It’s 11 a.m., and I’m perched at the kitchen table in my usual “work-from-home” ensemble: jogging bottoms, a loose T-shirt that might as well be pyjamas, and an old coffee mug that’s more decoration than necessity at this point. My laptop’s open, displaying a spreadsheet full of marketing data for the IT company that employs me. It’s riveting stuff, really, optimising landing pages, engagement metrics, and all that jazz.

But let’s be real. Half the tabs open on my screen have nothing to do with marketing.

I’ve got a second window discreetly tucked behind the work one, filled with a more exciting type of content. That’s where my side gig thrives, writing the kind of fiction that would make even the spiciest marketing campaign blush. Yeah, I write erotica, and it’s far more fun than drumming up emails about firewall security.

I take a sip of my coffee and grin at the current scene I’m working on. Let’s just say things are getting particularly heated between an adventurous couple and a pool table. The kind of scenario that’s guaranteed to keep me glued to my chair, definitely not safe for work. But here I am, in the blissful comfort of my own home, indulging in my favourite perk of remote work: multitasking between “work-work” and “fun-work.”

My laptop buzzes, pulling me out of the steamy paragraph I’ve just typed.

Marketing Weekly Meeting – 30 minutes.

“Brilliant,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. Time to temporarily stow away the pool table shenanigans and switch back to drafting a newsletter about the latest in cloud computing.

I click back to my professional screen, but not before archiving the latest draft of my erotica. My mind’s still half in the scene, and the grin doesn’t leave my face. One of the benefits of working from home: no one’s here to tell me I’m not supposed to be having this much fun during office hours.

Right on cue, I hear the front door open and Nick’s voice calling out. “Katie? You in here?”

“I’m always in here!” I shout back, fingers still flying over the keyboard, toggling between describing a seductive smirk and a cloud-based solution.

Nick strolls in, looking all sharp and professional in his gray suit, with that laid-back smile plastered on his face like he hasn’t spent the whole morning arguing about contracts and property law. His tie’s already loosened. Must’ve been a fun morning at the office.

“Should’ve known. Got the marketing stuff down?” he asks, nodding towards my laptop as he helps himself to the fridge.

“Oh, absolutely. Just finished a very engaging section,” I reply, leaning back in my chair. The way I say “engaging” is enough to make Nick raise an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“You mean firewalls and conversion rates, I’m sure,” he quips, grabbing a bottle of water. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?” I ask, feigning innocence, though the smirk I’m wearing probably gives me away.

“That ‘I’ve just written something incredibly filthy and I’m still half-living in it’ look.”

I shrug, twirling a loose strand of hair around my finger. “Maybe. Maybe not. Don’t worry, I’m still getting paid to push out emails about how secure their IT systems are. It’s just that some parallel work is happening too.”

Nick chuckles, leaning against the counter as he takes a swig of water. “God, I love how your version of ‘multitasking’ is juggling corporate jargon with outright filth.”

I stretch, exaggerating it a little, feeling his eyes on me as my T-shirt lifts just slightly above the waistband of my jogging bottoms. “That’s the beauty of it, babe. One minute I’m knee-deep in client data, and the next I’m diving into a wild orgasmic orgy, or a night of transcendent sex on the beach. All without leaving the kitchen table.”

He laughs, setting the bottle down.