They walked from Flemings back to the Fairmont past empty corporate cathedrals, their occupants home in their safe suburban bubbles. Their laughs lingered in frozen breaths; she moved closer.
“I’m freezing,” she said.
“Almost there,” he said.
“Nightcap?” she asked.
Over drinks she asked him.
“You’re my boss… It’s against policy… It’s a bad idea,” he said.
Awake in bed, he watched an orange flame dance from a pipe on a factory rooftop through the window, while the moon illuminated her naked, sleeping body.
There's a little more on the Facebook page about why I chose this – Editor