There are days that start badly and end worse. For Olivia, that Friday was one of them.
Her blouse had been stained with coffee since 7:00 that morning. Her boss had blamed her for a mistake she had not made. By 6:00 in the evening, she was trapped in a crowded elevator, surrounded by the suffocating heat of strangers pressed too close together.
The corporate building had 12 floors, and apparently everyone had decided to leave at the same time. Olivia stood cornered on the right side, her bag pressed against her body, trying to breathe through the claustrophobia. Then she felt it.
Someone was too close.
Way too close.
“Sorry for the squeeze,” a male voice murmured near the back of her neck.
It was deep and controlled, the kind of voice that might have made her stomach tighten under different circumstances. At that moment, it only sharpened her irritation.
She tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. The doors closed, and the elevator began descending. Then she heard him again, low, almost a whisper.
“Too tight. But I’m not complaining.”
Her blood boiled instantly.
Olivia spun in the small space she had, her elbow striking someone, her bag falling to the floor. She did not think. She did not calculate. She acted on the anger of the entire day, the entire week, concentrated in the palm of her hand.
The slap echoed inside the metal cubicle.
“Pervert,” she spat.
The silence that followed was deadly. Everyone stopped breathing. So did Olivia.
Her eyes finally focused on the man in front of her, and her heart dropped.
He did not look like an ordinary pervert. His face was angular, masculine in a way that should have been illegal, and at that moment it held a mixture of shock and something she could not identify.
“I wasn’t,” he began, his voice still controlled, though now threaded with genuine surprise. “I wasn’t talking about that.”
A red mark was beginning to appear exactly where her hand had landed. He lifted his fingers to his cheek, touching it lightly. His eyes met hers: blue, intense, completely fixed on her, as if no one else existed in the elevator.
“Then what the hell were you talking about?” Olivia asked before her brain could stop her. Her voice sounded shrill and nervous, nothing like the firmness she wanted.
“The space,” he answered calmly, indicating the crowded elevator with a minimal gesture. “It’s tight, but at least we’re going down. Don’t you think you’re overthinking this?”
Oh.
No.
Olivia’s face heated in a way that had nothing to do with the elevator. She looked around and realized everyone was staring. An older woman had her hand over her mouth. A man in a gray suit appeared to be holding back laughter. Another person was recording everything on his phone, because of course he was.
“I…” Her voice failed.
“You thought wrong,” he finished.
But he did not seem angry. He seemed intrigued, as if he were trying to decipher her and finding the attempt unexpectedly interesting.
The elevator doors opened on the ground floor with a cheerful ping that contrasted absurdly with the tension inside. People began to leave in silence, throwing Olivia looks that ranged from shocked to amused. She picked up her bag with trembling hands and prepared to leave as well.
His voice stopped her.
“Do you always solve your problems with physical violence?”
Olivia turned back. He remained standing there, occupying space the way confident men did, as if the world should adjust to them and not the other way around. The mark on his cheek was redder now. A pang of guilt crossed her chest.
“Do you always make ambiguous comments near strange women?” she retorted, raising her chin, even though she knew she was completely wrong.
A minimal smile touched the corner of his mouth. It was not kind. It was the smile of someone who had found something unexpected and was deciding exactly what to do with it.
“Touché,” he murmured.
Then he left the elevator with measured steps, leaving Olivia alone with her racing heart and the absolute certainty that she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.
But it was all right. It had to be all right. She would never see that man again.
New York had 8 million inhabitants. The chances of crossing paths with him again were practically zero.
She left the building on unsteady legs, adrenaline still moving through her veins. Night was falling, and traffic was already thickening on the avenue. She stopped on the sidewalk, breathing deeply and trying to process what had happened.
Her phone vibrated. It was a message from her best friend asking if she wanted to go out for drinks.
Olivia typed a quick response.
“I need tequila. Lots of tequila. I’ll tell you when we meet.”
Because how could she explain that she had slapped a complete stranger over a total misunderstanding? How could she explain that she still felt the burn in her palm? Worse, how could she explain that a very small, very stupid part of her still felt those blue eyes fixed on her, or remembered that minimal smile that seemed to promise their story had not ended there?
She shook her head, pushing away the ridiculous thought.
She would never see that man again.
End. Closed. Forgotten.
At least that was what she needed to believe in order to sleep that night.
Three days passed, and Olivia still could not stop thinking about it.
The slap. Those blue eyes. The infuriating calm in his voice when he told her she was overthinking things.
Maybe she had been. Maybe she had lost her mind in that elevator and assaulted an innocent man who was only making a casual observation about a crowded space.
Or maybe he was a pervert with an excellent poker face.
She kept shifting between shame and indignation, her mind replaying the scene on an endless loop whenever she closed her eyes: the sound of the slap, the red mark forming on his cheek, the way everyone stared, and the video that man had probably posted somewhere online.
The video.
For hours, Olivia searched Twitter and Instagram for any sign that she had become a viral meme. Crazy woman assaults man in elevator. When feminism goes too far. New York City’s most aggressive commuter.
Nothing appeared.
Maybe the man who recorded it decided the footage was not worth posting. Maybe he was too busy laughing about it with friends.
“You’ve been weird all week,” her best friend said during lunch on Wednesday.
They were sitting in their usual spot near the office, a small café that served overpriced salads and mediocre coffee.
“Did something happen?”
“Just work stress,” Olivia lied, stabbing a cherry tomato with more force than necessary.
Her best friend did not believe her. Olivia could tell by the narrowed eyes. Thankfully, she did not push.
How could Olivia explain what had happened? That she had slapped a stranger because she jumped to conclusions. That 3 days later, she still felt the phantom heat of his skin against her palm. That sometimes, when she was alone, she could still hear his voice asking if she overthought things.
She was overthinking things right now. Spectacularly.
By Thursday, she had built a rationalization. He was just a random man, a nobody. He probably did not even work in the building. He had likely been visiting someone. New York was enormous, 8 million people crammed into 5 boroughs. The mathematical probability of seeing him again was basically zero.
She could forget it.
She would forget it.
By Friday, Olivia made the conscious decision to erase him from memory. No more replaying the scene. No more wondering whether his blue eyes had held amusement or annoyance. No more thinking about the way he had touched his cheek so gently, so measured, as if everything about him was carefully controlled.
Stop thinking about him.
She focused on work with laser precision, volunteering for extra projects, staying late, doing anything to keep her mind occupied. Her coworkers probably thought she was aiming for a promotion. In reality, she was trying to outrun her own embarrassment.
The weekend was easier. She deep cleaned her apartment, reorganized her closet, met friends for brunch in Brooklyn. Normal things. Safe things. Things that had nothing to do with elevators, mysterious men, expensive suits, or unsettling blue eyes.
