I walked behind him with caution while he directed me to his office. He walked with sure grace and elegance. It was so hot.

I just stood still by the door, hoping the floor would literally swallow me whole. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't realize he asked me a question.

"Are you going to sit or do you like standing?" he said.

I blinked twice, debating if I should just say screw it and make a run for it, but I needed the money! I pouted in my head.

So I summoned all the courage my short self could muster and walked straight to sit while avoiding his eyes.

"Now, can we get down to business? Because time to me is money, and you, my dear, just wasted it by being in your fantasy world."

I tried to talk, but I had nothing to say, so instead I sat upright.

"You've been hired to be my secretary," he said.

The air in the room shifted. My chest tightened. This was it. No friendly banter, no mention of last night. Just business.

But I couldn't pretend like it never happened. Not when it was the first time I'd let myself be that vulnerable in years. Not when the man sitting in front of me had held me like I was more than just a fleeting moment.

"Dominic..." I started, my voice barely above a whisper.

His name tasted different this morning. Like a secret I wasn't supposed to say out loud.

He raised an eyebrow, not looking up from the stack of papers on his desk. "Miss Hart, if it's not related to your job description, I suggest we stay focused."

That stung. More than I expected.

He didn't even flinch. Didn't pause. Just kept flipping through the damn papers like he hadn't kissed me breathless just hours ago. Like he hadn't traced my spine with those fingers now holding a pen so indifferently.

I sat back in the chair, folding my hands in my lap to keep from shaking. "Right. Of course. Strictly professional," I muttered.

He finally looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine with a coldness I hadn't seen before. "Exactly. We both made a mistake last night. It was... inappropriate."

Mistake.

That word slammed into my chest like a punch.

I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both.

Because it hadn't felt like a mistake when he fucking me so hard and moaning breathless in my ears. It hadn't felt like a mistake when his hands explored every curve of my body like he'd been dying to touch me for years.

But now, under harsh office lighting and his frosty tone, I felt small. Embarrassed.

I nodded slowly, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. "Understood."

He watched me for a second longer than necessary, like he wanted to say something else. But he didn't. He just leaned back in his chair and started listing my responsibilities like we weren't both aching with unspoken words.

"You'll be responsible for managing my schedule, screening my calls, coordinating with clients, and ensuring all my meetings run on time. You'll have access to my calendar, my contacts, and..." he paused, his voice dipping, "my expectations."

Was that a double meaning, or was I reading too much into it?

No. I couldn't afford to. Not anymore.

"Yes, sir," I replied flatly.

He stiffened a little, and I didn't miss it. Maybe he didn't like the distance I was putting between us now. But he made that call. He chose cold professionalism over warmth.

And I had to do the same.

From now on, he was my boss. That was it. No matter how hard my heart thudded when I looked at him. No matter how much I replayed last night in my head like a damn movie,e I couldn't pause.

I didn't say another word as he handed me a packet of onboarding documents. I didn't meet his eyes as I took it. I simply stood, smoothed my skirt, and turned toward the door.

"Miss Hart?"

His voice stopped me mid-step.

I turned halfway, keeping my face neutral. "Yes?"

His jaw clenched, like he was struggling with himself. "Welcome to the company."

I forced a polite smile. "Thank you, Mr. Steele."

And with that, I walked out of his office, head high, heart shattered.

I made my way down the hallway, trying to ignore the burn in my chest. Each step I took echoed with the sound of reality crashing down.

I didn't expect fairy tales. I wasn't naive. But a little honesty? Maybe even a soft look? Anything but the cold rejection he'd just handed me.

I ducked into the staff restroom before anyone could see the shake in my hands.

The mirror didn't lie. My face was pale, my eyes rimmed red, and I looked like I hadn't slept in days. Maybe because I hadn't.

I gripped the edge of the sink, taking slow breaths.

It's just a job. That's all. You came here to work, not catch feelings.

