A One Night Stand With My Boss

Dinner ended, and Camila sent Parker off in his car.

The driver arrived promptly, b

ut just as the driver was about to get in, Camila had already gracefully seated herself in the passenger seat.

Alan looked at her helplessly before opening the door to the back seat.

The ride was silent.

Camila gazed out the window, lost in the rapidly passing scenery.

Connor also quietly turned his head, his eyes following the same landscape that filled their views.

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror, meeting Alan's gaze, both men shaking their heads in silent agreement.

Upon arriving at Cedarhill Estate.

Camila unbuckled her seatbelt and politely smiled at the three in the car, saying, "Good night."

"Good night," Alan replied, glancing at Connor, who appeared to be resting with his eyes closed.

As the car door closed, Connor slowly opened his eyes, his gaze lingering on Camila as she walked away, a hint of sorrow in his eyes.

Connor instructed the driver, "Head to the boxing gym."

The driver nodded, and the car started moving.

They arrived at the gym.

Connor and Alan entered one after another, immediately catching the gym owner's attention.

The owner saw Connor, and a spark of excitement flashed in his eyes as he abandoned what he was doing. He greeted him warmly, "Mr. Connor, you're here! Fancy a workout today?" His voice was booming and enthusiastic.

Connor nodded slightly in response.

His gaze cut through the crowd, fixating on the boxing ring.

He strode towards it, long-legged and determined.

Connor didn’t change his attire. He took off his shoes and socks, unstrapped his watch, and tossed his suit jacket to Alan.

He loosened a few buttons of his shirt, rolled up the sleeves, donned the boxing gloves, and stepped into the ring.

"Set up a sparring match," Alan told the gym owner, knowing Connor was here to vent his frustrations.

"Alright, Ted, you’re up," the gym owner called out.

Ted, bulky and clearly skilled, limbered up and climbed into the ring.

The gym was busy with evening patrons.

Men cheered as they watched their coach engage in real combat, while women clustered around the ring and ogled Connor’s physique and handsome features.

As the referee’s whistle blew, the match began.

Connor launched a fierce attack, landing a heavy punch on Ted’s face.

His punches were fast and powerful, quickly pushing Ted back several steps.

The crowd gasped in awe at Connor’s strength and... good looks.

"Is he a professional?" someone asked.

"I don’t know, but it’s thrilling!"

"That guy in the shirt is so hot."

Ted, initially thinking this was just a playful spar, quickly realized the seriousness of Connor’s skills and adjusted his approach, launching a counterattack.

Their fists collided mid-air with crisp impacts.

Connor held his own, each punch heavy with the intent to vent. This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

As the bout neared its end, Connor seemed to grow more exhilarated with each punch he threw.

In contrast, Ted was visibly struggling. His punches were accompanied by heavy breaths.

Eventually,

under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the referee declared Connor the winner.

He stood in the ring, his chest heaving dramatically and sweat cascading down his forehead, soaking his shirt and outlining his muscular torso.

"Holy crap! The coach lost!" a student exclaimed in disbelief.

Hearing this, the gym owner quickly explained, "Mr. Connor has been boxing for many years, so his skills are comparable to a professional. Ted is also skilled, but facing someone like Mr. Connor and losing the match is reasonable."