By Monday morning, she had almost convinced herself it was over. The incident had become a minor blip, an unfortunate misunderstanding that would fade into the background noise of her life. Just another New York moment. The city was full of them.
She walked into her office building with her head high and coffee in hand, ready to start fresh.
The lobby was its usual chaos: people rushing toward elevators, security guards checking IDs, delivery workers moving through the crowd. Olivia swiped her badge and headed toward the elevator bank.
Then she saw it.
A new poster was on the notice board near the elevators, large and impossible to miss.
Important announcement. CEO site visit. All-staff meeting today at 10:00 a.m. Attendance mandatory.
Olivia frowned.
Their CEO never came to the New York office. He was always overseas, running operations from London or Singapore or wherever billionaires chose to set up base. Most employees had never seen him in person. He was more myth than man, a name on emails and a signature on documents.
“Did you hear?” Her colleague stopped beside her, vibrating with excitement. “The CEO is finally coming. Can you believe it? Three years, and he’s never visited this office.”
“That’s great,” Olivia managed, already calculating which meetings she might skip to avoid the mandatory gathering.
“Everyone’s freaking out. Apparently, he’s insanely hot. Like model hot. And young. Only 36.”
Olivia nodded absently, planning an escape route. She could say she had a client call or a doctor’s appointment, something urgent and unchallengeable. The last thing she needed was more corporate drama. She had endured enough drama to last a lifetime.
At 10:00, she walked toward the conference room like a death row inmate heading to execution, though she had no idea what she was being executed for. It was only the vague sense of corporate dread all employees felt when forced into mandatory meetings with executives they had never met.
The conference room was on the 10th floor, the largest space they had, with glass walls overlooking the Manhattan skyline. By the time Olivia arrived, it was already packed. At least 70 people were crammed into a room meant for 50.
Perfect.
She could hide in the crowd.
She slipped in through the back entrance and immediately positioned herself behind Thomas from accounting. Thomas was 6 feet 4 inches tall and built as if he spent his weekends moving furniture. An excellent human shield.
“Can you see anything?” whispered Sarah from marketing, who had squeezed in beside her.
“That’s kind of the point,” Olivia muttered. “I can’t see, which means no one can see me.”
Sarah gave her a strange look but did not comment.
The room buzzed with nervous energy. People adjusted ties, smoothed hair, checked phones one last time before the big boss arrived. Olivia focused on becoming invisible. If she believed hard enough, maybe she could disappear.
“He’s coming,” someone hissed from the front.
The crowd shifted, bodies pressing closer as everyone tried to get a better view. Olivia pressed herself farther behind Thomas, making herself as small as possible, which was not easy in heels that added 3 inches to her height.
Why had she worn those shoes?
The door opened.
She could not see who entered, but she felt the energy in the room change, that particular electricity powerful people carried with them, the kind that made everyone suddenly stand straighter and smile brighter.
“Good morning,” a voice said.
Olivia’s blood turned to ice.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
She knew that voice. Deep. Controlled. The same voice that had whispered too close to her neck in a crowded elevator exactly 1 week earlier.
“Thank you all for gathering on short notice.”
Her heart tried to escape through her ribs. This was not happening. This absolutely could not be happening. The universe was not this cruel.
She shifted slightly left, trying to peek around Thomas without being obvious.
It was a mistake.
The movement drew attention. Thomas stepped aside to let someone pass, and Olivia suddenly had an unobstructed view of the front of the room.
There he was.
The man from the elevator. The man she had slapped. The man whose cheek she had marked with her palm.
He stood at the front of the conference room in a navy suit that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe, blue eyes scanning the crowd with casual authority.
Their CEO.
Olivia was going to die right there. Death by humiliation and terrible life choices.
“Oh my God, he is hot,” Sarah whispered far too loudly beside her.
Olivia could not breathe. Literally could not make her lungs work. She needed to leave immediately. But movement would draw attention, and attention was the last thing she needed.
So she did the only logical thing.
She ducked.
She dropped into a crouch as if she had lost a contact lens. Several people looked down, confused. She ignored them, crawling between legs and bags until she reached a cluster of people near the left wall.
“Excuse me,” someone said as she accidentally grabbed their ankle for balance.
“Sorry,” she whispered, finally reaching a spot behind a very pregnant woman named Jennifer.
Bless Jennifer and her beautiful baby bump, which provided excellent coverage.
Olivia peeked out from behind her just enough to see him still speaking, explaining quarterly projections and expansion plans. His voice was steady, confident, completely professional. Nothing like the slight amusement she had heard in the elevator when he had said, “Touché.”
“Are you okay?” Jennifer whispered down at her. “Do you need to sit?”
“I’m great. Perfect. Just prefer the floor view today.”
Jennifer looked concerned, but did not argue. She probably thought Olivia was having some kind of breakdown.
She was not wrong.
Olivia needed a better hiding spot. The floor was too obvious. She spotted a large potted plant near the corner and seriously considered whether she could fit behind it. She was not proud of the thought, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Then she made her second mistake.
She tried to move from behind Jennifer to behind a group near the presentation screen, but her heel caught on someone’s laptop bag. She stumbled, reached out for balance, and grabbed what she thought was a chair.
It was not a chair.
It was a presentation stand with a microphone.
It crashed to the floor with a sound that could probably be heard in New Jersey.
Every person in the room turned to look at her.
Including him.
Their eyes met across 70 people and a fallen microphone. His blue eyes widened slightly in recognition. Then something else flickered there, something dangerously close to amusement.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The same smile from the elevator. The one that promised he knew exactly who she was and found this entire situation absolutely hilarious.
Olivia was so fired.
For approximately 3 seconds, nobody moved. They all existed in a frozen moment of collective horror: Olivia on the floor, tangled in a laptop bag beside a microphone now providing feedback through the speakers; him at the front, clearly recognizing her; and 70 witnesses to what would undoubtedly become the most legendary workplace disaster in company history.
Then everyone moved at once.
“I got it,” Olivia squeaked, scrambling to pick up the microphone stand as if that could erase what had happened.
It did not. It made things worse, because she stood too fast and smacked her head against the corner of a desk.
“Ow.”
The word came out much louder than intended, amplified by the microphone she was still holding.
Someone snickered. Then someone else. Within seconds, poorly suppressed laughter rippled through the room.
“Are you all right?”
His voice came from the front, carrying barely concealed amusement.
“Fine. Totally fine. Just dropping things, as one does regularly.”
