Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
The elevator ride stretches on forever. I try to calm my nerves, reminding myself that I already have the job. Everything from here will be easy. But when the doors slide open, my heart plummets to my stomach. I know I can do this. I just need to freak out a little first.
A tall woman with a clipboard meets me in the hall, introduces herself as Ms. Clarke from HR, and guides me toward the corner office where I’ll be meeting my boss.
She opens the heavy door without knocking, ushering me inside with a professional smile.
And then the world stops.
Behind the massive desk, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over Manhattan, sits my one-night stand. He looks more buttoned-up today, somehow even more imposing in the harsh morning light, but there is no doubt it’s him.
I freeze in the doorway, my breath caught in my throat, heat flooding my cheeks. Horror crashes through me so hard I think I might stumble.
He looks up from the papers on his desk, and for a moment, there is no flicker of recognition in his icy blue eyes. But then his gaze sharpens. A flash of something that might be surprise crosses his face before it disappears behind that unreadable mask.
“Thank you, Ms. Clarke,” he says, his voice low and steady. “That will be all.”
Ms. Clarke nods and slips out, closing the door behind her, leaving me alone with him.
I can’t move. My stomach twists, embarrassment burning through me. Of all the men in New York, of all the bars, of all the nights I chose to be reckless, it had to be him.
He leans back in his chair, regarding me with that same detached authority I saw at the hotel, though now it’s even sharper.
“You’re late,” he says.
“I… what?” My voice cracks and I flush even hotter.
He arches a brow, glancing at the clock on the wall. “By three minutes,” he continues, unperturbed. “Punctuality is very important here.”
I open my mouth, close it again, fighting for composure. My carefully prepared introduction, my professional confidence, all of it evaporates. I clutch the strap of my bag, swallowing hard. “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again.”
He doesn’t smile or soften in any way. “See that it doesn’t.”
He gestures to the chair in front of his desk, and I force myself to cross the room on shaky legs. Sitting down, I try to focus on the sleek lines of the office, the papers neatly stacked on his desk, the view beyond the windows. Anywhere but him.
“This is what I expect from you,” he says, his tone clipped, businesslike. “You’ve been hired as a forensic accountant. That means you will review our financial records, trace discrepancies, and report findings directly to me. I want every detail, every cent accounted for. Do you understand?”
I nod quickly, pulling a notepad from my bag as if writing could anchor me, but the words blur on the page. All I can hear is the echo of his voice from two nights ago, low and rough in my ear as he told me he wanted me. All I can see is the way he’d braced himself over me, his eyes dark with heat. My cheeks burn.
His gaze flicks up from his papers, sharp and knowing. He studies me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly, and I realize he sees right through me.
“You’re distracted,” he says.
“I’m not,” I lie, my pen trembling in my hand.
His voice cuts through me, cold as steel. “We had sex. It’s not a big deal. You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. If you want to keep this job, get over it.”
The words hit like a slap. I sit frozen, my chest tight, humiliation clawing up my throat.
He doesn’t care. To him, it was nothing. I’m just another forgettable encounter in a sea of apparently many others.
I force myself to nod, press my lips together, and hold back the sharp retort that threatens to spill out. I need this job. It’s everything I worked for. I can’t afford to throw it away over some dick who’d given me one good orgasm.
“Good,” he says, already looking back down at the files on his desk. “Then we understand each other. You’ll find your office down the hall. Ms. Clarke will get you set up.”
He dismisses me.
I turn toward the door, desperate to escape the weight of his presence, the cold burn of his words. As I reach for the handle, he speaks again, his tone even colder.
“I don’t mix business with pleasure, Ms. Gonzales. Remember that.”
I don’t answer. How can I? I slip out of the office, my heart pounding, my stomach twisting, shame and anger warring inside me.
Ms. Clarke shows me to my office and leaves me to it.
I shut the door and lean against it, pressing my palm over my chest. I need to get myself together before I dissolve completely.