I woke up with the worst hangover of my life and the best sheets I’d ever slept in.

At first, I thought I was dreaming.

The sheets were crisp and smooth, heavy in a way that felt expensive.

The kind of sheets you don’t own unless your bank account looks like a phone number.

Then came the migraine.. dull, insistent, and not at all dreamy. I blinked into the soft light pouring in from the windows, confused.

My eyes scanned the room. Cream walls, massive windows, velvet curtains, gold fixtures. Definitely not my apartment. And I definitely didn't have a bar cart stocked with things I couldn't pronounce.

My stomach twisted.

Where the hell was I?

I sat up too fast, immediately regretting it as the world tilted sideways. My heart started pounding. This wasn't just a random hotel room.

This was a suite. Huge. Tasteful. Quiet. It even smelled rich.

Like leather, wood polish, and whatever cologne was still lingering in the air.

Then… it hit me.

Not just the headache, but the memories. Slippery and half-lit, but vivid enough.

The club.

Eliza.

Shots. So many shots.

And him.

That man.

God.

Heat climbed up my chest. It wasn't just the alcohol that made my cheeks burn. It was the realization.. the slow, horrifying clarity.

I’d slept with a stranger.

I did the thing I’d judged other women for. One wild night. No last name. No context. Just… heat and skin and noise.

I buried my face in my hands.

What was I thinking?

I glanced at the other side of the bed.

Empty.

Neatly smoothed out like he hadn't even slept there. Just me, wrecked and alone in five-star silence.

For a brief, stupid moment, I wondered if I’d imagined him. But then I moved, and everything ached in ways that proved I absolutely had not.

I wrapped a sheet around myself and padded to the nightstand. My phone was there, facedown, like it hadn't witnessed my poor decisions. I picked it up with a shaky hand and held my breath as it lit up.

No missed calls.

No texts from Troy.

Of course not.

Just one message from Eliza, sent sometime after midnight.

LIZA :

Left w my man. You better be deep in yours too. Don’t u dare be boring. Happy freakin birthday xoxo 💋

I exhaled, a mix between a sigh and a laugh. What was I expecting ?

Some ‘ prank, lol nevermind I love you’ text from Troy ?

That he’d show up with roses and call it a joke?

There was no text. No apology. Nothing.

I was officially dumped.

And I’d officially responded by having sex with someone I didn't know. In a hotel I couldn't afford on my best day.

I tossed the phone onto the bed and reached for my clothes. They were folded neatly on a chair.. which somehow made it worse. Like he was polite enough to clean up but not enough to say goodbye.

Then I saw it.

A small, matte black business card sitting beside the lamp. I didn't remember seeing it before.

I picked it up.

Minimalist. Sleek. Just a name.

Damien Wolfe

Executive Director, Wolfe & Locke

I stared at it.

No. No way.

The name kept repeating in my head like a siren. I turned the card over. Blank. I read it again, slower this time, trying to process.

Damien Wolfe.

Wolfe & Locke.

The company I’d been trying to get into for six months.

The company I was interviewing with tomorrow.

My heart stopped. My stomach dropped.

“No. No freaking way.”

I said it out loud, like maybe the walls would answer back and tell me it was a coincidence. That Damien Wolfe was a common name. That this was just some guy.

That no, I was not that unlucky.

I grabbed my phone again, fingers shaking as I opened the email from the recruiter. I scanned down to the bottom, to the signature.

Wolfe & Locke Design Division

Damien Wolfe, Executive Director

I sat down hard on the edge of the bed, card still in hand.

I had slept with my potential boss.

Or worse.. the CEO of the entire freaking company.

“What have I done?”

There was no way this couldn't bite me. My head started to spin again, but not from the tequila.

I needed to leave. Immediately.

***

The cab ride back to my apartment was a blur of nausea, anxiety, and me clutching that card like it was a detonator. I didn't even text Eliza until I was halfway up the stairs.

When I stepped into the apartment, she was in the kitchen, eating cereal straight from the box and wearing one of my sweatshirts.

“Look who finally made it home,” she said without turning. “Did you break anything? A hip? A headboard ?”

I dropped my bag and stood there.

She turned.. then gasped. “Oh my God, you look like you saw a ghost. Or married one.”