She was babbling. She knew she was babbling. She carefully set the microphone back on its stand and refused to look up, focusing intensely on making sure it was perfectly straight. Maybe if she took long enough, everyone would forget she existed. Maybe the floor would open and swallow her. Maybe she would spontaneously combust.
“Perhaps we should take a short break,” he suggested to the room, though his eyes never left her. “Everyone, 10 minutes. Help yourselves to coffee and pastries in the hallway.”
The room emptied faster than the elevator had the week before. Everyone wanted to escape the secondhand embarrassment, and Olivia could not blame them. Within 30 seconds, only a handful of people remained, giving her pitying looks usually reserved for car accidents and failed marriage proposals.
She needed to leave immediately, before he could speak.
“You stay.”
Too late.
The last stragglers practically ran from the room. Jennifer gave Olivia one final concerned look before waddling away, abandoning her to her fate.
Traitor.
The door closed with a soft click that sounded like a death sentence.
They were alone.
Olivia still had not looked directly at him. She was very busy examining the carpet pattern. It was fascinating carpet, probably imported, definitely expensive. So many interesting fibers.
“So,” he said, and she heard him moving closer. “We meet again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice came out strangled. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“Really?” He was closer now. She could see his shoes in her peripheral vision, expensive leather, perfectly polished. “Because I distinctly remember meeting a woman in an elevator last week who had very strong opinions about personal space.”
Her face was on fire.
“That could be anyone.”
“She also had excellent aim.”
Olivia finally looked up. That was a mistake.
He stood maybe 3 feet away, arms crossed, leaning slightly against a desk, looking absolutely delighted by her suffering. The mark from the slap was long gone, but Olivia could still see exactly where it had been.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I’m so, so sorry. I thought you were—I mean, I misunderstood. It was a terrible mistake, and I’ve been dying of embarrassment for a week, and I totally understand if you want to fire me, but please know I’m normally a very reasonable person who doesn’t go around assaulting strangers in elevators.”
“Breathe,” he interrupted.
There was that smile again, the one that made her stomach do strange things.
“You’re going to pass out.”
Olivia sucked in air. He was right. She had forgotten to breathe during her panic ramble.
“I’m not going to fire you,” he continued. “Though I have to admit, watching you try to hide behind that plant was the most entertainment I’ve had in months.”
“I wasn’t hiding behind the plant. I was inspecting it for bugs. Corporate bug inspection is very important.”
His smile widened. “Is that also why you were crawling on the floor?”
“Floor inspection. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
He pushed away from the desk and took another step closer.
“And the microphone?”
“It looked unstable. I was providing a stability test, which it failed spectacularly.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Then something unexpected happened.
He laughed.
Not a polite corporate chuckle, but an actual laugh, one that seemed to surprise even him.
“You’re completely insane,” he said, shaking his head.
“I prefer situationally challenged,” Olivia corrected, somehow smiling despite the ongoing disaster that was her life.
“Is that what we’re calling assault now? A situational challenge?”
“It was self-defense against perceived harassment. Big difference.”
“Perceived being the key word.”
“You did say something about it being tight and not complaining.”
“About the elevator,” he emphasized. “The elevator was tight. I wasn’t complaining about leaving the building.”
“Well, it was ambiguous.”
“Only if you have a very creative interpretation of basic sentences.”
“I have an excellent imagination.”
“Clearly.” He tilted his head, studying her with eyes that were far too perceptive. “So what else has that excellent imagination been telling you this week?”
That you are unfairly attractive. That I cannot stop thinking about that elevator. That right now, with you standing this close, I am forgetting how to form coherent thoughts.
“That I should probably start looking for a new job,” Olivia said instead.
“Because you assaulted the CEO, or because you just destroyed company property in front of 70 employees?”
He stepped even closer, and Olivia had to tilt her head back to hold eye contact. The air between them felt charged, heavy with something she could not name.
“What’s your name?” he asked quietly.
“Why? So you can put it on the termination paperwork?”
“So I can stop thinking of you as the woman who slapped me.”
Her heart did something acrobatic.
“Olivia. My name is Olivia.”
“Well, Olivia,” he said, testing her name as if deciding how it felt in his mouth. “I’m Ethan. And we need to talk.”
This was it. The firing speech. The professional consequences of impulsive violence.
“About what happened in the elevator,” he continued.
“I really am sorry.”
“I deserved it,” he interrupted, shocking her into silence.
“What?”
“What I said was inappropriate. Regardless of what I meant, I was tired, jet-lagged, and too close to your personal space. You had every right to react the way you did.”
Olivia blinked.
“Are you… are you apologizing?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m capable of admitting when I’m wrong.” He paused. “Even if your execution was a bit dramatic.”
“I don’t do anything halfway.”
“I’m starting to realize that.”
Part 2
The silence stretched between them, loaded with something Olivia did not want to analyze. Ethan was still too close, and she was still trying to remember how normal breathing worked.
“So we’re good?” she asked, her voice higher than intended. “No firing, no criminal charges, no restraining orders?”
“I wouldn’t say we’re good,” Ethan said slowly.
Her stomach dropped.
“There’s still the matter of appropriate consequences.”
There it was. The demotion. The transfer to a basement office. Mandatory anger management classes.
“What kind of consequences?” she asked wearily.
He moved closer. Olivia moved back until her spine hit the edge of a desk.
“Well,” he said, his voice dropping lower, more intimate, “you did physically assault me in front of multiple witnesses.”
“You said you deserved it.”
“I said I understood your reaction. That’s different.”
He braced one hand on the desk beside her, effectively trapping her.
“And there’s still the matter of my wounded pride.”
“Your pride seems perfectly intact to me.”
“Does it?” He tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her pulse skip. “Because I’ve spent the last week wondering what kind of woman slaps first and asks questions never.”
“A woman who has had enough of men saying inappropriate things. Even when they’re not saying inappropriate things. Especially then. It’s preemptive defense.”
That almost-smile returned.
“You’re impossible.”
“I prefer proactive.”
“You prefer being difficult.”
“Only with people who deserve it.”
“And I deserve it?”
He leaned slightly closer, and she caught the scent of his cologne: cedar, definitely cedar, maybe some kind of spice.
Why was she cataloging his scent like that?
“The jury’s still out,” she managed, trying to sound confident despite the way her heart was attempting escape.
“Then let me make my case.” His voice was barely above a whisper now. His other hand came to rest on the desk at her other side, completing the cage. “You hit me without provocation.”
“There was provocation.”
“Perceived provocation. Which means you owe me.”
“Owe you what? I already apologized twice.”
“An apology isn’t quite enough for the psychological damage.”
Olivia snorted. “Psychological damage? Your ego is the size of this building.”
