The pacing was driving Emma up the wall. Ian had been marching back and forth across the plush carpet of his office for nearly twenty minutes, his phone pressed to his ear, his jaw tight, snapping out instructions in low, clipped tones. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark tailored trousers, and his glasses - the ones that made him look infuriatingly serious. Emma, sprawled sideways in the leather armchair opposite his desk, dressed in a cropped lace top, denim shorts, and towering black boots, watched him with growing impatience.

She had been patient. She really had. But there was only so much time a person could spend staring at the walls of an office before they started plotting a mutiny.

Ian pivoted on his heel, turning his back to her as he barked something about a rescheduled meeting into the receiver.

Emma moved.

Silent as a cat, she slipped out of the chair, crossed the room in three quick strides, and planted herself directly in his path. Before he could sidestep her, she leaned her weight against his chest, reaching up with a swift, deft hand to pluck the phone right out of his grasp.

Ian blinked, his arms frozen mid-gesture, his eyes going wide. "What are you doing?"

"Taking an executive action," Emma said breezily, holding the phone behind her back.

"Emma." His voice dropped to that low, warning tone he used when he was trying to be authoritative. "Give me the phone. I'm negotiating a contract."

"You've been negotiating for forty minutes. Your voice is going hoarse, and I'm bored." She tilted her head, giving him her most innocent, infuriating smile. "Stop being such a spoilsport, Ian. Live a little."

"I am living. I'm living in the middle of a business day. Give it back."

"Absolutely not." She spun around, putting her back to his chest, and lifted the phone high in front of them, framing them both on the screen. "We're taking a selfie."

Ian stiffened behind her, the rigid line of his body pressing against her back. "We are absolutely not..."

"Smile, Uncle Ian."

He could feel her body heat through his shirt. She leaned into him, deliberately, her back slotting perfectly against his torso, and brought her free hand up to rest lightly on his forearm. She tilted her head, puckering her lips into a ridiculous, exaggerated kissy face.

Ian froze. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, entirely unsure of what to do with them. He stared at the screen of his own phone, completely blindsided by the sudden, overwhelming proximity of her. The way she smelled - like something sweet and entirely too intoxicating. The warmth of her skin. The bold, effortless way she had invaded his personal space.

He looked perfectly, hilariously mortified, his lips slightly parted in a stunned frown, while she looked like a mischievous goddess.

Click.

The shutter went off. Emma lowered the phone, inspecting the shot with a satisfied hum. "Oh, that's a keeper. You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Before Ian could formulate a coherent protest, she turned to face him. She didn't step back. Instead, she rose onto her tiptoes, her boots adding to her height, bringing her face dangerously close to his. Her arms swung up, looping loosely around his neck, and she pressed her lips to his cheek.

It was a quick kiss. Innocent enough. But the contact sent a jolt straight down Ian's spine. He went rigid as a board, his breath catching audibly in his throat, his hands finally lifting to grab her waist purely out of reflex to steady them both.

Emma pulled back, her eyes sparkling with pure, undiluted mischief. She pressed the phone back into his frozen fingers, patting his chest twice as if comforting a startled dog.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" She laughed, the sound bright and entirely too pleased with herself. She stepped back, smoothing her cropped lace top down over her midriff, and retrieved her handbag from the floor.

"Try not to work yourself into an early grave, Uncle Ian," she teased over her shoulder, throwing him a pointed wink that carried far too much weight.

And just like that, she was gone. The door clicked softly shut behind her, leaving Ian standing alone in the center of his office, his phone clutched in his hand, his cheek still tingling from the ghost of her lips.

He stared at the closed door for a long moment, his brow furrowed in pure, unadulterated bewilderment. He shook his head, muttering something under his breath about insolent teenagers, and turned back to his desk. He had a contract to negotiate, a crisis to manage, and absolutely no time to dwell on the fact that his heart was beating a fraction too fast.



non-canon but absolutely possible...

DS6, IRAY, Affinity



Ian (43), owner of his own Acting agency and Manager of Moviestars and Emma (18), daughter of one of his clients and best friends, are part of a story I tell on my DA account. You wanna know more about them, feel free to take a look at it.
Same name on DA. Story is called LLS.