Knocked Up

Nikki Chase

Contents

About This Book

Knocked Up

1. Kat

2. Heath

3. Kat

4. Heath

5. Kat

6. Kat

7. Heath

8. Kat

9. Kat

10. Heath

11. Kat

12. Kat

13. Heath

14. Kat

15. Heath

16. Kat

17. Kat

18. Heath

19. Kat

20. Kat

21. Kat

22. Heath

23. Kat

24. Heath

25. Kat

26. Kat

27. Kat

28. Kat

Epilogue

Preview: My Brother’s Best Friend

Prologue

1. Jacqueline

2. Jacqueline

3. Gabriel

4. Jacqueline

Bonus: Single Dad’s Fake Bride

1. Megan

2. Megan

3. Ethan

4. Megan

5. Ethan

6. Megan

7. Ethan

8. Megan

9. Ethan

10. Megan

11. Megan

12. Ethan

13. Megan

14. Ethan

15. Megan

16. Megan

17. Megan

18. Ethan

19. Megan

20. Megan

21. Ethan

22. Megan

23. Ethan

24. Megan

25. Ethan

26. Megan

27. Megan

28. Megan

29. Ethan

30. Ethan

31. Megan

32. Ethan

33. Megan

Epilogue

Preview: Royal Beast

Prologue

1. James

2. Rosemary

3. James

4. James

About the Author

Copyright © 2017 Nikki Chase

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is for mature readers. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some.

All sexual activity in this work is consensual and all sexually active characters are 18 years of age or older.

About This Book

Knocked Up is a full-length novel of approximately 51,000 words.

I’ve also included a free bonus book, Single Dad’s Fake Bride—just a little something to thank you for reading, and hopefully get you interested in my other books. ;)

You can expect Knocked Up to end around 50% on your Kindle.

Happy reading! <3

Knocked Up

Kat

“His office looks more like an upscale jazz lounge than a place of work, all dark wood and smooth leather. And it doesn’t only look good.

“Whenever I take a seat on the designer chair across the desk from him, it feels like my ass is being cradled by fluffy clouds.”

My boss stops reading and turns his steely blue eyes on me.

“I’m glad you enjoy my furniture, Kat,” he says.

“It’s fictional,” I say quickly, but my defense sounds as thin as Keira Knightley, even to my own ears.

Heath raises an eyebrow. “Your protagonist works in a private investment company. Her boss has made a fortune from going short on stocks of unethical companies, even though he's only twenty-eight.

“His last big move was basically a $100 million bet against this company that was running a pyramid scheme. Oh, and he’s also—” Heath glances at the screen of his computer “—a sanctimonious, arrogant bully.”

I squirm in my seat as Heath stares at me.

“Did I miss anything?” he asks. There’s no anger in his eyes. If anything, he seems amused by the whole thing. But I feel like crawling into a hole and dying.

“Umm… Not really,” I lie.

I wonder if he’s also noticed the part where my main character describes her boss as “a man with the body of a Greek god and the face of a Hollywood heart-throb.” Because—surprise, surprise—that’s based on him, too.

“It may be fiction, but I’d say it’s at least based on a true story. Wouldn’t you agree?” he asks.

I swallow. How is my throat so dry?

“Very loosely based on reality. Just the background stuff, really.” I force my lips into a smile.

“Hmm…” As Heath nods distractedly and leans forward to read the writing on the screen, the messy pile of dark hair on his head tumbles forward. His finger scrolls the wheel of the mouse.

Normally, I’d be fantasizing about that digit scrolling my wheel, if you know what I mean. I mean the one in my panties—is that too vague? I’ve been wondering if I should use that in the final version of my novel. Either way, that’s the kind of dirty thought that’s gotten me into trouble in the first place.  

God, I wish a great, empty void would appear right under this stupid chair and suck me away somewhere else. Anywhere else.

This morning, I got to the office early so I could edit a few chapters of my romance manuscript before work. But the computer on my desk was dead, and nobody in the IT department picked up any of my fourteen calls because it was too early in the morning.

I actually bumped into Jeff from legal in the elevator, though, so I knew he was around. He’d once mentioned liking to tinker with computers in his spare time so he probably could've helped. But he's also a creep who stares at my chest and says things like “milk jugs” and “birthing hips.” I wouldn't be too surprised if one day he says something like, “Does this rag smell like chloroform to you?” And that would be the start of my life as a sex slave, kept in the dungeon of Jeff's basement.

So, for the sake of my freedom and liberty, I decided to use my boss’ computer.

It seemed like a good idea, until I realized I’d forgotten to take out my USB stick before slipping out of his office.

Even worse, my moment of realization came only seconds ago when Heath started reading out a passage from my manuscript.

And he hasn’t even gotten to the sexy part…

“Heath, I’m so sorry I used your computer. I promise I won’t do it again,” I say, breaking the silence before he finishes reading the whole thing. “We should get back to work. Mr. Mikhailov’s assistant has already texted me to let me know his flight from Moscow had landed on time, so he should be here in less than an hour.”

“He flies on his own private jet. Of course he’s on time,” Heath says, easily dodging my obvious attempt at changing the subject. He reads on. “I realize Mr. Jones is standing right behind my chair. As he bends down, he rests his hands on my shoulders. I can’t help but imagine those big, masculine hands running all over other parts of my body. His stubble tickles my neck and I almost giggle, but then he whispers, ‘You’re in trouble now, Sarah.’”

Heath huffs a small laugh. His eyes twinkle with amusement as a thin smile forms on his lips. “Is that where it ends?”

“It’s uh, not done yet,” I say. “Really, it’s not ready for anyone to read yet, so—”

God, how is he so damn gorgeous? Those steely blue eyes make it hard for me to even think when he's around.

“Oh, these pink marks with comments from Jane—these aren’t notes from someone who’s read this?”