“Exactly. Do you know how much therapy costs for an ego this size?”
Despite everything, she laughed. Real laughter bubbled out of her, and his eyes lit at the sound.
“There it is,” he said softly. “I was wondering if you ever smiled.”
“I smile plenty.”
“Not in that elevator. You looked like you wanted to murder me.”
“To be fair, I thought you were a creep.”
“And now?”
“Now I think you’re my boss, which is somehow worse.”
He laughed, low and unhelpful to her heart rate.
“Worse than a creep?”
“At least creeps don’t have the power to fire me.”
“I already told you I’m not firing you.”
“Then what do you want?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with implications she definitely should not have been thinking about.
His eyes darkened slightly. Something dangerous flickered there.
“What do I want?” he repeated slowly, as if considering it for the first time. “That’s an interesting question, Olivia.”
The way he said her name should have been illegal, low and deliberate, like he was tasting each syllable.
“I think,” he continued, shifting closer, “that turnabout is fair play.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you got your moment of impulsive violence. Maybe I deserve my moment, too.”
Her breath caught.
“You’re not going to hit me back.”
“Of course not.” He almost looked offended. “I’m not a monster.”
“Then what?”
“I’m going to kiss you.”
The words dropped like a bomb.
Olivia’s brain short-circuited.
“You’re going to what?”
“Kiss you. As revenge for the slap. Seems fair.”
“That’s not—that’s completely inappropriate. You’re my boss.”
“Technically, I’m everyone’s boss. And you started it.”
“I hit you. That’s completely different from—from—”
“From what?” he asked. “Say it.”
She could not. Her mouth had forgotten how words worked. He was so close now that she could feel the warmth radiating from him and count the darker flecks in his blue eyes.
“This is insane,” she whispered.
“You assaulted a stranger in an elevator. I’d say we’re past sane.”
“I could report you to HR.”
“You could,” he agreed. “Right after you explain why you committed battery against the CEO.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“That’s strategy.”
He shifted again, and suddenly his face was inches from hers.
“So what’s it going to be, Olivia? Do I get my revenge, or do we call it even?”
Her brain screamed at her to say even, to push him away, to maintain some shred of professionalism. But her traitorous body had other ideas. Despite the embarrassment, the logic, and the sheer inappropriateness of it, she wanted him to do it.
“This is a terrible idea,” she said, but she did not move away.
“Probably.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “Your call.”
The world narrowed to the empty conference room, the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears, his scent surrounding her, and those blue eyes watching every reaction.
“Fine,” she breathed. “Do your worst.”
Something triumphant flashed in his eyes.
“Careful what you wish for.”
He moved so slowly it was torture. His hand rose to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone. Every nerve ending in her body focused on that single point of contact. He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin.
But instead of kissing her mouth, his lips ghosted along her jaw. Lower.
Her eyes fluttered closed as he traced a path down to her neck, not quite touching, just the whisper of contact that made goosebumps rise across her skin. Her hands found his chest. Whether to push him away or pull him closer, she honestly did not know.
“Ethan,” she managed, though it came out more like a plea than a protest.
“Shh,” he murmured against her throat. “This is my revenge, remember?”
His lips finally made contact with the sensitive spot just below her ear, and Olivia forgot how to breathe entirely. Her fingers curled into his shirt, holding on as if he were the only solid thing in a spinning world. Rational thought evaporated. All that existed was his mouth on her skin, his hand tilting her head to give him better access, the solid warmth of his body pressed against hers.
It was insane.
Completely insane.
And she did not care even a little bit.
She tilted her head farther, giving him access, her breath coming in shallow gasps. One hand slid up to his shoulder, then higher, her fingers threading into his hair. She felt him smile against her skin, felt the pleased rumble in his chest.
“That’s what I thought,” he whispered.
Then he pulled back.
He simply stepped away, leaving her gasping, disheveled, and completely confused against the desk.
“What?” She stared at him, her brain trying to restart. “Why did you stop?”
He adjusted his tie, infuriatingly composed while she was practically melting.
“That’s the revenge.”
“What?”
“Leaving you wanting more.”
That smile returned, now absolutely wicked.
“Just like you left me with that slap. Shocked, a little stunned, definitely wanting answers.”
Olivia gaped at him. “You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little bit.”
He headed toward the door, then paused and looked back.
“Oh, and Olivia. You should probably fix your hair before everyone comes back. You look thoroughly kissed.”
“You didn’t even kiss me.”
“Didn’t I?” His eyes dropped meaningfully to her neck, where she could still feel the phantom heat of his mouth. “Could have fooled me.”
Then he walked out, leaving her trembling, furious, and so turned on she could barely think.
That absolute bastard.
Olivia stood there for a full minute, trying to remember how to be a functioning human being. Her reflection in the glass wall showed exactly what he had meant. Her hair was slightly mussed, cheeks flushed, lips parted as if she had just run a marathon.
She looked like someone had thoroughly—
No.
Stop that thought immediately.
She frantically smoothed her hair, adjusted her blouse, and tried to calm her racing heart through sheer force of will. It did not work. Nothing worked. Her neck still tingled where his mouth had been. Her fingers still remembered the feel of his hair. Her entire body was staging a revolt against her brain.
“Get it together,” she muttered to her reflection. “He’s your boss. Your arrogant, manipulative, unfairly attractive boss who just—”
The door opened.
Olivia spun around so quickly she almost gave herself whiplash. Jennifer waddled back in, followed by a few others.
“Are you okay?” Jennifer asked. “Do you need water? You look really flushed.”
“I’m fine. Totally fine. Just warm. Very warm. Is it warm in here?”
“It’s actually kind of cold,” someone else offered helpfully.
Perfect.
People filtered back in, reclaiming seats and whispering to one another, probably placing bets on how long it would take Olivia to get fired. She slunk toward the back corner again, this time choosing a spot with a clear exit route. If she needed to flee, she wanted options.
Ethan returned a moment later, looking completely unaffected. Not a hair out of place. Tie perfectly straight. That slight smile at his mouth, as if he knew exactly what he had done to her and found it hilarious.
Their eyes met across the room.
He had the audacity to wink.
Olivia was going to kill him slowly and painfully with office supplies.
“Let’s continue,” he said smoothly, addressing the room. “As I was saying before we took our break, we’re implementing some organizational changes.”
Olivia tried to focus. She truly did. But all she could think about was how his voice had sounded low and intimate against her ear, how his hand had felt cradling her jaw, how his mouth had—
Stop it.
Stop it right now.
“We’ll be creating several new cross-departmental teams,” Ethan continued. “I believe in hands-on leadership, so I’ll be working directly with different divisions over the next few months.”
