Bridget sat frozen on the high stool, her eyes wide as she watched Jevon work. He moved around the kitchen with the fluid, precise grace of a Michelin-starred chef. He chopped fresh basil with terrifying speed, the blade a blur against the cutting board.

He tossed a slab of butter and minced garlic into a hot pan. The rich, savory aroma exploded into the air. Bridget's stomach, empty since the morning, let out a loud, embarrassing growl.

Jevon's hand paused over the stove. A smirk played on his lips, though he kept his back to her to hide it.

He reached up to the highest cabinet to grab a jar of black truffle paste. As his fingers wrapped around the glass, the muscles in his arm suddenly gave out-a lingering side effect of the massive dose of epinephrine he had taken hours ago.

The heavy glass jar slipped from his grasp.

Bridget saw it falling. Without thinking, she lunged off the stool, her hands shooting out to catch the jar before it shattered.

She managed to grab the truffle paste, but her elbow slammed hard into a tall glass bottle of organic ketchup sitting on the counter. The bottle tipped over. The cap popped off, and a thick stream of bright red ketchup splashed directly onto the front of Bridget's crisp white blouse.

Bridget looked down at the massive red stain spreading across her chest. She closed her eyes, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

Jevon cursed under his breath. He turned off the stove and grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of the kitchen. He dragged her down the hall and shoved her into the massive guest bathroom.

"Take it off and wash it right now, or the stain will set," he ordered.

Bridget clutched the doorframe, her face burning."No! I didn't bring any clothes!"

Jevon stared at her for a second. He turned around, walked into his master bedroom, and came back holding a brand-new, folded white dress shirt. He shoved it into her hands.

"Put this on. If you don't, I will come in there and take your blouse off myself."

Bridget slammed the bathroom door and locked it. Her hands shook as she unbuttoned her ruined blouse. She pulled Jevon's shirt over her head. The fabric was incredibly soft, but it was massive. The hem fell halfway down her thighs, making it look like a short dress. Worse, the collar smelled exactly like him-that intoxicating mix of cedarwood and heat.

She turned on the sink and started aggressively scrubbing her blouse under the cold water.

Suddenly, the smart home intercom on the wall chimed softly. Jevon glanced at the screen, his expression instantly darkening as he saw the feed from the private elevator lobby. With a heavy sigh of irritation, he tapped a button to unlock the door. A moment later, the heavy door swung open.

"Jervin! Open the door!" A loud and excited voice echoed in the apartment

Zane Sterling, Hollywood's biggest action star, strutted into the living room wearing dark sunglasses and a baseball cap. He kicked off his shoes, complaining loudly about the paparazzi chasing him from LA to New York.

Jevon walked out of the kitchen, holding two plates of steaming truffle pasta. His face was a mask of pure, murderous rage.

"Why didn't you knock?" Jevon snarled.

Zane smirked, tapping his phone. "Dude, you took forever to open up. I'm being chased by vultures out there."

At that exact moment, the guest bathroom door clicked open.

Bridget stepped out. Her legs were bare. She was wearing Jevon's oversized white shirt, clutching her wet, I really can't tell. She looked up and froze.

The living room went dead silent.

Zane slowly pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. His jaw dropped. His eyes darted from Bridget's bare legs to Jevon's furious face.

Bridget recognized the movie star instantly. The blood rushed to her head so fast she felt dizzy. She took a panicked step backward.

"Holy shit," Zane breathed out, a massive, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. "Jevon, you dark horse. Who is this?"

Jevon slammed the plates onto the dining table. He crossed the room in three strides, planting his massive body directly in front of Bridget, completely blocking Zane's view of her legs.

"Zane. Shut your mouth," Jevon growled, the warning in his voice absolute.

Bridget peeked out from behind Jevon's broad back, her face scarlet. "I-I just spilled ketchup on my shirt!"

Zane leaned to the side to look at her, winking blatantly. "Sure you did, sweetheart. I totally believe you."

Zane slowly circled the living room, his eyes raking over Bridget with unapologetic amusement.

Bridget gripped the hem of the oversized shirt, pulling it down as far as it would go. "Mr. Sterling, please, it's a misunderstanding. I am just an employee."

Jevon's patience snapped. He grabbed Zane by the collar of his expensive leather jacket and shoved him toward the entryway. "Get out."

Zane threw his hands up in mock surrender, laughing. "An employee? Really? Since when do Rocha employees wear the CEO's custom Tom Ford shirts with no pants on?"

Jevon's mind raced. He couldn't let Zane scare her off, but he couldn't tell the truth either. He needed an excuse that explained her presence in his private sanctuary.

"She's working on a highly confidential project directly for me," Jevon lied smoothly, his voice flat and cold. "The data is sensitive, so she's reporting here, after hours."

Zane stopped laughing. He looked at the two plates of perfectly plated truffle pasta on the table. He walked over, picked up a fork, and took a bite. He chewed slowly, his eyes widening in exaggerated surprise.

"Wow," Zane said, turning to Bridget. "You must be working on a very appetizing project. You're a culinary genius, Ms. Confidential."

Bridget's face burned so hot she thought she might pass out. She knew Zane knew Jevon cooked it. She gave a stiff, humiliated nod.

Jevon glared at Zane. He walked into his bedroom and returned with a pair of grey sweatpants. He shoved them into Bridget's hands. "Go put these on."

Bridget grabbed the pants and practically sprinted back to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, Bridget sat stiffly at the far end of the long dining table, wearing the baggy sweatpants. She kept her eyes glued to her plate, mechanically twirling the pasta around her fork.