I walked straight to the table and dropped the business card in front of her.

She picked it up, chewing slowly. Read it. Then again. Her eyes went wide.

“Shut. Up.”

“I’m not joking.”

“This is the guy?”

I nodded.

Her face broke into a huge grin. “Girl. You slept with a billionaire.”

“I slept with my interviewer,” I snapped.

She paused.

“ Ohhhh,” she said, like it just clicked. “ Wolfe & Locke. The job. Design. The interview.”

“Yes. The job I need. The one I’ ve been preparing for for months. The one I might’ ve just destroyed because I had sex with the wrong man.”

Eliza blinked. Then shrugged. “Or the right man. I mean, at least he’s hot and rich. Could’ ve been worse. Could’ ve been a broke artist with a nose ring.”

“ Elizabeth.”

She stood and walked toward me. “Okay, okay. Real talk. Maybe it’s messy. Maybe it’s a total disaster. But it’s also kinda badass. You walked out of heartbreak and into a penthouse. If that’s not power, I don’t know what is.”

I dropped onto the couch, groaning. “I can’t go to that interview. What if he recognizes me?”

“You were drunk. Hair up. Makeup smudged. Lights low. Maybe he won’t. Maybe it’s nothing to him.”

That stung. But she had a point.

She looked at me, serious now. “ Sasha, this job is everything. You can’t ghost the opportunity of your dreams because of one night. Pretend it didn't happen. You’ re smart, you’ re talented, and you deserve to be there.”

I rubbed my face. “You really think I can pull this off?”

“I know you can.”

Then, like nothing had happened, she spun around and marched to my closet.

“Now,” she called over her shoulder, “we are picking an outfit that says hire me and not I moaned your name less than forty-eight hours ago.”

I snorted despite myself.

This was a mess. A full-on disaster. But she was right.

That night never happened.

Wolfe & Locke looked exactly like the kind of place where people didn't make mistakes.

Glass. Marble. Quiet power. Every corner felt like it had been curated.. from the chrome elevator buttons to the art on the walls that looked like it belonged in a museum.

I stood in the lobby, practically holding my breath, trying not to sweat through my dress.

Eliza had picked it out for me. Some dusty rose thing with clean lines and a square neckline that made me look way more confident than I felt. She’d even forced me into heels.

Said I needed to “walk in like my enemies were watching.”

I felt more like I was about to pass out.

The front desk was manned by a woman with flawless skin and a blunt bob that screamed “expensive.” She smiled politely as I approached.

“Hi, um… ” I cleared my throat. “I’m Sasha Dean. I have a scheduled interview with the design team this morning.”

She typed something into her computer, eyes flicking over the screen. “Yes. You’ re expected. Amanda Clarke will be down in a moment to meet you.”

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound like I was dying inside.

I sat in the nearest chair, crossing my legs to keep from tapping my foot.

My heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest. I could still feel the card from that morning.. the name Damien Wolfe burned into the back of my eyelids.

There was no way he recognized me. Right?

The lights had been dim. My hair was up. I’d been drunk. And he had to meet so many women like that. There was no reason I’d stand out. Not to him. Not in that way.

Before I could spiral further, a voice cut through my thoughts.

“ Sasha ?”

I looked up.

A lady in burgundy tint hair stood in front of me.. tall, sharp, perfectly put together. Her sleek ponytail didn't move when she turned her head, and her black heels didn't make a sound on the marble floor.

“I’m Amanda. Executive assistant to Mr. Wolfe. Welcome to Wolfe & Locke,” she said, all calm professionalism. Her smile was small and polite.. not warm, not cold. Just… measured.

“Hi,” I said, standing quickly. Too quickly. My bag strap caught on the armrest, and I had to untangle myself with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Thanks.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Follow me.”

We took the elevator up in silence. Amanda didn't fidget or check her phone. She just stood there, straight-backed and still.

I tried to match her posture and instantly regretted it.. my head started pounding all over again from the nerves.

“This way,” she said when the doors opened.

The design floor was bright and open, full of clean lines and modern furniture.

Every person looked like they had walked out of a Pinterest board. I caught a few glances as we passed.. curious, not unfriendly.

Amanda paused outside a glass- walled conference room.