Even if those feelings came crashing into you like a storm last night. Even if the man behind that office desk made you feel more alive in one night than you had in years.

I splashed water on my face and dried it quickly. There was no time for falling apart. This was a fresh start. A paycheck. A chance to finally get my life together.

Didn't want more than that night? Fine. He wanted a professional? Then that's exactly what he'd get.

I walked out of that bathroom with my back straighter than ever. My heels clicked against the tile with new purpose.

If he could be cold, then I could be ice.

Let him regret it later. Let him wonder what he threw away.

But I wouldn't beg. And I wouldn't break.

Not for him. Not again.

I returned to the front desk, where a kind-looking woman with salt and pepper hair and cherry red glasses greeted me with a warm smile.

"You must be Miss Hart. I'm Sheila, the office manager. I'll be showing you around today."

Her voice was gentle, like a hug I didn't know I needed.

"Hi, yes. It's nice to meet you," I replied, managing a polite smile.

She gave me a knowing look but didn't press. Just handed me a visitor's badge and motioned toward the hallway.

"Let's get you settled. We've got a lot to cover."

I nodded and followed her, letting her voice carry me through the motions of offices, printer codes, and email systems.

All the while, I kept my eyes straight, my mind split in two.

Part of me was memorizing room numbers. The other part? Still standing in that office, trying to figure out how someone could touch you like a promise and then treat you like a mistake.

But I shoved that part down. Buried it deep.

Because I wasn't here for Dominic Steele.

I was here for me.

And that had to be enough.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

By lunch, my fingers were stiff from typing, and my chest ached from pretending.

The office buzzed with movement, employees bustling past my desk with files, coffee, and small talk. Nobody looked at me funny. Which meant he hadn't said a word about what happened between us.

I should've been relieved.

Instead, it felt like a blade twisting just a little deeper.

The reports in my hands trembled slightly as I stepped into his office. He didn't look up from his screen. Didn't even acknowledge me. Didn't even glance. Just held out a hand like I was any other secretary.

Like he hadn't once kissed me like I was air.

I placed the file in his palm and turned to leave. My throat got dry.

But then his voice cut through the silence.

"That'll be all."

That was it? No acknowledgment? No... nothing?

I froze for a breath, lips parting, a million unsaid things pressing against the inside of my mouth.

But I swallowed them down like old coffee.

Instead, I nodded once and walked out with my chin up, resisting the urge to slam the door, throw the file across the room, or cry like my heart was breaking.

Because it was.

And he didn't even care.

The bathroom mirror was the only thing that saw me break.

I gripped the edge of the sink, my knuckles white, my breath coming too fast, too shallow.

My reflection stared back at me, blurred with unshed tears, lips trembling from words I didn't say, a red flush climbing my cheeks that had nothing to do with makeup.

God.

I looked like a mess.

A pretty one, maybe. But still a mess.

Hair in soft, defiant curls. Lip gloss faded. Eyes rimmed with stubborn, unshed heartbreak.

I blinked quickly. Once. Twice. Three times.

Trying to clear the tears before they spilled.

No. Not here. Cry later. Hustle now.

My voice was barely above a whisper, but it echoed in the tiled space like a war cry.

"Don't give him that power."

I stood up straighter, dragging the lip gloss from my bag with fingers that only shook a little.

The gloss slid on smoothly, peach shimmer, like nothing in the world was wrong.

I dabbed under my eyes, fixed the smudge on my eyeliner from the earlier blink fight, then fluffed my curls like I still gave a damn.

The woman in the mirror didn't look broken anymore.

She looked ready for war.

And that would have to do.

I took a breath. Then another.

Slipped the gloss back into my bag like armor and walked out like I hadn't just shattered quietly in a corporate restroom.

Like I hadn't been stupid enough to fall for a man like Dominic Steele.

That too within one night.

Damn, I thought bitterly, pushing through the office door with my chin up and my heart down.

I can't believe I was fucked into love.