Oh no.
Starting with marketing.
Her department.
He was going to be working with her department.
The universe officially hated her.
“I’ll need a liaison,” he said, scanning the room. “Someone detail-oriented, proactive, and not afraid to speak their mind.”
Do not look at me.
Do not look at me.
His eyes locked on hers.
“Olivia. You’ll do.”
Every head in the room turned to stare at her again, because apparently that was her life now: the center of unwanted attention.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said before she could stop herself.
“Why not?” he asked, looking genuinely curious, though the challenge in his eyes was clear.
Because you just had your mouth on my neck 10 minutes ago seemed like a bad answer in front of 70 witnesses.
“I’m very busy with current projects,” she tried.
“Then delegate.”
“I’m not good with authority figures.”
“I’ve noticed.” His smile widened. “Consider it professional development.”
“I don’t need professional development. I need—”
“It wasn’t a question,” he said pleasantly, though steel edged his voice. “We start Monday, 9:00 a.m. My office. Don’t be late.”
Olivia opened her mouth to protest, but Jennifer elbowed her sharply in the ribs. Right. Arguing with the CEO in front of the entire company was probably not good for her career, even if that CEO was a manipulative, game-playing—
“Wonderful,” Ethan said, taking her silence as agreement. “Now let’s discuss quarterly projections.”
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Olivia caught maybe every third word because her mind was spiraling. Working directly with him for months after what had just happened was a complete disaster.
When the meeting finally ended, she tried to make a break for it, speed-walking toward the exit like her life depended on it.
“Olivia.”
She pretended not to hear him.
“Olivia.”
Still not hearing. Never heard of her.
A hand caught her elbow and turned her around. Ethan stood there, looking far too amused.
“Are you seriously trying to run away from me?”
“I’m not running. I’m walking with purpose.”
“Away from me.”
“Away from this entire situation.”
He glanced around. The hallway was emptying quickly as people scattered back to their departments, probably to gossip about everything that had happened. Within seconds, they were essentially alone.
“Having regrets?” he asked quietly.
“About what? The slap, or letting you—”
She cut herself off, face flaming.
“Letting me what?” He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Touch you? Kiss your neck? Make you forget your own name for a minute?”
“You’re impossible.”
“You keep saying that like it’s going to change something.”
His hand was still on her elbow, his thumb rubbing small circles that should not have been as distracting as they were.
“For the record,” he said, “I don’t regret it.”
“Well, you should. That was completely inappropriate.”
“You didn’t seem to mind at the time.”
“I was in shock.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” He leaned in, his mouth near her ear. “Because I felt you grab my hair, Olivia. That wasn’t shock. That was—”
She shoved him away. Not hard, not like the slap, just enough to get some breathing room.
“Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“This. Whatever game you’re playing.”
“Who says I’m playing a game?”
“You literally called it revenge.”
“And it was.” His expression turned serious. “But it was also the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in years.”
That stopped her cold.
“What?”
“You heard me.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up for the first time since she had met him. It made him look younger, more human, dangerously more attractive. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that elevator. The way you looked at me. The sound of that slap. How you didn’t apologize, just walked away like you owned the moment.”
“I apologized plenty today.”
“Only after you realized I was your boss. Before that, you would have happily never seen me again.”
He was not wrong. She had spent a week trying to erase him from memory.
“I don’t date coworkers,” she said firmly. “And I definitely don’t date my boss. So whatever this is, it needs to stop.”
“Who said anything about dating?”
But his eyes held something that looked almost like disappointment.
“Then what do you want?”
“Honestly?” He stepped closer again. “I have no idea. But I want to find out.”
“That’s a terrible answer.”
“It’s an honest one.”
His hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was surprisingly gentle.
“Work with me, Olivia. Let’s see what happens.”
“What happens is we both get fired when HR finds out.”
“I own 40% of this company. I’m not getting fired.”
“Must be nice to have job security through stock options.”
He laughed.
“Spend a few months working directly with me. If you still hate me after that, I’ll personally request your transfer to a different department. Deal?”
Olivia should have said no. Every ounce of common sense she possessed screamed at her to say no.
“Fine,” she heard herself say. “But there are rules.”
“I love rules.” He looked as if Christmas had come early. “Tell me.”
“No more neck kisses.”
“That wasn’t a kiss. That was barely a preview.”
“Ethan.”
“Fine. No more neck contact.”
“No more trapping me against furniture.”
“That’s going to severely limit our meeting locations, but okay.”
“And absolutely no more using your authority to manipulate me into situations.”
“Define manipulate.”
“Assigning me as your liaison definitely counts.”
“That was purely professional. You’re organized, competent, and clearly not afraid to tell me when I’m wrong. Those are exactly the qualities I need.”
“And the fact that you can’t stop thinking about me since the elevator?”
“Happy coincidence.” His smile was wicked. “So do we have a deal?”
She should have walked away. She should have run. She should have requested a transfer before Monday arrived.
“Deal,” she said instead, sealing her fate.
His smile widened.
“Excellent. See you Monday morning, Olivia. 9:00 a.m. sharp. Don’t be late.”
“I’m never late.”
“Good. I hate waiting.”
He began walking backward toward his office, then paused.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“What?”
“You might want to actually fix your hair this time. It still looks like someone had their hands in it.”
Then he turned and walked away, leaving her in the empty hallway, simultaneously furious and completely turned on.
That absolute infuriating, impossible man.
Monday was going to be torture.
Monday morning arrived with the enthusiasm of a dental appointment.
Olivia had spent the weekend oscillating between panic and denial, trying on 7 different outfits before settling on a navy dress that screamed professional and completely unaffected by neck kisses that were not actually kisses.
She was very affected.
She arrived at Ethan’s office at exactly 8:58 a.m. Not early enough to seem eager, not late enough to prove a point. Strategic timing.
His assistant, a woman in her 50s with sharp eyes and a sharper smile, looked up from her computer.
“You must be Olivia. He’s expecting you. Go right in.”
The way she said expecting you carried about 17 layers of subtext Olivia chose to ignore.
She knocked once and entered without waiting for a response. A power move. Probably stupid, but she needed something.
Ethan sat behind a massive desk overlooking Manhattan, his back to her as he spoke on the phone. He held up one finger in a wait gesture without turning around.
Rude.
Olivia stood there for 2 full minutes while he discussed international shipping contracts. Her feet began hurting in her heels. She shifted her weight and cleared her throat softly.
Nothing.
Finally, she walked to the leather chair across from his desk and sat down deliberately, loudly.
He spun around, eyebrows raised, still on the phone. His eyes traveled over her slowly, assessing, before a small smile tugged at his mouth. He pointed at the chair she had claimed, then at a different chair farther away.