Inside, I saw two women and one man sitting around a table with sketchbooks, laptops, mood boards. Amanda leaned in.

“This is the design team. They’ ll be sitting in on the interview. You’ ll be working closely with them if you get the job. Junior strategic design associate.. it’s a supporting role, but fast-moving.”

I nodded. “Got it.”

The man in the room waved us in. “ Sasha, right? Take a seat.”

They introduced themselves.. Zoe, Celeste, and Marcus.. all of them impossibly stylish.

I kept my answers short, focused. I knew my portfolio. I knew my stuff. And I was determined to keep my head down and not give anyone a reason to look at me twice.

I spent the rest of the morning being overly helpful, overly careful, overly everything. I organized color swatches like my life depended on it and avoided eye contact like it was contagious.

But every time someone mentioned “Mr. Wolfe,” I flinched.

“He just got back from Chicago.”

“He’ ll be reviewing all candidate interviews personally.”

“He’s intense but fair.”

Fair. Right.

Around noon, I got a break. I sat in a corner with my water bottle, trying to steady my breathing when my phone buzzed in my lap.

Liza :

How’s your billionaire fling ? Is he still tall and delicious in daylight? Or did the magic die with the disco lights?

I stared at the text for a full thirty seconds before replying.

Me:

Stop. I haven’t seen him. Pretty sure he doesn't even remember me.

Liza :

Lies. That man’s memory is probably photographic. You don’t just forget a girl like you.

I rolled my eyes and locked my screen. I didn't need the reminder. I could still feel his hands. His voice. The way he’d looked at me like he wasn't just seeing me.. he was studying me.

“ Sasha ?”

I jumped. Amanda stood beside me again, one hand resting lightly on the back of a chair.

“Mr. Wolfe is ready for your review. Come with me.”

And there it was.

My stomach dropped so hard I felt a little dizzy.

I followed her in silence. My steps felt slow, weighted. The hall was longer than it needed to be, lined with glass offices and framed awards. I counted the lights on the ceiling just to keep from thinking.

We turned a corner, then another.

At the end of the hall was a door unlike any I’d seen so far.

It was matte black with brushed gold handles and no visible signage. Just… there. Massive. Quietly intimidating.

Amanda pressed a small button on the earpiece she wore.

“She’s here,” she said. Then turned to me. “You can go in now.”

I swallowed hard.

She gave me the faintest of nods and stepped aside.

I reached for the handle.

Breathe.

This is just an interview.

Nothing else.

I pushed the door open.

And there he was.

Damien Wolfe.

In full daylight, in a tailored charcoal suit, standing beside a long glass desk. His head lifted. His eyes found mine instantly.

No flicker of recognition.

No smile.

Just a slow, unreadable look that went from my face to my shoes and back again.

He nodded once.

“Ms. Dean.”

His voice was exactly the same.

My breath caught.

He didn't smile. Didn't flinch.

Didn't blink.

And suddenly I wasn't sure if I wanted him to remember.. or if I was more terrified that he already did.

They stared at each other for exactly three seconds before Sasha remembered how to breathe.

Damien Wolfe had already known she was coming.

Her portfolio had landed on his desk that morning, flagged for final review. And the second he saw her name.. Sasha Dean.. he’d paused. Then opened the file.

The headshot was grainy, low resolution. But it was her. The girl from that night.

And now, standing in front of him, she looked even prettier than he remembered. Softer. Brighter.

Her lips were the same.. parted like she was just catching up to the moment. She smelled faintly of something floral, something that hadn't been there in the dark.

He let her stand there. Waited just long enough to watch the flicker of panic in her eyes.

She didn't think he remembered.

Interesting.

He cleared his throat softly, then said in a perfectly even tone, “Please. Have a seat.”

She blinked. Then stepped forward, clumsy in a way that only made her seem more real. Her bag slipped from her shoulder and she caught it just in time.

She sat opposite him, straightening her spine like she was trying to convince herself she belonged here.

“I’ ve reviewed your file,” Damien said, folding his hands over the desk. “Your background in digital brand identity is… impressive.”

“Thank you,” she said quickly. Her voice was tight, polished. “I’ ve been applying to Wolfe & Locke for a few months now, actually. This is… kind of surreal.”