An hour later, I was back at my desk. Headphones in. Focused.

Well, pretending to be.

My fingers moved automatically over the keyboard, typing notes from the board meeting recording like I was listening.

Like my thoughts weren't still tangled in everything I'd tried so hard to bury.

It was just one night.

One goddamn night.

But the way he'd touched me like he already knew every inch of me, like he was starved and I was salvation, it had ruined me.

And now he couldn't even look me in the eye.

My phone buzzed, dragging me out of the spiral.

Intercom: Dominic Steele.

Of course.

I pulled the headphones off, set my hands neatly on the desk, and pressed the button.

"Yes, Mr. Steele?"

His voice came through, smooth and professional. Like he hadn't kissed me like I was oxygen. Like I hadn't spent the last two days wondering if it was all in my head.

"Can you come in here a moment?"

I swallowed. "Sure."

I stood, smoothed the lines of my pencil skirt with more aggression than necessary, and adjusted my blouse.

My heels clicked as I walked, sharp and confident, each step a silent mantra.

You're fine. This doesn't matter. He doesn't matter.

The door to his office was open. I stepped in like I wasn't on the verge of unraveling.

Dominic didn't look up. His eyes were fixed on his laptop screen, brows furrowed, fingers tapping something out.

His posture was relaxed. Too relaxed. Like I wasn't even there.

"There'll be a gala event in a month and a half," he said, not sparing me a glance. "I need you to call the caterers and make sure the menu's finalized. Check that the wine is from the Bordeaux vineyard. The private reserve."

That was it? That's why I was here? A damn menu?

"Oh, right," I said without thinking, sarcasm lacing my voice. "Because God forbid the billionaires drink anything that isn't older than my apartment lease."

His fingers paused.

My stomach dropped.

Shit.

Did I say that out loud?

Yup. I absolutely did.

I peeked up, cautiously.

His gaze had finally lifted, and one brow was arched in a slow, amused challenge.

"Excuse me?"

I gave him my sweetest, most innocent smile. "I said I'll call them right away, Mr. Steele."

He didn't smile, but something flickered in his eyes. Curiosity. Irritation. Maybe even something a little... impressed?

Whatever it was, it only lasted a second before his face settled back into that same unreadable mask.

"Good," he said, coolly. "Confirm the florist, too. I want white peonies on every table."

"Of course," I said, already turning to go.

"And Emily?"

I stopped.

His voice was lower now. Softer.

My back stiffened.

"Yes?"

"You missed a note in the board meeting transcript. Line twenty-two. The VP didn't say 'budget cut,' she said 'budget shuffle.'"

I blinked. Right. Because now we were back to pretending I was incompetent, too?

"Thanks for the correction," I said with a sharp edge in my tone. "Wouldn't want the minutes to make the company look more frugal than it is."

That made him look up again, eyes narrowed, jaw tightening.

For a second, I thought he'd snap. Tell me to watch my tone or remind me who signs my paycheck.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Something on your mind, Miss Hart?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. "Not at all."

"Because your tone suggests otherwise."

"Funny," I said. "So does yours."

We stared at each other for a beat.

God, why did he have to look so good even when he was being a cold-hearted ass?

Rolled up sleeves, sharp jaw, that ridiculous watch on his wrist like he wasn't made of time himself.

"You done?" he asked finally.

"Completely," I said, with a smile that didn't reach my eyes.

I turned on my heel before he could say anything else and walked out, resisting the urge to slam the door or strut or cry or scream.

Instead, I let myself have one moment of satisfaction, swaying my hips just a little more than usual, knowing full well he was still watching.

I bit my bottom lip, trying not to laugh.

Small victories.

Back at my desk, I let the smirk fade slowly.

It was exhausting, pretending nothing had happened. That I hadn't spent the night tangled in his sheets, his hands, his mouth.

He hadn't mentioned it. Not once.

And I wasn't sure what was worse, that he was pretending it hadn't happened... or that maybe it hadn't meant anything to him in the first place.