“That’s just Jane… my roommate. She, uh, beta-reads for… Uh, that means she reads my manuscript and gives me her feedback before I publish it,” I stammer.

Why am I telling him all these things? Shut up already, Kat! He already knows too much.

“Hmm…” Heath’s eyes refocus on the screen, his forehead wrinkling, even as his lips remain curled up. “You want my feedback?” Before I could respond, he says, “I like it, up until the sex part. I feel like there are…more creative ways to have sex in the office that you haven’t considered.”

Blood rushes to my face, heating up my cheeks and ears. Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled my hair back into a ponytail today. Now there’s no place to hide from Heath’s penetrating gaze.

“Uh… thanks,” I say softly.

I want to shrink into the size of an atom and vanish. Maybe that way Heath will remember this day as the day his assistant simply poofed into thin air, rather than the day his assistant left some smut she’d written about him on his computer.

God, what if, years and years from now, Heath will still remember me as the assistant who left some smut she’d written about him on his computer? What if he whips out this story to tell his ultra-wealthy clients at parties and they all laugh at me as they clink their champagne flutes together?

“If I were the boss in this story…” Heath glances at my flushed face and smirks wickedly. “I’m not saying I am… I’m just making some suggestions. But if I were him, I’d make my assistant give me a blow job under my desk. Or maybe I’d strip her naked and fuck her against the glass wall so anyone looking in the right direction can see her O-face.”

Now it’s not just my face that’s red hot. The tingles between my legs tell me blood is rushing to another part of my body, too.

I wonder if he’s done all those things before—Heath does have a little bit of a reputation, although that was years and years ago, before his marriage and subsequent divorce.

I should probably be outraged that my boss would say such dirty things to me—in his office, no less. But I was the one who stuck my USB stick where it didn’t belong.

And if this were to go public… Considering Heath is the golden child of Wall Street, it’s going to end up on the tabloids, or even that page on the newspaper with all the zany, funny articles.

And although I’m a nobody right now, I don’t want my name associated with that. I’d hate for anyone to Google my name, only to find out about this dumb mistake. I want people to only see my books when they look me up—not that I have any published yet, but I will.

I guess a scandal with my notorious boss could help boost my sales, but I’d rather not have something like that be my claim to fame.

I’ll have to admit I like Heath’s ideas, though. I like them so much wetness is leaking out onto my panties just thinking about him doing all those things to me…

“Thanks for the feedback,” I say before my thoughts get any wilder.

Despite my overwhelming wish to disappear, I decide to face this problem head-on. That seems to be the only way to end this torture. I put my hand on the big, wooden desk between us, palm up. I meet Heath’s gaze. “Can I have my USB stick back, please?”

“Of course.” Heath casually pulls the little device out of his computer.

He’s acting as if he hasn’t deliberately dragged this out, but I haven’t missed the naughty glint in his eyes, or the amused smile playing on his lips. He’s enjoying this.

“Thank you,” I say as he deposits the USB stick on my palm. I ignore the jolt of electricity that I feel when our hands touch for a second. “I’ll get the files ready for the meeting with Mr. Mikhailov.”

Without waiting for a response, I get up from the chair—which really is comfortable, despite the awkward situation—and hurry out of Heath’s office before my arousal leaks through my clothing and leaves a spot on the leather.

As I close the door, I hear Heath say, “I’ll be here if you need more help with your story.”

Heath

Damn.

When she looks like that, it’s almost a crime that Kat is writing about sex, when she’d make a killing as a porn star. That’s the kind of body—and face—that belongs in front of a camera; not behind a keyboard.

Her full ass wiggles deliciously in the tight casing of her pencil skirt, her gait exaggerated by the heels she’s wearing.

I’d love to get my hands on those swaying hips and yank her back onto my hard cock. I’d pull her blonde ponytail so she’d have to arch her spine. I can almost see her creamy ass cheeks jiggling as they bounce off my thighs to the rhythm of my thrusts.

And to think I never would’ve found out about her dirty side if it weren’t for her little story…

“I’ll be here if you need more help with your story,” I say before the door shuts with a click. I smile, and it widens into a grin, which turns into a chuckle. I burst out laughing to myself as I think about how crazy life is sometimes.

My hot, young, prim-and-proper assistant has a filthy mind. Who’d have thought that underneath that demure, professional façade is a dirty, dirty girl?

I’m glad I got here before she could get her USB stick back. Now I know she thinks my eyes are “sparkling pools of blue” and my hair is “a thick, lush forest inviting her to get lost in it.”

I don’t usually like the flowery language of romance novels, but this is an exception.

I cast a glance at the mouse under my palm and grin. So Kat’s jealous of the wheel of the mouse, huh? Interesting.

I run the pad of my index finger lightly over the rubbery surface of the wheel, imagining it’s Kat’s clit I’m playing with.

What does she look like when she’s coming? Does she furrow her brow? Part those red, juicy lips? Moan out my name?

Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to find out…

My cock strains against the front of my pants.

If Kat had looked under the desk, she would’ve seen how unbelievably hard I was.

I imagine myself grabbing the hair on the back of her skull and pulling her onto her knees so she could suck my cock under my desk.

I wonder if she suspects that I’ve had those fantasies about her since she started working here last month. I didn't just come up with those “suggestions” on the spot. There’s no end to the kinky, depraved shit I want to do to her.

I can tell she likes my fantasies from the way she completely lost her composure.

Katherine York. My new assistant who, despite being only twenty-one, always behaves professionally and wrangles my schedule beautifully.

I’d hoped, of course, that her smoking-hot body was not wasted on a frigid prude, but to find out that she has a lively imagination—involving me, no less… it almost makes me angry.

See, the sad joke is, the very reason why I know her in the first place—because she’s my assistant—is also the reason why I can’t fuck her.