She shook her head and stayed where she was.
His smile widened.
He finished his call and set the phone down.
“That was my seat.”
“Was it? I don’t see your name on it.”
“It’s positioned to see my screen for collaborative work.”
“Sounds like poor office planning.”
“Olivia.”
“Ethan.”
They stared at each other across the desk. Morning sunlight caught his blue eyes, making them impossibly bright. He had rolled up his shirt sleeves, and Olivia deliberately did not notice his forearms.
Except she did.
Damn it.
“Are you going to fight me on everything?” he asked, leaning back.
“Depends. Are you going to be insufferable about everything?”
“Probably.”
He stood, grabbed a tablet from his desk, and walked around to perch on the edge directly in front of her. Way too close.
“Ground rules for working together.”
“I thought we established rules on Friday.”
“Those were personal rules. These are professional.”
“There’s a difference with us?”
“Apparently not.” He pulled something up on the tablet. “You’ll attend all my meetings this week. Take notes. Identify inefficiencies. I want a fresh perspective.”
“So I’m basically your shadow.”
“My very opinionated shadow. Yes.” He glanced up. “Think you can handle following me around for a week without assaulting me again?”
“Think you can handle a week without playing mind games?”
“Not even a little bit.”
He said it so honestly that she almost laughed.
“At least you’re self-aware.”
“One of my few virtues.”
He handed her the tablet.
“Today’s schedule. We start with operations in 20 minutes.”
Olivia scrolled through his calendar and widened her eyes.
“You have 14 meetings scheduled back-to-back. That’s insane.”
“That’s Monday.”
“When do you eat?”
“I don’t usually bother.”
“That explains the personality.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Instead of being offended, he laughed, head tilted back, the sound filling his office.
“There it is. I was wondering when the woman from the elevator would show up.”
“She never left. I’ve just been practicing restraint.”
“Please don’t. I find your lack of restraint fascinating.”
The way he said it made her stomach flip.
“We’re supposed to be professional. Remember?”
“I am being professional. Professionally interested in what you think.”
He stood, taking his suit jacket from the back of his chair.
“Come on. Operations waits for no one.”
The first meeting was exactly as tedious as expected. Twelve people discussed supply chain logistics while Olivia took notes and tried not to fall asleep. Ethan was different there: focused, sharp, asking questions that made people squirm. The playful man from his office had vanished, replaced by someone calculating and intense.
It was annoyingly attractive.
Halfway through, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, frowned, and typed something back. It buzzed again immediately. He ignored it the second time, but Olivia saw the muscle tick in his jaw.
When the meeting ended, she followed him back to his office.
“Problem?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“That sounds like executive-speak for definitely a problem.”
He paused at his door and studied her.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re extremely perceptive?”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re extremely evasive?”
“Frequently.” He held the door open for her. “Lunch. We need to discuss the train wreck that was that meeting.”
“You said you don’t eat lunch.”
“I’m making an exception.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m curious if you eat like you do everything else. Chaotically and with unnecessary violence.”
She laughed despite herself.
“I have never violently eaten anything.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
He grabbed his phone again and typed something.
“My driver will take us. Unless you’d prefer separate cars to maintain professional distance.”
“Where are we going?”
“A small Italian place in Soho. Best carbonara in the city. Quiet. Private.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a date.”
“It’s a working lunch.” His smile suggested otherwise. “Unless you want it to be a date.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Shame.” He shrugged on his jacket. “The offer stands whenever you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“We’ll see.”
He headed for the door, then paused.
“Oh, and Olivia?”
“What?”
“Thank you for showing up on time. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. I’m only here because I keep my word.”
“Another thing I find fascinating about you.”
“You find a lot of things fascinating.”
“Only when it comes to you.”
And just like that, he left her standing there.
Part 3
The Italian restaurant was exactly what Ethan had promised: small, tucked away on a quiet Soho street, the kind of place someone would walk past without noticing unless they already knew it existed. Inside were exposed brick walls, dim lighting, and perhaps 10 tables total.
Intimate did not begin to cover it.
“You come here often?” Olivia asked as the hostess led them to a corner table.
Of course it was a corner table. Private. Secluded.
“Often enough that they don’t ask what I want anymore.” Ethan pulled out her chair before she could object. “They just bring it.”
“Presumptuous.”
“Efficient.”
He sat across from her, and even with the table between them, he felt too close.
“You’ll thank me when you taste it.”
A waiter appeared with wine, red and expensive-looking. Ethan nodded approval without looking at the label.
“I didn’t agree to wine,” Olivia pointed out.
“You didn’t disagree either.” He poured for both of them. “Besides, you look like you need it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been tense all morning. Wound up like a spring.” His eyes held that knowing glint. “Can’t imagine why.”
“Maybe because my new boss is insufferable.”
“Your new boss is sitting right here. You should be more careful with your words.”
“You told me not to practice restraint. Remember?”
“I’m starting to regret that.”
But his smile said otherwise.
The wine was good. Annoyingly good. Olivia took a larger sip than intended, trying to settle her nerves. Being alone with him outside the office felt different and dangerous, as if leaving the building had crossed some invisible line.
“So,” she said, desperate to establish normality. “That operations meeting was a disaster.”
“It was informative.”
“It was 3 hours of people talking in circles.”
“Exactly. Which tells me they don’t actually know what they’re doing.” He leaned back, swirling his wine. “What would you do differently?”
“Me? I’m just the notetaker.”
“I didn’t ask what your job title was. I asked what you’d do.”
He was serious. He actually wanted her opinion.
“I’d cut the team in half. Too many people trying to justify their positions instead of solving problems.”
“Brutal. I like it.”
He pulled out his phone and typed something.
“What else?”
“Their supply chain tracking is ancient. They need better software. And whoever is managing vendor relationships is either incompetent or taking kickbacks.”
His eyebrows rose. “That’s a serious accusation.”
“You asked what I’d do.” She took another sip of wine. “I’d investigate the numbers. But what do I know? I’m just marketing.”
“You’re observant. That’s more valuable than most people realize.”
His phone buzzed on the table, the same sharp vibration from earlier. His expression flickered, almost frustration, before he flipped it facedown without looking.
“Popular today,” Olivia commented.
“Something like that.”
“Work emergency?”
“Nothing that can’t wait.”
But his jaw tightened slightly.
The waiter arrived with pasta. The carbonara looked incredible, creamy and perfect, with what looked like an obscene amount of black pepper. Ethan was right. She was about to thank him.
They ate in silence for a moment. The pasta was heaven. Olivia may have made an involuntary sound of appreciation.