But it meant something to me, a voice whispered inside.

This time, a calendar notification from the company server. And at the very top, in bold:

[CEO: Mr. Dominic Steele

Executive Assistant: Ms. Emily Hart]

I blinked. I wasn't just organizing it. I was going to it with him.

I closed the notification, opened my email, and started typing.

If Dominic Steele wanted peonies, I'd give him a goddamn garden.

Packed my tote bag with mechanical precision. Phone, planner, lipstick, charger, gum, and the little courage I had left.

I was zipping the top shut and rising to my feet just as his office door creaked open.

My chest squeezed involuntarily.

Dominic stood there, backlit by the soft glow of his desk lamp. His blazer was gone. His tie loosened. His shirt sleeves rolled up.

And I hated, hated, that my first thought was how unfairly attractive he looked.

Like a damn Calvin Klein daydream.

My heartbeat did a stupid, traitorous skip.

"Miss Hart," he said coolly.

I straightened, swallowing down whatever flinched inside my chest.

"Yes, Mr. Steele?"

He looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time all day.

His gaze skimmed over my face, lingering at my mouth for a breath too long before darting away as it burned him.

Like maybe he saw the tired sadness beneath my mascara and couldn't stomach it.

Like maybe he recognized it because he felt it, too.

Or maybe that was just me being delusional. Again.

"Tomorrow. 8 A.M. sharp. We have an executive review to prep."

I nodded once, my voice steady. "I'll be here."

He gave a single nod in return. "Good."

And just like that, he turned and disappeared back into his office.

That was it.

No apology. No explanation. Not even a damn acknowledgment that we'd slept tangled together just forty-eight hours ago.

That we'd kissed like the world was ending.

That he'd whispered my name like it was a prayer and a sin in the same breath.

Nothing.

Just cold. Just professional.

I stared at the closed door for a moment, chest burning with things I wasn't allowed to feel.

Then I turned on my heel and headed for the elevators.

Every step felt like a fight not to unravel. My jaw clenched so tight I could've cracked a tooth. My shoulders straightened like armor. I bit the inside of my cheek just to stop myself from crying.

Or screaming.

Or marching back in there and demanding that he stop pretending.

That he stop acting as if nothing happened.

That we hadn't fallen asleep in each other's arms just a few hours ago, his hand on my waist, his breath on my neck, my heart stupidly, helplessly full.

But I didn't. Because it was over.

Because he'd made it clear. I walked out of that building with my heart tucked tightly behind my ribs and my head held high.

The city air hit my face like a wake-up call, cool, sharp, indifferent.

Neon lights reflected in puddles from the afternoon rain. Car horns blared in the distance. A couple argued by the corner hotdog stand.

Life carried on like it hadn't just sucker-punched me in the gut.

If Dominic Steele wanted cold?

I'd give him Arctic.

If he wanted boundaries?

I'd build walls so high he couldn't climb them. So thick he wouldn't even hear me on the other side.

He didn't have to want me.

He didn't have to look at me like I was some kind of mistake he regretted.

Because I wasn't a mistake.

And the real mistake?

Was he letting me go?

Dominic's POV

"Telling her it was a mistake is the right thing to do; I can't afford for anything more to happen between us," I said in my head, standing up to stare at my window, which seems to be my safe space. Helps me think straight.

 I thought it was going to be like every other one-night stand, but it wasn't.

 It was way more than that.

 Every thrust I made connected me with her.

 Her every moan is stuck deep in my head, and they keep playing like a sweet, sensual record label. And I loved it. I allowed myself to feel that even if it's just for a moment. Just for a night. That was all it was meant to be. I never thought of seeing her ever again, especially not as my secretary, but I guess the universe has a way of messing with me.

 Every other woman I've slept with, I don't mind seeing them cause it's easy to deny them or threaten them off my back. But this woman, who just walked out of my office as my secretary, I definitely didn't want to see again. I wanted to erase everything about her and about the night we spent together from my head.

