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.

Three weeks.

That's how long it's been since the night with Dominic Steele, the night that changed everything and, apparently, meant nothing. Three whole weeks of avoiding eye contact, keeping conversations clipped and strictly professional, and pretending like I didn't still dream about the way his voice made goosebumps rise on my skin. You know, a normal post office affair with your boss's behavior.

The nausea started last week.

I pushed my favorite takeout away from me as it had personally offended me, and don't even get me started on the fatigue. If naps were a sport, I'd be a world champion with five gold medals. At first, I chalked it up to stress, but deep down, my womanly sixth sense started whispering something I wasn't quite ready to listen to.

Now here I am, on my lunch break, picking at a salad I normally love while having a venting session with my bestie, Sophie, on the phone.

"Girl, I swear to God, if he breathes near me again, I might just shove a stapler up his fancy Italian suit pants," I groaned, stabbing a lettuce leaf.

Sophie burst into laughter on the other end. "You mean Dominic Steele? The man you had a fiery one-night stand with and now have to work under?"

"Don't say it like that, it sounds worse!" I huffed.

"Oh, honey, it is worse. You caught feelings, and now Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy is acting like you're invisible. Like you're one of those dried-up plants in the office corner."

I snorted. "You know I watered that plant for three weeks before realizing it was fake?"

"That explains your love life perfectly."

We both laughed, and for a moment, the ache in my chest dulled.

"Anyway," I sighed, "I decided I'm keeping it strictly professional. He made it clear it was a mistake. So I'm matching his energy. Cold. Professional. Emotionless. Like a well-dressed robot."

Sophie cackled. "A sexy robot who might be pregnant."

"Shh!" I whispered, glancing around like someone might have bugged the office. "Don't jinx me! I haven't even taken a test yet. For all we know, I could just be having an allergic reaction to salad."

"An allergic reaction that causes cravings and boobs hurting as they went through fight club? Okay, Emily. Denial looks good on you."

I rolled my eyes and smiled despite myself. "Let me survive today first. Then I'll think about peeing on sticks tomorrow."

Just as I was about to reply to one of Sophie's ridiculous jokes, a loud DING echoed from the elevator. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of high heels clacking like they were trying to declare war with the marble floors.

And then she appeared.

A Barbie.

I swear, if Barbie got possessed by Regina George and thrown into a pink tornado, this would be the result. Platinum blonde hair in bouncy curls, a tiny hot pink dress that looked like it lost a fight with a sewing machine, and heels that made her legs look like they had their own Instagram account.

She eyed me like I was the dirt under her overpriced Louboutins.

"Hi, can I help you?" I asked politely, even though my inner voice was screaming, Girl, you look like you were spat out of Barbie's plastic throat.

She gave a little snort. "I'm Sabrina Rodriguez. Dominic Steele's fiancée. So technically, I'm your boss too." She gave me a once-over, nose scrunched as I smelled like expired milk. "Now, go get me a strawberry latte from across the street. Two minutes. Chop chop."

My heart. Stopped.

Fiancée?

I blinked. When? How? Since when?! I felt the world tilt slightly. The salad in my stomach turned traitor and tried to climb its way back up.

Still, I nodded with a smile that felt stitched onto my face. "Sure, ma'am."

Ma'am?! Ugh, kill me.

She strutted off into Dominic's office like she owned the place, leaving a trail of artificial vanilla perfume and heartbreak.

The moment the door closed, I bolted to the restroom.

The second I locked the door, I collapsed against it, sliding down like I was in some low-budget rom-com. Except there was nothing romantic about this.

I was the other woman.

I was the girl he cheated with.

And now everything made sense. The coldness. The "It was a mistake" line. The silence.

"You stupid, naive idiot," I muttered to myself, wiping away tears. "You fell for the boss on the first night. You might be pregnant, and he's freakin' engaged to a Barbie demon."

After a few minutes of ugly crying and motivational self pep talks, I pulled myself together. Lipstick reapplied, eyes patted dry.

Barbie asked for a latte. So Barbie gets a damn latte.

I crossed the street, got the stupid strawberry latte, and grabbed a few pastries for myself. Because apparently, my appetite didn't get the heartbreak memo. Didn't I just eat like twenty minutes ago? I wondered. Maybe I'm growing a second stomach.

Back at the office, I dropped my pastries and headed to Dominic's office, latte in hand. I was still distracted, mentally composing an email to HR about hostile pink environments, when I opened the door without knocking.

Big mistake.

There they were.

Dominic and Sabrina. Making out like it was the Titanic and they were trying to repopulate the ship.

I nearly dropped the drink. My hand trembled, but my face stayed neutral. Years of dealing with customer service, Karen's had trained me well.

I cleared my throat.

Dominic looked up, startled, like a deer caught in headlights. Then, quick as lightning, his face morphed back into its usual cold expression.

Sabrina turned and looked at me like I'd just farted on her Gucci dress.

"What?" she snapped.

I smiled sweetly. "Your drink, ma'am."

She waved me off like I was a fly buzzing around her crown. "Just drop it and leave."

I walked in, placed the drink on the table, and turned to leave. But not before giving Dominic a look.

A look that said, I know.

Then I said, loud and clear, "Anything else, Mrs. Steele?"

Dominic flinched.

Barbie glared.

I smirked internally.

She waved her hand like she was blessing me with permission to breathe. Rude.

As I walked out, I made sure to sway my hips just a little extra. If I were going to be the office scandal, I was going to be the hot one.

You don't get to have me, Dominic Steele. Enjoy your pink nightmare.

I sat at my desk, unwrapped my pastries, and took a massive bite. I didn't care if I cried and chewed at the same time. I deserved this croissant and an Oscar for my performance.

Tomorrow, I'll take the test. Tomorrow, I'd face reality.

But today?

Today, I survived. Barely.