I don’t shit where I eat.

There are many girls out there I can sleep with. And they won't cause my business to implode due to sexual harassment charges.

Maybe that's a little paranoid. Maybe sleeping with my own employee will only make the atmosphere at the office unpleasant when the whole affair inevitably ends.

But I’ve worked too hard on this company to let my dick destroy it.

One too many high-profile CEOs have been entangled in sexual harassment cases, and I have no intention of joining their ranks.

There are women who throw themselves at me whenever I show up at corporate functions and social events held by my wealthy clients. I’ve made a name for myself and apparently that’s an aphrodisiac because those women don’t even know me, and they wouldn’t be so keen if I were just an average white-collar worker.

But even those girls are trouble. An investment banker friend of mine got roped into paying child support by some gold digger with a penchant for poking holes in condoms.

I used to enjoy having a little fun with those girls, but these days? I’d rather DIY it than take the risk.

If I were really aching for a woman’s body in bed with me, I’d hire an escort—not that I’ve ever done it. I like some degree of intimacy in my sexual encounters, so I’ve never been interested in that.  

I don’t judge men who do hire escorts, though.

Escorts are some of the most honest women out there. They tell you exactly how much they want, you give them that amount, and they leave you alone after that. Easy peasy.

Wall Street doesn’t bat an eye at men who hire escorts.

So many of them spend almost all their waking hours at the office, so it’s no wonder they have trouble connecting with their partners.

As far these men are concerned, they’re doing it for their wives and girlfriends. Their women don’t have to spread their legs, and they still get to enjoy the benefits of their relationships, like money, status, and keeping the kids together.

Escorts cost less money than mistresses in the long run. They draw less attention, too.

As for me, I don't have time to acquire mistresses. I’m more interested in making money for my clients so they can acquire mistresses if they want to.

I only have one ex-wife and she gives me enough trouble. I don't need more women fucking up my life.

I pick up the landline phone and speed-dial the legal department. “Hello Jeff, anything I should know this morning?”

“If you're talking about the contract with McAdams, we’re still waiting to hear from them,” Jeff says from his desk two floors below me.

“Damn it.”

Before I can hang up, Jeff speaks up. “I have heard from Melanie, though. She's willing to take less if—”

“I don't care what she wants,” I cut Jeff off. “She's not getting another cent from me.”

“Heath, be reasonable. It's going to cost less money and take less time if you just accept your ex-wife's offer, or at least, negotiate.”

“I told you, Jeff, I don't care what it costs. She's not getting another cent from me,” I repeat.

“Okay,” Jeff says, in a tone that says he disapproves.

I fume quietly as I hang up.

He's really not in a position to judge, seeing as he's just my lawyer and I didn't ask him for his personal opinion. It annoys me sometimes that I need to disclose details of my personal life to keep everything running smoothly, but I guess that’s just one of the little inconveniences of being rich. Nobody's going to feel sorry for me for that.

My smartphone beeps.

Only my parents and a handful of important contacts know this number, so it’s probably important. As I read the text message, blood drains from my body.

I quickly grab my keys and walk out of my office.

“Heath, where are you going?” Kat gets up from her desk and follows me, scurrying to meet my pace. “Mr. Mikhailov is almost here.”

“Reschedule it,” I say, mashing the elevator button.

“I can't. He’s flying to Australia tonight,” Kat says.

“Cancel it.”

Kat

“Maybe I should just give up.” I throw my head against the back of the sofa and stare at our popcorn ceiling.

“No,” Jane quips quickly as she moves to the couch beside me. “I like the way you write. The descriptions, the conversations, the settings… Come on, Kat, you’ve got what it takes.”

“I know I’m not a horrible writer, Jane. But I don’t know if I have what it takes. I mean, after working on this manuscript for two years, I’m still not done yet.”

“I think what you have now is great,” Jane says. “You’re just too much of a perfectionist to see it. You go crazy overthinking the tiny little details, but I think the book is perfect. You just need to finish it and publish it.”

“I don’t know… Those rejection letters from publishers have shredded my youthful optimism. I’m old and jaded now.” I let out a big, exhausted sigh. “Or maybe I just suck.”

“No, you don’t,” Jane insists. “And you’re only twenty-one. You're too young to be jaded.”

She’s my biggest cheerleader. My only one, actually. And not for the first time, I wonder if she’s wrong about my writing.

“After all my hard work, the only people who have read it are me, you… and my boss,” I say. “Open your eyes, Jane. Maybe the publishers are right and I just suck.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help here. You said you’ve always wanted to be a romance author.”

“I haaave…” I whine. “But I suck.” I let out a big, heavy sigh. “Plenty of people want to be Hollywood stars, but they just end up waiting tables their whole lives. Maybe I’m like one of those people. I just need to make peace with the fact that I’m probably going to be a corporate assistant my whole life.”

“No, you’re not,” Jane says.

“I know you’re trying to cheer me up, but maybe I don’t have what it takes to make it as a romance author.”

“You can… what do they call it… publish without a publisher…?”

“Self-publish.” I pour wine into a fresh glass. I’m feeling lonely, getting drunk on my own. I shove the glass of wine into Jane’s hand. “Between work and babysitting my step-brother, I barely have much time left to write. According to my research self-publishers have to spend a lot of time on marketing and promotion to succeed. Oh, and spend money on those things, too. I don't have time or money.”

“Could you maybe do less babysitting?”

Oh boy, here we go again.

“You say it like it’s the easiest thing in the world.” Imitating her, I say, “Oh, just do less babysitting.” I give Jane a flat stare. “Geez, that didn’t occur to me, Jane. Thanks.”

Jane laughs. “Make it your challenge-of-the-day thing to stop babysitting for Vera.”