Jevon sat at the head of the table. Zane pulled out the chair right next to Bridget and sat down, ignoring Jevon's death glare.

Zane poured himself a glass of red wine and leaned toward Bridget. "So, Ms. Frank. How old are you? Where are you from? What department do you actually work in?"

Bridget swallowed hard. She answered his rapid-fire questions in a tiny, nervous voice, feeling like she was under interrogation.

Jevon slammed his silver fork down onto his plate. The loud clatter echoed in the room. "Zane. Enough."

Zane ignored him completely. He took a sip of wine and dropped the bomb. "A beautiful girl like you must have a great boyfriend. What does he do?"

The air in the room instantly evaporated. Jevon's fingers clamped around the stem of his wine glass so hard the crystal groaned. His dark eyes locked onto Bridget's face, waiting.

Bridget's chest tightened. The image of Jacob and Chloe flashed in her mind, sending a fresh wave of nausea through her.

"I'm single," she said quietly, staring at her lap.

Jevon's rigid jawline instantly relaxed. A dark, triumphant heat flared in his eyes.

Zane caught the micro-expression on his best friend's face. He immediately leaned in closer to Bridget. "Single? New York men are blind. You know, Jevon here is single too. And he is incredibly loyal."

Bridget frowned, completely missing the subtext. She thought Zane was just being an obnoxious Hollywood wingman. She desperately wanted to change the subject.

"How is the filming for your new action movie going?" she asked.

Zane's eyes lit up. He started talking animatedly, waving his hands around to describe a stunt sequence, completely monopolizing Bridget's attention.

Jevon watched them laugh together. A violent surge of jealousy clawed at his chest. He stretched his long leg out under the table and kicked Zane's shin with brutal force.

Zane gasped, choking on his wine. He glared at Jevon, rubbing his leg under the table.

Jewen calmly ate his pasta"Your agent called me, Zane. He needs to speak with you immediately."

Bridget sensed the sudden hostility. She quickly put her fork down. "I'm full. I'll clean up the kitchen."

"Sit down," Jevon commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. He stood up, towering over the table. He looked at Zane. "My office. Now."

Zane winked at Bridget, stood up, and followed Jevon down the dark hallway toward the cigar room.

The heavy oak door of the cigar room clicked shut, sealing them in absolute silence.

Zane instantly dropped the playful idiot act. He crossed his arms, his face deadly serious. "What the hell are you doing, Jevon? If you're just playing games with some poor girl from the office, stop it before it gets messy."

Jevon didn't answer immediately. He walked over to the climate-controlled humidor, pulled out a Cuban cigar, and sliced the end off with a silver cutter.

Zane snatched the silver lighter from Jevon's hand. "I'm serious."

Jevon looked up. The cold, corporate mask was gone. His eyes were filled with a desperate, agonizing obsession.

"I looked for her for ten years," Jevon said, his voice a low, gravelly whisper.

Zane took a step back, his eyes wide with shock. "Wait. You mean... the girl out there... she's that girl? The one you've been looking for?"

Jevon put the cigar in his mouth, struck a match, and inhaled deeply. He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and gave a single, heavy nod.

Zane dragged a hand down his face. He remembered the broken, terrified boy Jevon used to be after the kidnapping. "If you found her, why the hell are you playing this weird boss-employee game? Why don't you just tell her who you are?"

Jevon walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the glittering Manhattan skyline. His broad shoulders slumped slightly.

"She just caught her fiancé cheating on her," Jevon said quietly. "Her trust is completely shattered. If I tell her that the CEO she's terrified of is actually the weak, pathetic kid she had to protect ten years ago... she'll think I'm a psychopath. She'll run."

Jevon turned around, his eyes burning with a terrifying resolve. "I am going to make her fall in love with Jevon Rocha. Cleanly. No past baggage."

Zane stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he let out a breath and shook his head. "You're insane. But fine. I'll help you."

They walked back into the living room. Bridget was sitting rigidly on the sofa, flipping nervously through an architectural magazine.

Zane walked over and sat down next to her, his entire demeanor shifting from flirtatious to deeply respectful. He poured her a glass of water and handed it to her.

"So, Bridget," Zane started, his tone casual. "I have this friend. He's been secretly in love with a girl for ten years. But he's terrified to tell her. What do you think she would do if she found out?"

Bridget lowered the magazine. She thought about Jacob's lies. Her chest tightened.

"It depends," Bridget said firmly. "If he was just watching from afar, imposing his own fantasy on her for a decade, then it's selfish deception. A real relationship needs honesty to begin. I hate liars."

Jevon, who had just poured himself a drink at the bar, froze. The crystal glass in his hand cracked under the sudden, violent pressure of his grip. The blood drained from his face.

Zane winced, realizing he had just stepped on a massive landmine. "Well, maybe he just didn't want to lose her-"

"A lie is a lie," Bridget interrupted, her voice hard. "I want simple, transparent relationships."

Jevon set the cracked glass down. He walked over, grabbed Zane by the back of his collar, and hauled him off the sofa.

"It's late," Jevon snarled. "You're leaving."

"I can't go to a hotel, the paparazzi are everywhere!" Zane protested.

Jevon pulled out his phone and dialed his assistant. "Alex. Book the entire top floor of the Four Seasons for Zane. Put it on my card." He hung up and shoved Zane toward the door.

Zane grabbed his jacket, shooting Bridget an apologetic look before fleeing the apartment.

The heavy door slammed shut. The silence in the apartment was suffocating.

Bridget stood up quickly, her heart pounding. "I should go too. I have work tomorrow."

Jevon didn't argue. He grabbed his car keys from the console table. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle ticked visibly.

"I'm driving you," he commanded.