“Good?” he asked, clearly amused.
“Acceptable.”
“You just moaned.”
“I did not moan. I expressed mild satisfaction.”
“That was definitely a moan.”
Her face heated. “Can we focus on literally anything else?”
“Like how you’re avoiding looking at me?”
“I’m eating.”
“You’re hiding behind pasta.”
She finally met his eyes.
Another mistake.
He was watching her with the intense focus that made her stomach flip.
“I’m not hiding.”
“You’ve been hiding since Friday.” He set down his fork. “From me. From whatever this is.”
“There is no this. We’re colleagues. You’re my boss.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
“That’s what it is.”
His phone buzzed again, twice in rapid succession. This time, Olivia saw his expression darken before he grabbed it and silenced it completely.
“You should probably get that.”
“I really shouldn’t.”
“Sounds important.”
“It’s not.”
But the muscle in his jaw ticked again.
Curiosity burned through her.
“Business or personal?”
“Neither. Both.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “It’s complicated.”
“That’s code for personal.”
“It’s code for I don’t want to talk about it during our first lunch together.”
“Working lunch,” she corrected. “Right?”
“Working.”
But he was not looking at her like this was work. He was looking at her as if he wanted to continue what he had started in the conference room.
The air between them shifted, charged.
Olivia needed to redirect it before she did something stupid.
“So about this week’s schedule—”
“Do you always do this?” he interrupted.
“Do what?”
“Deflect. Change the subject when things get intense.”
“I’m not deflecting. I’m being professional.”
“You’re being scared.”
That hit closer than she wanted to admit.
“I’m not scared of you.”
“I didn’t say you were scared of me.” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “I said you’re scared. There’s a difference.”
“Armchair psychology from the CEO. How original.”
“Deflection again.” His smile was infuriating. “You’re proving my point.”
His phone lit up on the table. No sound this time, but the screen showed a message preview. Olivia could not help catching a few words.
Need to talk about this.
And what looked like a woman’s name.
Ethan saw her notice. Something shuttered in his expression as he flipped the phone over again.
“It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not thinking anything.”
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“And you’re terrible at not being mysterious.” She set down her fork. “Who keeps texting you?”
“Someone from my past.”
“That’s deliberately vague.”
“It’s deliberately none of your business.”
There was no heat in his words, only exhaustion.
“Fair enough.” Olivia took another sip of wine, trying to ignore the uncomfortable twist in her stomach.
Why did she care who was texting him? They were not together. They were barely even friends. He was her boss. This was a working lunch. A working lunch where he had just admitted he thought she was scared of whatever was happening between them.
“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “it’s not romantic. The messages.”
She looked up, surprised. “I didn’t ask.”
“You were wondering.”
“Presumptuous again.”
“Observant.” He echoed her earlier word. “I pay attention to you, Olivia. Your expressions. Your tells. Right now, you’re trying very hard to pretend you don’t care who’s been texting me all day.”
Damn him for being right.
“It’s complicated,” he continued. “And it’s something I need to handle. But it has nothing to do with you and me.”
“There is no you and me.”
“Not yet.”
He said it casually, as if it were inevitable.
“But there will be.”
“You’re very confident.”
“I’m very patient.” His eyes held hers. “And I’m willing to wait until you stop running.”
Her heart did something acrobatic.
“I’m not running.”
“Then prove it.” He signaled for the check. “Come to dinner with me Friday night. Not a working dinner. An actual date.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“Probably.” He smiled. “But you’re going to say yes anyway.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because you’re curious about me. About this.” He leaned closer. “And because you haven’t stopped thinking about Friday any more than I have.”
He was not wrong. She hated that he was not wrong.
“Fine,” she heard herself say. “One dinner. Friday.”
“Excellent.” He stood and helped her with her chair again. “I’ll pick you up at 7:00.”
“I didn’t give you my address.”
“I’m the CEO. I have access to employee files.”
“That’s mildly disturbing.”
“That’s efficiency.”
He guided her toward the door with a hand at the small of her back. The touch was light, professional, and absolutely electric. As they stepped outside, his phone buzzed again in his pocket.
Olivia felt him tense beside her.
Whatever those messages were about, they were not over.
The rest of Monday passed in a blur of meetings and stolen glances. Every time Ethan’s phone buzzed, Olivia pretended not to notice the way his expression tightened. Every time he caught her looking, that knowing smile appeared.
By Tuesday morning, she had convinced herself she had imagined the tension. Maybe the messages were boring business matters. Maybe she was reading too much into everything.
Then the woman walked into his office.
Olivia was sitting in her usual chair, the one that was supposed to be Ethan’s, reviewing notes from their morning meeting. Ethan was on a call, pacing by the windows. His assistant was not at her desk, probably on break.
The door opened without a knock.
The woman was tall and blonde, wearing a designer dress that probably cost more than Olivia’s monthly rent. She looked like the kind of woman who had never endured an awkward moment in her entire life.
“Ethan,” she said, her voice saccharine and sweet. “We need to talk.”
He turned, and Olivia watched his entire body language shift.
Not attraction.
Irritation.
Deep, bone-tired irritation.
“I’m on a call, Victoria.”
Victoria.
So that was the name Olivia had glimpsed on his phone.
“You’ve been ignoring my messages.”
Victoria finally noticed Olivia, her eyes sweeping over her with the dismissive assessment women like her had perfected.
“Who’s this?”
“I’m working,” Ethan said into the phone. “I’ll call you back.”
He hung up and turned to face Victoria fully.
“This is Olivia. She works with me. Olivia, this is Victoria. She doesn’t.”
The emphasis on doesn’t was pointed.
“Charming as ever.” Victoria moved farther into the office as if she owned it. “We had plans to discuss the foundation gala. You can’t keep avoiding me.”
“I sent you an email. I’m not attending.”
“You’re on the board.”
“I resigned 2 weeks ago. Check your email.”
Olivia suddenly felt very much like she should not be there.
“I can step outside.”
“Stay,” Ethan said firmly, his eyes not leaving Victoria. “This won’t take long.”
Victoria’s perfectly made-up face twisted with frustration.
“You can’t just resign because we broke up. That’s childish.”
Oh.
Ex-girlfriend.
That explained everything.
“I resigned because I have better uses of my time. Our breakup was 6 months ago, Victoria. Move on.”
“You moved on pretty quickly.” Her eyes cut to Olivia again, sharper now. “Is she why you won’t return my calls?”
“She has a name,” Olivia said before she could stop herself. “And she’s sitting right here.”
Victoria looked at her like a bug in a salad.
“How sweet. He’s found himself a little project.”
“Victoria.” Ethan’s voice dropped to a dangerous level. “Leave. Now.”
