“You said he wanted something from you. That he was playing games. Chasing.” I lean closer. “Tell me something, Bea. If he’s really the kind of man who takes what he wants—if he’s already abandoned all responsibility tonight, skipped the mostimportant event of the season, invented fake work just to keep you here, alone, in this empty building...
“Then what’s stopping him?”
The question hangs.
“I don’t know.” A whisper.
Something shifts in my chest. Something primal. Hungry.
My hand moves lower, from her throat down to where the red silk meets skin. She watches me—catalogs every movement, every inch of contact. She makes no move to stop me.
I cup her breast through the fabric. I feel her breath hitch. Her body arches toward me, just slightly, just enough.
Not enough.
My hand slips under the silk. Into the warmth of her bra.
Fuck.
She’s soft. Warm. Her nipple hardens against my palm and she makes a sound—small, involuntary, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. It does something to me. Something electric sparks in my chest, spreading lower, demanding more.
I watch her face. The way her eyes flutter half-closed. The way her lips part. The way she’s giving herself over to this, to me, even as some part of her knows she shouldn’t.
Fucking mine.
My phone rings.
The sound cuts through the tension like a blade. She flinches. I don’t—but it takes more effort than it should.
I glance at the screen.
Vincenzo.
Of course.
The old man. Timing impeccable as always, reaching through the phone to cockblock me from across the city.
I pull my hand back.
She’s staring at me. Flushed. Chest heaving. Looking at me like she doesn’t know whether to slap me or pull me back.
I silence the phone before slipping it into my pocket.
But the moment is gone. Whatever was building between us—whatever was about to happen—has evaporated. The interruption broke something, and I can see her pulling back, that professional mask sliding into place again.
I step away from her. Don’t offer an explanation. I don’t owe her one.
I’ve already pushed past every boundary I set for myself tonight. Skipped the gala. Invented work to keep her here. Dressed her up, cornered her, touched her.
The “gentleman pass” has been thoroughly abused and should be revoked.
Discovering something new about myself.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself. An experiment. Observing her. Seeing how far I could push before she breaks.
Fancy vocabulary for wanting to fuck my assistant.
I walk past her without a word. Through the door. Down the hallway. Into the empty conference room at the end of the floor.