“Don’t make fun of my challenge of the day. It's gotten me through some difficult times.” I’ve been coming up with daily challenges for myself as a way to avoid feeling overwhelmed with the many responsibilities on my shoulder. It helps me focus my energy on just one thing, so even if I drop all the other balls, the important thing gets done.

“I wouldn't even dream of bashing your weird productivity trick. I’m serious. I don’t know why you keep doing that. Vera has been nothing but mean and ungrateful.”

“I don’t know either.” I pause. “Okay, maybe I do. It's mostly because of she makes me feel guilty if I don't help her out. And I feel bad for her son. He's the one who's going to suffer if I drop Vera. So that's out of the question.”

“Oh.” Jane looks like she still has more things to say. She probably only bites her tongue because we’ve been through this too many times before and I’ve never listened to her.

My whole life, my step-mom, Vera, has always put me down. And even though I’ve moved out, she hasn’t let me go completely. She still hounds me on the phone all the time, asking me for money or free babysitting for her eight-year-old brat.

I’ll show the mean old hag. I’ll write a book as successful as 50 Shades of Grey. Once the movie based on my novel comes out, she won’t be able to call me a failure anymore.

“Okay, so… Try again until you get a publishing deal, I guess,” Jane says. “I know that’s nothing new and probably not the advice you want to hear, but I don’t see any other way.”

“But how?” I ask. “I’ve sent out my manuscript to a bunch of publishers. I tweak it every time I get the tiniest hint of feedback from those people. And you know most of them have only sent me form emails from some rejection template. I don’t know what else to try.”

Jane doesn’t say anything, but I can tell from the look on her face that she’s thinking of something.

“What is it?” I ask.

“What?”

“Whatever you’re thinking about.”

Jane hesitates, but she knows I’m not letting this go now. She takes a deep breath. “Okay. Don’t freak out. It’s just an idea… Okay?”

“What is it? Just tell me,” I say, getting impatient.

“Okay. So… Heath Anders told you he’ll help you, right?”

“Where is this going?” I narrow my eyes at my best friend. “You’re saying I should just give up, right? Even my boss, the stock investor, thinks my sex scenes are shit. He came up with better ideas than I did, Jane, can you believe it?”

“I can,” she says without missing a beat. “Because if the financial papers are to be believed, Heath Anders is a miracle worker.”

I groan.

Jane and I met in college, but while I was a bohemian arts student, she was a sensible finance major. Considering many of her friends are fanboys and fangirls of Heath Anders, she’s not an anomaly.

I like Jane’s friends. Finance majors are cool. They helped me get this personal assistant job.

But Jane’s crazy if she thinks I’m going to take erotic writing lessons from my boss.

“You know what I think you should do?” Jane asks, swishing her glass of wine around in her excitement. If she’s not careful, she’s going to spill it on our fabric couch.

“Yes.” I’m dying to hear this.

“You should totally let Heath Anders do all the things he told you he’d do, and write about those. That would be so hot.”

Oh, wait, she’s not telling me to learn to write from my boss. She’s freaking telling me to sleep with my boss. She’s crazier than I thought. She’s completely lost her mind.

“You know what I think you should not do?” I ask. “Give advice when you’re drunk.”

“No, no, I’m serious,” Jane says, tucking her golden-brown hair behind her ears. “He was totally flirting with you. He said he’d do this and that to his assistant, right?”

I recall the conversation in Heath’s office. “Yeah…”

“He’s totally into you,” Jane decides. “You should sleep with him. Maybe you can, I don’t know, get close to him and learn a lesson or two about business. And maybe get him to introduce you to some publishers. With the kind of network he has, I’m sure he knows a person or two who can help you out.”

“Jane, I’m not going to sleep with my boss.” I scrunch up my nose. “How sleazy is that? Just yesterday you were complaining about your colleague who, in your own words, ‘slept her way to the top.’”

“That’s different. Her boss is old and gross. Your boss—” Jane takes a moment to pause and sigh “—your boss is Heath Anders. I mean, just the things that he said to you in his office… God, they were hot.”

I pause. “You think so? You’d read something like that?”

“Definitely,” she answers enthusiastically. “I think you should write down his ideas, and I think you should include what happened today in your novel.”

“No way,” I react instinctively. “He might read it.”

“So what? He’s already read the rest.” Jane levels her gaze at me and gives me a serious stare. “Most importantly, I think you should sleep with him.”

“God, I shouldn’t have given you the wine. Give me back my sane friend,” I protest. “We want sane Jane. We want sane Jane. We want—”

“Kat. This is seriously the sanest idea I’ve ever had.” Jane puts her wine glass down on the coffee table. Her hands can’t stay still. They gesture wildly as she speaks. “Listen to me. It makes sense. You’ll get to sleep with Heath fucking Anders—that’s going to impress a lot of people at a lot of parties for the rest of your life. And you’ll write better. Hell, your description of today's conversation in his office? That was way hotter than all the sex scenes you’ve ever written, combined.”

“Are you serious?” I ask suspiciously.

“Dead serious.” Mimicking the voiceovers in bank ads, Jane says, “Sleep with Heath Anders. It's the kind of investment that will keep on paying dividends for the rest of your life.”

I’m used to Jane’s tendency to insert financial jargon into our conversations. But even after years of friendship, I still can’t parse her words sometimes. All I know is, she’s saying that sleeping with Heath is a good thing.

I eye her suspiciously. “If this is a prank, you’ve got me. If you want to tell me you were just kidding and laugh at me, this is the time.”

Jane continues to stare at me with a serious expression. “You. Should. Sleep. With. Heath. Fucking. Anders,” she repeats slowly.

“But how is that different from the people who sleep their way through their career?” I ask. “It just feels so demeaning.”

