collarbone.

My fingertips hit the cool fabric of his shirt, the firm line of muscle right beneath it for one second.

In the dead, breath-sucking silence around us, I got his left shoulder bare.

Skin cool-toned and pale, clean lines.

But...

No mole.

Nothing. Spotless.

Time set like concrete.

I stood frozen, still gripping his collar.

Royce had gone rigid. Slowly, he turned his head.

Those deep eyes locked onto me, and inside them something churned. Disbelief. And... shyness?

His ears flushed purple-red, the color deepening fast.

"You... you... you."

He "you"-ed for a solid while and never got to the point.

Chapter 8

Afterward, the whole department gave me a thumbs-up.

"Sloanie, if it weren't for you, none of us were getting out of that meeting alive."

"You sacrificed yourself to save the team. We'll never forget it."

Brody came over and handed me his most prized possession, a goofy cartoon pillow. "Hero. We owe you for life."

"Also, you definitely got your bonus docked for ticking off Mr. Ashford on our behalf. Don't worry, we'll cover it."

"Right, right, right."

The whole department had this fierce, united look, like we were about to storm a castle together.

Just then Marsha from finance walked by. She stuck her head into our little huddle.

"I actually asked about that for you. Mr. Ashford says Sloane's bonus stays. No docking."

The department blinked. "Huh? Boss get a personality transplant?"

"Maybe Sloanie's coffee shorted out his brain."

A colleague from another department wandered over to needle me.

"Sloane, you're usually so sharp. Did the boss scare you stupid today? I get wanting to fix it, but who walks up and strips their boss's shirt off?"

She dropped her voice, biting back a laugh. "You know what the group chat is calling it? Operation Collarbone. Sloane spills a coffee, but the real target was always his collarbone. They're also asking if you're secretly his number-one stan."

I wanted to cry and had no tears. My whole chest went cold.

So the guy posting the videos wasn't Royce after all.

Was the thread really just a coincidence?

It made sense. Royce worked like a man possessed, every single day. Where would he find the time to build the chest and abs from that video?

The whole thing was in my head.

I got home, hadn't even warmed my seat. I opened my phone. The poster had updated.

[Him: Situation has escalated. Today the subordinate spilled coffee on me in front of the entire department and then forcibly stripped my clothes off. Is this some new method of getting my attention?]

My phone slid right out of my hand.

This... this...

How do you explain THAT?

It couldn't be a coincidence.

The poster was Royce.

But that mole. What was the deal with the mole?

I went back over the transition video, again and again.

Pause. Play. Play. Pause.

I was right. There was a mole on the left collarbone.

Then I caught the logo on the bag behind him.

The letters were backwards.

I had it.

Mirror flip.

In the video the mole was on the left. Which meant in real life I should have been looking at his right shoulder.

I'd outsmarted myself.

I started digging back through every post he'd ever made. All the way to one from a year ago.

A post roasting a friend.

[Him: Never understood guys who throw their lives away over a woman. This one had a multi-million deal sitting right there and he's off drinking himself stupid at a bar instead. No wonder his company will never beat mine.]

The photo was the friend, wrecked at the bar.

I knew him on sight.

Sully Vance. CEO of the company next door. Married just this year.

The day Sully posted his wife's wedding photos, Royce had been right there in the comments, calling him a lovesick fool.

Chapter 9