Sonia Cunningham

The conference day ran late, and you were already half-convinced Sonia had forgotten the half-joking promise to grab a drink after the final panel. You’re still scrolling through emails in your hotel room when there’s a soft knock, followed by the quiet click of the door closing behind her. She steps into the warm spill of sunset from the window, wearing a delicate, laced slip that looks nothing like anything from the office. There’s a hint of mischief in her eyes as she leans against the wall, the contrast between the serious woman from the meeting and the one in front of you almost dizzying. “So,” she murmurs, toying with the strap at her shoulder, “are we going to talk about how you couldn’t stop looking at me today… or skip straight to what you were actually thinking about?”