“No, it’s totally different,” Jane says. “You see, you won’t be sleeping with him to get a promotion or something like that. You’ll be doing it to do the research you need for your work. You're just an artist who's willing to suffer for your art—although, considering we're talking about Heath Anders, I’m not sure ‘suffer’ is the right word to use here.”

I stare blankly at the wall as Jane’s words sink in.

Maybe the alcohol is getting to me, but she’s starting to make sense.

To be perfectly honest…

I’ve never told anyone—not even Jane—but Heath makes my body thrum with a foreign thrill. I’d never felt anything like that before him.

The tingles between my legs. The wetness leaking onto my panties. The spark of desire when his fingers brush against my skin…

Despite my knee-jerk objections to Jane’s idea, and despite my attempts to keep things professional at the workplace… I do find my boss attractive. He’s not just a random person I base my character on. I write about him because he inspires me.

But if this goes wrong and I lose my job, what am I going to do?

Even though this is not my dream job, it pays well enough to cover all my expenses. Late nights are rare, so I have enough time to write, even with my Vera-related obligations. And it’s not physically taxing, so I don’t crash as soon as I get home after work.

But if I were to lose this job, I could end up with a more demanding one. Or a lower-paying one, which could force me to get a second job, which would eat up my writing time.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

This plan is way too crazy… right?

I can’t just sleep with my boss, not even in the name of research, or even a book deal… can I?

…

But damn… a book deal would literally change my life.

“Jane, do you really think what Heath said about helping me with my book… You think he really meant he’d sleep with me?”

I hear no reply.

I twist to look at Jane, expecting to see her grinning at me, mocking my gullibility.

But she’s not even listening. She’s passed out. Her hair covers her face as she slowly slides down the back of the couch.

Of course that was just drunk talk. It didn’t mean anything. Jane didn’t mean any of it.

I’m not actually going to sleep with Heath Anders.

To my surprise, disappointment pangs in my chest.

Obviously, I’m way too drunk to think clearly.

Ugh. I’ll sleep on it and think again in the morning. This will be my challenge for tomorrow. I’ve never failed to complete my challenges, so I’m sure I’ll reach a decision by the end of the day.

Heath

I never cancel meetings with my biggest clients. Never. My clients know they can reach me or one of my top men whenever they need me. That's why I only take on a limited number of clients. My company specializes in high-net-worth individuals who appreciate the personalized customer service we provide.

But when I find out Dad has collapsed and is already in an ambulance, there’s no other option. Mr. Mikhailov can always fly here again if he really needs to see me. I have to rush to the hospital.

When I enter the hospital room, Mom’s crying and Dad’s lying unconscious on the bed. A machine is beeping and a clear IV tube is jabbed into his forearm. While the doctors run their tests, Mom keeps a tight clasp around Dad’s hand, as if she’s trying to guide him back with her touch.

The doctors come back not long after Dad wakes up. They tell us something we already know: the surgery Dad had a few months ago wasn’t successful.

But they tell us something else—something we don’t already know: he only has one year to live.

I leave the room to ask the doctors about drug trials. There’s only a minuscule chance of them working and they cost a fortune, so I’m worried my parents are going to balk at the price if they hear the conversation.

But I have a fortune. And there’s only so much I can spend.

After buying a big penthouse in Manhattan, a few investment properties, and a private jet, I can’t really think of any more expensive toys I want. So why not spend my money on my family?

After a long talk with the doctors about his options, I slip back into Dad’s hospital room.

“How is he?” I take a seat beside my mom and put my arm around her shoulders, which are still shaking.

Mom tears her gaze away from Dad, who’s fallen asleep. “He’s okay. Just tired. He’s resting now,” she says, her cheeks wet with tears.

“Mom, this doesn’t have to be a…” I almost say “death sentence,” but I stop myself before the words come out of my mouth. My direct communication style, which works well in business meetings, doesn’t quite fit this setting. “This doesn’t have to be the end of the road,” I say finally. “Dad has other options.”

“You mean drug trials?” Mom asks softly with wariness in her tired eyes. “I know they’re a last resort, Heath.”

“It’s another chance to fight.”

“I’m tired of fighting. Your dad is tired of fighting,” Mom says.

“We’ll talk to Dad about it and see what he decides.” I know I’ll have a better chance of getting Dad to agree to my plan.

She knows it’s unlikely that Dad would heal, so Mom wants to ease his suffering and let him enjoy his last days. It hasn’t been easy on either one of them, this fight against Dad’s progressing illness.

But I know Dad would fight, knowing how much losing him would hurt Mom. They share a beautiful partnership filled with love and empathy.

I envy them. I once thought I’d grow up to find what they have, but it turns out that kind of love just doesn’t exist in this time, this age, and especially this place.

New York City makes you fall in love with its promise of something even better, just beyond your reach.

Having climbed up to the top, I realize it’s an empty promise, but I can’t stop. It doesn’t make any sense. What use is getting more, when I already have more than enough?

Yet, it’s like a compulsion at this point. The yardstick is no longer just my needs and wants—I have way more money than I’ll ever spend in my lifetime—but how well my peers are doing.

It’s a competition. It’s a dick-measuring contest. And it’s fucking addictive. There’s nothing like the feeling of winning.

That’s great for my success. But at the same time, my success also means that I’m surrounded by women who think like me, who live for the satisfaction of gaining victory over their competitors. Except instead of money, they’re after men with money.

A relationship with a woman like that can get expensive, and I’m speaking from experience.

“How much does it cost, Heath?” Mom asks.

“Huh?” I almost ask her if she’s talking about the women, then I realize she can’t read my thoughts. I should probably get some sleep soon. Just to make sure, I ask, “The drug trial?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I rub Mom’s shoulder soothingly. “I can afford it.”

Mom is quiet for a few seconds. “You know it probably won’t work, right?”

“I know.”