 A knock on the door brought me out of thought. "Come in," I said, sitting down and putting on my poker face.

 Emily walked in with my coffee, swaying those delicious-looking hips of hers. I watched her set the cup down and turned back to walk out. So I spoke,

 "Call the caterers, update the gala menu. Make sure the wine is from the Bordeaux private reserve."

 These are things my assistant downstairs could do.

 But I needed her near me just for a bit.

 Then I heard it, the sass she muttered under her breath.

 Something like, "Because God forbid the billionaires drink anything that isn't older than my apartment lease."

 I nearly choked on my coffee.

 My fingers froze. I looked up, and there she was, all innocent smile and sugary sass.

 "Excuse me?" I said.

 She batted her lashes. "I said I'll call them right away, Mr. Steele."

 I stared at her for a moment before letting her go back to work.

 After I had my coffee, I got consumed with work, and I shoved everything that had to do with Emily buried away. Where it should be. Keeping it professional is the right thing to do. I can't afford anything going on between us. It can never happen. I don't do feelings. I don't love. Someone is only going to get hurt, and I can't risk that happening. I'm already engaged to someone unwilling. An engagement that will definitely not end in marriage.

 It is just a business deal, and that's all it will ever be.

 "I don't plan on settling down. I don't think I ever will, and even if I do settle down, it will never be with Sabrina Rodriguez." I thought loudly in my head.

 ⸻

 A few hours later,

 "I need a drink," I said, rounding up the files on my table and grabbing my things to leave the office.

 Getting out, I took a few minutes to stare at Emily before leaving.

 "And something to take my mind off the woman upstairs." I got into my car and drove down to the nearest bar I could find.

 –––

 Third person pov:

 The bar was dim. The kind of lowlight that made sins easier to commit.

 Dominic sat with his third glass of scotch, his jaw tight, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to say he didn't give a damn anymore.

 But he did. God, he did.

 Because no matter how hard he tried to blur her out with alcohol, Emily's face kept slicing through the haze. The taste of her lips, the way her moans still echoed in his ears, the way he acts professional and cold in the office now, like he hadn't once been buried so deep inside her that she clawed at his back.

 One night. That was all it took to screw up his head.

 And now? She was his secretary. Imagine seeing her every day. Fucking. Day. In that tight blouse, with her little smirk, she tried to hide behind polite professionalism.

 He ran a hand over his face.

 "Rough day?"

 A woman's voice broke through the fog. Sultry, bold. She stood by his table, blonde, curvy, with confidence dripping off her like perfume. Tight black dress. Full red lips.

 He didn't even ask her name. Didn't need to.

 Just needed to forget.

 "You could say that," he said, voice low and smooth.

 She slid into the seat beside him without permission. Her thigh touched his, and he didn't move. Instead, he glanced at her, smirking slightly. "Looking for company?"

 "Depends," she said, leaning in, lips brushing his ear. "Can you play me hard enough to shut my brain off?"

 He clenched his jaw.

 Emily.

 He pushed the thought away and stood, tossing bills on the table. "Let's find out."

 ⸻

 His place. Lights off. The door barely shut before her back hit the wall.

 Her lips crushed against his, wild, messy, greedy. But as his hands found her waist, his mind screamed Emily. When the woman moaned, it wasn't her voice he heard. It was hers.

 The way her body fit against his perfectly.

 The way this never made him feel the way she did.

 He closed his eyes and exhaled through clenched teeth.

 ⸻

Stopped. He pulled out and stepped back, running a hand through his hair, his body spent but his chest, his head, still full of her.

 The woman reached for him, but he was already moving.

 "I'll call you a car," he muttered.

 "You're not doing anything?" she asked, confused.

 Dominic didn't answer.

 He walked into his bathroom, turned on the cold water, and stared at his reflection.

 One night. That's all it took to ruin him.

 And still... she was everywhere.