She wasn't lying. Damien remembered seeing her name before. More than once.

He tilted his head. “Six applications, according to HR.”

Her eyes widened just enough to give her away.

“ I… yeah. I didn't think anyone was keeping count.”

“We keep count of everything,” he said, his mouth twitching into a faint smile.

She flushed. It wasn't just embarrassment. There was a flicker of something else there.. something she was trying hard to suppress.

He didn't push. Not yet.

“Tell me,” he said, sitting back, “why here? Why this role? Your portfolio could easily position you for a senior creative position at one of the boutique firms.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Collected herself.

“I think design isn't just about visuals. It’s about meaning. What something makes you feel. And Wolfe & Locke… your brand is powerful. Cohesive. But not sterile. It speaks. And I want to be part of that voice.”

He nodded slowly. She was nervous, yes. But sharp. Clear. Present. Not many people walked into this office and told him what they wanted to do. Most just listed what they’d done.

He watched her for another beat. Her hands were clasped too tightly on her lap.

“And the junior strategic associate role?” he asked. “You’ re aware it’s mostly support work.”

“I don’t mind starting small,” she said. “I want to learn. Grow within the company.”

“You have degrees in both digital design and communication strategy,” he said. “Why haven’t you been hired elsewhere?”

She flinched. Just slightly.

“I’ ve freelanced. Built a few campaigns on my own. I guess I was waiting for the right fit.”

Damien raised a brow. “You don’t seem like the type who waits.”

Her gaze flicked to him, and for one brief moment, something electric passed between them. Then she looked away again.

“It’s been a… weird few months.”

He wanted to ask more. About Troy.. she had mentioned his name that night. About what she was doing at that club. About why she looked like heartbreak had crawled into her ribs and made a home there. But that wasn't his place.

And he wasn't about to scare her off.

Instead, he reached for the leather folder on his desk and flipped it open again. Her resume. Notes from HR. He tapped the page lightly.

“You have promise,” he said. “And some interesting ideas in your freelance work. There’s a rawness to your approach. I think our team could use that.”

She blinked. “ You… wait. Are you saying… ?”

“I expect great things from you,” he said, rising to his feet. “You start tomorrow.”

She didn't move.

He walked around the desk, stopping a few feet from her, hands in his pockets. She looked up at him, eyes wide, unsure.

“I’ ll have Amanda send your onboarding documents this afternoon.”

“Right,” she said quietly, standing. “Thank you. Mr. Wolfe.”

He looked at her for a second longer than necessary.

Then gave a short nod.

She turned and walked out.

But not before he caught it.. that glance back over her shoulder.

And the way her fingers trembled as they reached for the door.

**

Sasha's Pov

I walked out of Damien Wolfe's office like I’d just survived a car crash. On the outside, I was calm. Composed. Inside?

Chaos.

What just happened?

I made it down the hall, past Amanda's sleek little smirk and the receptionist's perfect posture, out through the revolving glass doors, and onto the street before I even let myself think.

He didn't mention it.

He didn't even blink.

Was it possible… that he didn't recognize me?

I leaned against a building and pulled out my phone, texting Eliza with fingers that could barely move.

Me:

I got the job.

Three dots. Then:

Eliza :

Bitch.

Then again:

Eliza :

Wait. Like just like that???

Me:

He was… professional. Too professional. Didn't even acknowledge anything. I don’t think he knows.

Eliza :

Yeah. Or he knows exactly who you are and is just playing with you.

I stared at her message, and my stomach twisted.

I wanted to believe he didn't recognize me. That this job.. something I’d wanted for so long.. wasn't going to be poisoned by one wild, impulsive night.

But…

His eyes.

The way they watched me. Calculated, quiet. Like he was waiting for something.

And that smile. That barely-there smirk when he said I had promise.

It wasn't just about the job. I knew that. Deep down, I knew that.

Still, I told myself it was fine. That I’d keep my head down. Do the work. Avoid the top floor. Pretend that night never happened.

I told myself it was behind me.

I told myself all the right things.

But when I closed my eyes, I could still see his face in the dark. Still feel the way he kissed me like he’d never get the chance again.

Now?

Now he was my boss.

And I knew then.. this was just the beginning of a very bad idea.