She lets out a big sigh. If her tear ducts weren’t already overworked, I’m sure she’d still be crying. Her eyes are still red and puffy, and her wrinkles have dug in deeper into her flesh.

“Thirty-five years,” she says as she rubs the back of Dad’s hand. “Thirty-five years together. We said we were going to grow old together, and I guess we’ve done that.”

“You’ll have a lot more years to spend together, Mom.”

She gives me a look. She knows I’m just saying what she wants to hear.

“I thought we were going to see the world together when he retired,” she says.

“You never told me about that.”

“We were going to travel to Europe,” Mom says with a wry smile. “Maybe buy an RV and travel to the south of France. There’s this winery your dad has always wanted to try.”

I fight the urge to tell her that they’ll get to do that, too. Hell, I’ll gift them a private jet so they won’t have to live in a cramped RV.

“We wanted to move to Florida after doing some traveling. We thought we’d get ourselves a nice little beach house. Somewhere in Daytona Beach would be perfect.”

I can buy that for them, too. And they don’t even have to wait for Dad to retire.

I mean, what the fuck? Dad makes about $90,000 a year as a CPA. It’s not a small salary compared to many people, of course. But I make that much in a slow week. They could’ve retired any time they wanted.

Still, I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want Mom to think about what could’ve been, about how Dad could’ve spent what little time he had traveling, instead of counting beans.

“We thought we’d visit you every few months, and more often once we have grandchildren.” Mom sighs with regret. “Your dad really wanted grandchildren. When you got married and Melanie said she wanted to have kids right away, he was so excited.”

“Melanie said that?” I can’t believe that heartless woman would lie to my parents like that.

She has never wanted a family with me. It was all a lie.

She just wanted to stick around long enough to get the big pay-out. No wonder she insisted on a huge divorce settlement in the pre-nup. I was too blind to see it before the wedding, but I realized later that the pre-nup was her retirement plan.

“Yes.” Mom nods with a small smile on her dry, cracked lips. “Your dad was already talking about taking the kid to Disneyland.”

I had no idea.

“You remember how strict your Grandpa Joe was?” Mom asks.

“Yeah.”

“Well, your dad used to be really close with his Granddad, who always spoiled him. He said he was going to be the world’s best granddad. His goal was to one day get one of those stupid ‘Best Grandpa Ever’ mugs.” Mom laughs softly at her husband’s silliness.

In moments like this, I can’t console Mom with talk of RVs, beach houses, or even early retirements.

But just the thought of having a grandchild makes her laugh.

Maybe that’s something I can give her.

Why not?

I can give her everything else. Why not a grandchild?

Yes, I’m done with women. Thanks to my parents, I have a high standard for a relationship that no woman has ever come close to meeting.

I thought I’d settle with Melanie—everybody settles, right? I thought I could be happy. But I was wrong. So I threw away my dream of a family, along with my dream of a healthy, happy relationship.

But maybe I don’t have to throw the literal baby out with the bathwater. Maybe I can have a baby, without suffering the complications of a relationship.

Again, I have a fortune and nothing to spend it on. Why not use that money to build the family I’ve always wanted?

Kat

The day starts with an unpleasant-but-not-unexpected text message from Vera.

“Milk gone. Shampoo, too. Don't forget to pay the electric bill.”

I groan.

I can rant about how Vera should get up off her ass and find herself a job, but I’m going to rise above all those petty emotions.

I mean, having the money to help out family is a good thing, right? I should be proud of myself for having a well-paying job.

And then I go to work to hear my boss say, “You’re fired.”

My jaw drops. “Huh?” I clear my throat. This is not how I usually talk in the office, especially to my boss. “Did you just say I’m fired?”

“Yes.” Heath smiles, flashing his rows of perfect white teeth without an ounce of sympathy. He seems almost happy about this. What kind of a monster is this man?

“Is this because of my USB stick the other day?” I ask, avoiding any mention of my manuscript.

“No.”

“Did Mr. Mikhailov complain to you?” I ask. “I already explained to his assistant that you had an emergency and it wasn’t a scheduling mistake on my part, but—”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Heath says. “If anything, you’re the best personal assistant I’ve had and I don’t know if I’ll be able to replace you.”

I frown. “So, then… Why…” I resist the impulse to scratch my head—that wouldn’t look very professional. But I’ve never been more puzzled in my life.

“I’m not firing you because I don’t like your work. I’m firing you because I want to offer you a different position,” Heath says.

As I let out a big exhale, I realize I’ve been holding my breath. Still, my muscles remain tense. “What do you mean by ‘a different position’?”

“Some other kind of work,” he answers cryptically.

“Are you transferring me to another division?”

If he’s giving me a position with better opportunities to move up, I’m going to say no. Those jobs should go to people who actually want to advance in the corporate world. I’m just here to pay the bills so I can write in my free time. So I’d rather stay here, where the work is light and easy.

“No, you’ll stay right here.” The corners of Heath’s lips curl up suspiciously as he gets up from his chair.

He looks even more intimidating when he stands up to his full height, his body all hard, solid muscles. I don’t know how he finds the time to go to the gym with the kind of schedule that he has, but obviously, he makes the time. That’s a body that has been sculpted by discipline and determination.

“In the executive division?” I ask, my heart beating fast as he makes his way around the table. I don’t care what the job is. Just tell me I still have a job.

“No, right here in my office,” he says from behind me. I can feel the heat emanating from his hands, which are gripping the back of my chair.

“Huh?” Again, I lose my professional poise. I shift in my chair and twist to look up at him. Say what?

“Kat,” he says. “Kat, Kat, Kat. That’s a funny name for a grown woman, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” I say.

Hello? Kat Von D? She’s a grown woman—a kick-ass one at that. But more importantly, why aren’t we talking about my new job?

