ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The late afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the plush office, glinting off the mahogany desk that suddenly felt like a vast, unbreachable sea between us. His gaze, intense and unwavering, seemed to trace the fluttering pulse at the base of my throat as I tried to articulate my qualifications. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips, and he leaned forward, his crisp white sleeve brushing against my trembling hand, sending a jolt of warmth through my entire being. The air grew thick with the scent of his sandalwood cologne and the unspoken tension that hummed between our every shared glance. My carefully rehearsed answers dissolved into a soft, breathy whisper as his fingers gently closed around mine, his thumb stroking a slow, hypnotic rhythm against my skin. The professional world outside the panoramic window blurred into insignificance, leaving only the magnetic pull drawing me closer to his orbit. I felt the solid warmth of his shoulder beneath my palm, a silent anchor in the dizzying whirl of my emotions. His breath was a soft caress against my temple, a silent question that my entire soul was yearning to answer. In that suspended moment, the interview ceased to be about a job and became a quiet, desperate negotiation of hearts. Every rational thought surrendered to the overwhelming, terrifying, and beautiful certainty that I was already his.
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