“We’re not done.”
“Yes, we are. We’ve been done for 6 months. The only reason you keep texting is because you can’t handle not being the center of attention.”
Her face flushed. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s accurate.”
He moved toward his desk, positioning himself slightly between Victoria and Olivia. Protective.
“I’ve been patient. I’ve been polite. But I’m done. Stop texting. Stop calling. Stop showing up at my office.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can. I am. Goodbye, Victoria.”
The silence that followed was nuclear.
Victoria looked between them, clearly trying to salvage dignity. Finally, she grabbed her designer purse and stalked toward the door. She paused at the threshold.
“She’s not your type, you know. Too ordinary.”
The door closed behind her with a sharp click.
Olivia sat very still, processing what had happened. Ethan remained by his desk, running a hand through his hair in obvious frustration.
“So,” she finally said, “that was fun.”
He laughed. Actually laughed. The tension drained from his shoulders.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
“How long has she been texting you?”
“Since Thursday, when word got out I was back in New York.” He moved to sit on the edge of his desk, facing her. “She’s been trying to restart something that never should have started in the first place.”
“Six months is a long time to not take a hint.”
“Victoria doesn’t do hints. She does grand gestures and dramatic proclamations.” He shook his head. “We dated for 4 months. It was a mistake from the beginning.”
“Why did you date her?”
“Honestly? I was bored. She was convenient. It meant nothing.” His eyes found hers. “And not like—”
He stopped himself, but the implication remained.
“Not like what?” Olivia prompted, her heart doing that annoying fluttering thing.
“Not like this,” he said simply, as if it were obvious. “Not like you.”
“You barely know me. I assaulted you in an elevator and destroyed your presentation equipment.”
“Exactly. You’re unpredictable. Honest to a fault. You don’t want anything from me except for me to stop being insufferable.” His smile softened, genuine. “Do you know how rare that is?”
“Most people probably don’t slap you. So yes, pretty rare.”
“I deserved that slap.”
“You really didn’t.”
“I was standing too close. I made an ambiguous comment in a packed elevator where you felt trapped.” He leaned forward. “You reacted to a perceived threat. That’s not wrong.”
“I still feel bad about it.”
“Don’t.” His voice dropped. “Besides, it led to this. You here. Driving me completely insane in the best possible way.”
Her face heated.
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“It’s definitely a me problem.”
He stood and moved closer.
“Want to know what else is a me problem?”
“Do I want to know?”
“Probably not.”
He stopped directly in front of her chair, looking down at her with blue eyes that should have come with a warning label.
“I can’t stop thinking about how you look in that dress.”
“It’s a professional dress. Navy blue. Completely appropriate.”
“It’s very appropriate.” His gaze traveled over her slowly. “But the way it fits, the way you move in it, that’s extremely distracting.”
“Ethan.”
“Especially when you lean forward to take notes. The neckline shifts just enough to make me lose my train of thought completely.”
Her breath caught.
“That’s inappropriate.”
“Probably.” He did not look remotely sorry. “But you asked what else was a me problem. That’s it. You’re it.”
“You’re going to get us both fired.”
“I already told you. I can’t get fired, and I’m not firing you. So where’s the problem?”
“The problem is that you’re my boss, and you’re talking about…” She gestured vaguely at herself. “This.”
“Your extremely distracting and thoroughly professional appearance.” His smile was wicked. “I’m just making observations.”
“Observations that could constitute workplace harassment.”
“Are you harassed?”
“I’m…”
What was she?
Flustered. Definitely.
Unfortunately turned on.
“I’m confused about your intentions.”
“My intentions are to take you to dinner Friday night and see where this goes.”
“But comments like that, about how I look in this dress.” She stood, needing to level the playing field. “Are you being serious, or are you just messing with me? Because that kind of talk already got you slapped once.”
He threw his head back and laughed, the sound filling his office and making something warm bloom in her chest despite her frustration.
“What’s so funny?”
“You.” He was still grinning. “Threatening me with another slap while simultaneously blushing like I just recited poetry.”
“I am not blushing.”
“You absolutely are.”
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering a moment too long.
“And to answer your question, take it however you want.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Sure it is.” His eyes held hers, intense and playful at once. “Maybe I’m serious. Maybe I’m teasing. Maybe I’m both.”
He stepped back, giving her space to breathe.
“Friday night, you’ll find out which.”
And just like that, he turned back to his desk, leaving her standing completely off balance and absolutely certain that Friday night was going to be either the best or worst decision of her life.
Probably both.
Friday arrived with the weight of inevitability.
Olivia changed outfits 4 times, called her best friend twice for pep talks, and almost canceled 3 times. But at 6:55 p.m., she stood in her apartment in a black dress that walked the line between elegant and dangerous, wondering if she had completely lost her mind.
The buzzer rang at exactly 7:00.
Of course he was punctual. It was probably another thing he was annoyingly perfect at.
She grabbed her clutch and headed downstairs before she could overthink further.
Ethan stood beside a sleek black car, wearing dark jeans and a fitted shirt that should have been illegal. No tie. Sleeves rolled up. Hair slightly less perfect than at the office. He looked human.
Devastating, but human.
“You’re staring,” he said as she approached.
“You’re early.”
“I’m exactly on time.” His eyes traveled over her slowly, and she saw his jaw tighten slightly. “That dress should come with a warning.”
“Funny. I was thinking the same about you without a tie.”
“Without a tie is dangerous.”
“Everything about you is dangerous.”
He smiled and opened the car door.
“Then you’re either very brave or very stupid for agreeing to this.”
“I haven’t decided which yet.”
The restaurant was in Brooklyn, overlooking the water with Manhattan glittering across the river. It was intimate, romantic, and definitely not a working dinner. They were seated at a corner table with a view of bridge lights reflected on the water. Wine appeared, Italian again, but fancier this time. The kind of place where prices were not listed on the menu.
“You’re trying to impress me,” Olivia observed.
“Is it working?”
“The jury’s still out.”
“You’re a tough jury.” He leaned back, studying her. “What would it take? Rose petals? A string quartet?”
“How about honesty?”
That caught him off guard.
“About what?”
“About why you asked me here. About what you want from this.” She met his eyes directly. “Because I need to know if this is just a game to you. Another bored CEO looking for entertainment.”
His expression sobered.
“It’s not a game.”
“Then what is it?”
“Honestly?” He set down his wine glass. “I don’t know yet. But I know I haven’t felt this interested in someone in years. Maybe ever.”
“That’s a line.”
“It’s the truth.”
End Part Here: She Slapped the Man She Thought Was a Creep—Then Discovered He Was the CEO