“Tell me, Kitty Kat, have you always wanted to write a book?” Heath asks, calling me by a pet name that’s not unfamiliar—it’s not exactly original—but way too familiar for him to use, especially in an office setting.

“A romance novel,” I correct him. “It’s my dream to be a romance author.”

“So you only work here for the money?” he asks.

Is that a trick question? The answer is obvious enough.

“Yes,” I say. “But when I got the job I told the HR guy about it, and he said it was okay. He didn’t think I’d last a week.”

Heath chuckles. “My previous assistants have quit pretty quickly. And yet here you are, beating the odds after more than one month.”

“Since you just fired me, I’d say I’m not quite beating the odds,” I remind him to keep the conversation on topic.

“It’s not like I gave them much work at all. I just have my own way of doing things, and they haven’t been able to do things my way. But you…” Heath leans down with his hands still on the back of my chair, bringing his face so close to mine I can feel his hot breath on my skin. “You’re good at taking directions. You do things my way. I like that.”

“Thank you.”

I change my tactic. Since he’s been ignoring my attempts at getting him to talk about this new job that he’s supposedly offering, I’ll just keep my answers short. Maybe I’ll get my answer sooner if I just let him keep talking about whatever he wants, until he feels like broaching the subject.

“Have you ever published any of your work, Kitty Kat?” Heath asks.

“No,” I admit.

“Why not?”

“I haven’t been able to find a publisher.”

“That’s too bad,” he says, without any surprise in his voice. “I hear it’s hard to break into the scene. Do you know why you haven’t been successful?”

I pause to think about it. This is something that has actually been plaguing me.

“I’m not quite sure,” I say. “Maybe my writing is not good enough. I only work on my manuscript during my free time, so maybe I don’t do it enough to be really good at it. Or maybe it’s not polished enough because I can’t afford to hire an editor.”

“I think your writing is great,” Heath says, “but I don’t really know much about books, especially romance. I mostly read non-fiction.”

“About stocks?” I guess.

Heath seems like the workaholic type, even though according to everyone in the office I’ve talked to, he's  already cut down on his hours. I get it, though; the stock market is always moving and there’s always something he can do to optimize his investments.

“Something like that,” he says. Heath circles my chair. Leaning his tasty ass on the desk in front of me, he studies me with his sharp, blue eyes. He looks like an antiques dealer holding a magnifying glass to my face, appraising my value. He asks, “How much do you want to make it as a romance author, kitten?”

I ignore his continuously evolving nickname for me and answer, “I want it more than anything.”

When I was still living with Vera, I used to read a lot of romance novels to escape from my drab reality. I studied all day and did house chores all night, but when it was time to turn off the lights, I took out my e-reader and got lost in fantasy worlds where life was always perfect in the end.

I cried and I laughed. My heart broke, and then got mended again in the space of hours. Some nights, I didn’t sleep because I just had to finish books that were particularly engrossing.

So hell yeah, I want to write romance novels. I want to string words together in a way that will make people feel. That seems like such magic to me. If I could choose a superpower, I’d want to be able to make people connect with my writing and relate to my characters.

Alas, according to the publishers, I suck.

Only Jane’s encouragements keep me going. She reads a ton of romance novels too, and she says I have what it takes. But what if she’s wrong?

“I can help you,” Heath says.

“You can help me become a romance author?” I ask incredulously. Again, let’s not forget that my boss is a stock investor.

“Yes.”

“Let me guess. You know some big-shot publisher?”

Publishers have rejected everything I’ve ever submitted. They make me wait for months just to get their rejection emails—which, by the way, are never even personalized. They probably just enter my email, along with fifty-seven others, into the BCC field and fire off a form letter. It’s sad, I know.

“I do,” Heath says with a small smile that could melt the collective panties of all the single women on the Island of Manhattan. “And you just said your problems are time and money—I can help with those, too. Let me ask you another thing, how do you like my ideas from yesterday?”

I bite my cheek. It’s something I do when I’m nervous. Should I tell him the truth?

It seems silly at this point to worry about acting professional. He’s just fired me… I guess. And he hasn’t officially told me what my new job is going to be. So he’s technically not even my boss at this point.

“Yes,” I admit.

His smile widens, which only makes me feel even more like I’m losing my balance. He seems so confident and in control.

“Are you going to write something based on my ideas?” Heath asks again.

“Maybe.” I feel like I’ve given him more than enough information.

“Would you say I’m helping you turn your story into something sexy?” The way he cocks an eyebrow when he says the last word is going to haunt my sexy dreams—so yes. In many ways he doesn’t even know, he’s helping me turn my story into something sexy… or as sexy as I can make it.

Hell, before Heath Anders, I had no idea what a sexy guy was. I mean, on an intellectual level, of course I know what to look for—a tall figure, a pair of broad shoulders, maybe six-pack abs, long legs, and so on. But Heath’s the only guy I’ve met who makes me fantasize about what's underneath his Tom Ford suit.

“Yes,” I say.

“Okay. So this job that I’m putting on the table, it’s going to give you all three things you need to become a successful romance author.” Heath pauses to bask in my rapt attention before he raises one finger and says, “Time—” another finger shoots up “—money—” yet another finger joins the other two “—and sexy ideas.”

“Are you going to tell me what this job is?”

“Of course.” With his juicy ass and masculine hands still on the desk, he leans forward and fixes his sharp, penetrating gaze on me. “How would you like to carry my child?”

Kat

I can’t even say anything this time.

It was bad enough when Heath read my manuscript of the story that features a character based on himself.

Now, he fires me and propositions me at the same time? The nerve of this guy!

Heath watches me intently, his eyes roaming over my curves in a way that makes me feel naked.

But to my surprise, instead of outrage, all I feel is… I don’t even know what this is.

Heat creeps up my neck and spreads across my face, while the hairs on the back of my neck rise. My skin is so sensitive I can almost feel the heat of Heath’s scorching gaze on me.

