Page 156 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
I switched my laptop off, rubbing my eyes. The crisis was averted—but as I looked out of the window, I realised how late it was.
Bloody waste of a day.
Some junior twat in accounts clicked a fake invoice link, triggering a breach alert on the client’s internal system. Cue full-blown panic—five sweaty execs on a video call begging me to “contain the damage.” There was no actual breach. Just a phishing scare and a very real reminder that most corporate employees shouldn’t be trusted with keyboards.
I’d been pulled in to clean up the mess, trace the logs, confirm no data had been exfiltrated.
No leak. No threat.
But it still ate six hours of my life I wasn’t getting back.
Typical.
I leaned back in the chair, stretching out my spine, still buzzing from the tension. My mug was cold. Untouched. Outside, the sky was darkening.
I wondered what Callie was doing.
The chaos was over, but apparently, the torment wasn’t.
I stood and cracked my neck, arms overhead in a long stretch. My stomach growled—loud and feral.
Right. Food.
I jogged downstairs and was about to flick the kitchen light on when I caught a glimpse of her.
Callie. At the sink. Washing dishes.
I slinked up to the window like a pervert and watched.
Maybe I could be converted after all.
Her tits were practically spilling out of that flimsy vest—no bra, from the looks of it. I leaned closer, squinting through the glass. My hand slipped into my pocket, fingers brushing my phone.
One photo.
Just one.
No. What the hell was I thinking?
I shoved it back, jaw clenched—but I didn’t move away.
She was radiant and completely unaware.
All she’d been eating lately was toast. If she was on some bizarre diet and dropped a dress size, it would be a crime against humanity.
I grunted at the thought.
She dried her hands, then placed a box of eggs and a half-wrapped block of butter into a carrier bag. I stayed by the window, watching her move around the kitchen like it was just another evening. No urgency. No idea I was standing here, tracking every step.
She turned the light off as she left, and the window darkened again, swallowing her silhouette.
It had been a while since Melissa sent in a maintenance request.
I stepped away from the glass, already turning over excuses in my head. Something practical. Something they’d believe.
But really, I just wanted to see her up close and personal.
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