I had no idea what I'd asked for anymore, my mind too full of forbidden kisses and impossible choices to retain even basic information about our biggest account.
"Let's table this for now," I said, gathering my things with forced calm.
"Everyone take the weekend to refresh. We'll reconvene Mondaywith fresh eyes."
The team exchanged glances—confusion, concern, annoyance—but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Four days had passed since the wedding, since I’d discovered my mystery lover was Lucas Turner, and I hadn’t slept more than four hours a night since.
Miles had requested a meeting for Tuesday, just the three of us.
Him. Me. And Lucas.
I canceled.
Blamed a work emergency, and technically, that wasn’t untrue.
But the real emergency was inside my head. I was still reeling from the weekend—still trying to stitch together the version of myself that had come undone beneath Lucas’s hands.
There was no way I could have sat across from him, composed and professional, pretending I hadn’t tasted him, touched him, begged for more in the dark.
Even now, the memory curled hot and low in my stomach.
His mouth.
His hands.
The way he said my name like it meant something.
Just thinking about that night sent a jolt through me—visceral, immediate, impossible to ignore.
I would’ve been no good in that room. I needed space. Time.
And if I was being honest, I was still trying to figure out how to breathe in a world where Lucas Turner wasn’t just a stranger I’d slept with.
But a man I might not be able to stay away from.
I escaped to my office, closing the door behind me and leaning against it. My phone chimed with a text from Maria:
Everything OK? You seem off today.
More like off all week. I'd been making rookie mistakes, missing deadlines, and zoning out during client calls.
The woman who'd built a reputation for laser focus and creative precision had vanished, replaced by someone I barely recognized—distracted, reckless, consumed by thoughts of a man I had no business wanting.
I typed back:
Just tired. Sorry about the meeting.
Dropping into my chair, I forced myself to concentrate on the Waterstone file. Our biggest client deserved better than my divided attention.
I made it through two paragraphs of the creative brief before Lucas's voice echoed in my head again.
One more night. To explore what this is between us.
Whatwasthis between us?
An aberration.
