I woke up to a headache that felt like someone was drilling behind my eyes. Sunlight poured through wide windows, casting a soft glow over broad shoulders and golden-brown hair sprawled beside me in the sheets. His back rose and fell with steady breaths.
I blinked through the fog, reality creeping in like a slow burn. I turned my head—and there it was.
My underwear hung from a damn
I groaned, dragging myself upright with all the grace of a wounded animal. "God, he's good," I muttered, limbs still buzzing from everything he'd done to me. But when I tried to stand, my legs crumpled beneath me. I hit the floor with a grunt, thighs trembling from overuse.
"Awesome," I whispered, staring at the ceiling. "I'm going to be so late."
I grabbed my bra, wincing as I moved. Behind me, the man in the bed stirred. His phone buzzed, vibrating against the nightstand like it was judging me.
I looked at the underwear on the lamp again... and left it. I'd lost more than dignity last night—I could sacrifice a thong.
I half-walked, half-limped out of the apartment, wincing with every step. "First day of work and I'm hungover with sex hair. Real classy, Alaina."
I made it home in one piece, barely. After a lightning-speed shower, I threw my hair into a messy ponytail, dabbed on concealer with trembling hands, and limped into my heels like I hadn't just done a full-body workout on a stranger's mattress.
He had blue eyes. That's all I remembered. That—and the way he made me feel like the only thing that mattered in the world was
I stepped into the building, trying to channel confidence over chaos.
"Hi," I said at the desk, faking a polite smile. "Miss Jackson. I'm starting today with Mr. Simmons."
The receptionist lit up. "Oh! I was just heading up there. He always has a meeting with the team to welcome new hires. He's very… involved."
I swallowed hard.
In the elevator, she glanced at my limp.
"Just a sprain," I lied, offering a tight smile.
She nodded, though her eyes said
When we reached the floor, she walked me past glass-walled offices and led me to one right across from the corner suite.
"This'll be your desk," she said brightly. "Right outside Mr. Simmons' office."
Perfect. The universe was laughing.
She handed me a folder. "You're just in time. Come with me to the meeting room."
Inside, the room buzzed with low conversation. She pointed to the seat beside the head of the table.
"You'll sit here. You're his assistant, so he likes you close by."
I sat, heart pounding, nerves and nausea in a full-on duet. "Sorry, what's your name?" I asked.
She blinked, then smiled. "Nobody ever asks. I'm Jane."
"Nice to meet you," I said, feeling human for half a second.
I flipped through the folder, trying to distract myself—when the door opened.
Silence fell.
I looked up.
And the air left my lungs.
It was
He walked in like he owned the place—and from the way people sat straighter and stopped talking, I realized he did. He was in a crisp navy suit, tailored to perfection. But it was his eyes—the same devastating blue eyes—that locked on mine and
His smile faltered.
Mine did too.
His gaze swept over me, and I swore I saw something dark and knowing flicker there. My thighs clenched instinctively, my breath caught, and I tried to play it cool as every nerve lit up like fire.
"Good morning, everyone," he said, voice smooth and commanding. "I hope you all slept well last night."
His eyes flicked to me again.
Asshole.
He continued like nothing happened. "Today we welcome Miss Jackson. She's replacing Mrs. Brady as my assistant. I trust you'll make her feel at home."
He stepped closer. I could him behind me, heat radiating off his body like an open flame.
"Welcome, Miss Jackson," he said softly. "I hope you'll stay... a long time."
I turned to him with my best fake-smile, ignoring how my body was
"Thank you, Mr. Simmons. I intend to."
The meeting moved on, but I barely heard a word. Afterward, I retreated to my desk like a woman dodging landmines.
Not even five minutes passed before a knock came—one that didn't wait for permission.
He stepped in, closing the door behind him like it was routine. Like he entered without asking.
"Well," I said dryly, leaning back in my chair. "Small world, huh?"
"Small and lucky," he said, voice low. He didn't move from the door. Just stood there, watching me. "Last night was unexpected."
"From this moment forward, I'm pretending it never happened," I said, arms crossed.
He raised a brow. "Shame. I was hoping for a repeat."
"You're my boss."
"And you were on top of me eight hours ago." His eyes dropped deliberately to my mouth. "I don't do regret, Alaina."
My name in his mouth hit me like a match to gasoline.
"I was drunk."
"You were loud."
I narrowed my eyes. "You're enjoying this."
He stepped closer, one hand resting on the back of the chair across from me. "You were on fire. You think I'm just going to forget that?"
I stared at him, defiant.
He leaned down, mouth inches from mine, and whispered, "By the way… I let you win."
I laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. "Sure you did, "
He grinned, satisfied with himself. "We'll see how long you keep calling me that."
And with that, he walked out—leaving the scent of cologne and chaos in his wake.