I take a moment to collect my thoughts. I may not feel the outrage, but that’s an outrageous proposition, right? What kind of a woman does he take me for? Just because he has money, he thinks he can buy me?

“Did you say you wanted me to carry your child?” I ask. “I hope you mean you already have a child and you want me to hold him for a minute.”

“No,” Heath says calmly. “I know you know exactly what I mean. I can tell from the way you’re talking. I want you to get pregnant and give birth to my child.”

“Sorry, I have to ask.” I mentally commend myself for not losing my composure at a time like this. “Is this a prank? Is there a camera somewhere? Is this just your weird way of hitting on me?”

Heath chuckles, as if I’ve said something truly funny. I asked perfectly legitimate questions, damn it!

“No, this is not a prank. And no, I’m not hitting on you, kitten,” Heath says with an infuriatingly serene smile. “I’m just making a business deal. It’s no different from your job as my assistant—you’ll be working for me, as my employee. I’m just telling you the terms of employment. You can take it or leave it.”

It dawns on me what he’s trying to do.

No wonder people call him a bully, although most people praise him for it because he only attacks unethical companies by trading their stocks in a way that shows he believes they're going to fail. And when this gets heavy publicity because he's Heath Anders, the market reacts by devaluing those same stocks. Then Heath profits, and so do his investors.

I don't fully understand how it works, even though Jane has tried explaining it to me. All I remember is he uses a technique called “short-selling,” which allows him to take advantage of stock prices that have dropped.

Heath doesn’t give any warning when he strikes. When his opponent realizes what he’s doing, it’s already too late.

That has always been his strategy, so I shouldn’t be surprised to see him use it against me. But it’s just so evil.

“Did you deliberately fire me first so I’d be unemployed and desperate to take your offer?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at my boss.

“Whoa.” Heath holds his hands up in the air. “I don’t know what kind of a monster you think I am, but that’s not why I fired you.”

“Why, then?” I challenge him.

“I just want to make things clear and separate. If you’re my personal assistant, then you can’t be my surrogate. If you’re my surrogate, then you can’t be my personal assistant.”

“But technically, I’m neither right now.”

“Yes.”

“So I’m unemployed,” I repeat my point.

“You can always go back to being my personal assistant if you want to.”

Heath’s smile looks genuine, but he has also practiced that look thousands of times in thousands of meetings and presentations. He could be lying and there would be no way for me to tell.

The man is dangerous. I can’t take on Heath Anders. I’m way out of my depth here.

“Okay, then I’ll do that,” I say. “I’ll go back to being your personal assistant.”

“That would be a mistake, kitten,” Heath says. “In a negotiation, you should at least listen to what the other party has to offer. Always. That’s the only way to make an informed decision.”

I’m pretty sure I’m not going to carry Heath Anders’ baby in my womb, no matter how much it pays. But I’ll humor him. “Okay. Tell me what you have to offer, Heath.”

“Of course,” he says with a victorious, confident smile.

That smile makes me wonder if I should've just told him, “No, thanks,” and went back to my desk outside.

But it's too late. Heath’s already opening his mouth, no doubt ready with a compelling sales pitch.

“Firstly, it won't be a nine-to-five job, so you’ll have more free time, enough to work on your book.

“You’ll also gain access to my contacts. If your writing is any good, you should meet someone willing to publish your book.

“And just in case it takes you some time to find a publisher, you’ll also get $500,000 from me. That way you won’t have to worry about money for a while,” he says.

For a while? More like for the rest of my life.

Heath’s basically offering me a shortcut to success.

I’d love to get a publishing deal, and Heath may know someone who can help me with that.

And if I decide to get into self-publishing, that $500,000 is going to be a huge help—not just because I’ll be able to live on that while waiting for my pen name to take off, but also because I’ll be able to use that money on marketing and promotions.

This could change my whole life for the better.

“Not a bad deal, huh?” Heath asks with an arrogant smirk. “I told you to at least listen to my offer.”

“You know I’m not like the girl in my book, right?” I ask. “That’s just fiction, Heath.”

“Of course I know that. I’m not an idiot.” Heath says.

So he’s not just doing this because he thinks I’m the submissive girl from my story. But then…

“Why me?” I ask.

Heath

Why her?

I’m tempted to respond with a flippant “why not?” but I’m trying to get her to take my offer. It’s probably not a good idea to provoke her.

But that’s such a stupid question.

She’s the obvious choice. She’s beautiful, intelligent, ambitious, and capable. Any guy would be lucky to have a son or daughter with those traits.

And of course it doesn’t hurt that she’s also sinfully sexy.

From the first day I saw her sitting at the desk in front of my office, I’ve fantasized about dragging her in here like a caveman and fucking her against my desk. I imagine her blouse undone and her skirt hiked up to show the juncture of her creamy thighs, where my engorged cock slides into her.

But there’s no need to get too chatty. At least not now.

A business negotiation is like a poker game. The less she knows about me, the stronger my position. I like to play my cards close to my chest.

“Well?” Kat asks, her red, full lips parted as she waits for my answer.

I have to stop myself from reaching out and claiming those lips for myself. That can wait.

“I have my reasons,” I say.

I need her to know that even though we’ll be having sex, we’ll still be an employer and an employee. I’m still her boss. I’m still in charge. She doesn’t get to call the shots.

“And you’re not going to share those reasons with me?” she asks. Small lines have appeared on the bridge of her nose, between her big, green eyes. But her little frown only makes her appear more delightful.

Delightful?

Ugh. What the fuck am I using a word like that for? It must be because I’ve just read some parts of her romance novel.

“No, kitten,” I say. “This is like a job interview. I’m offering you a position. You can take it or leave it.”

“I usually get to ask some questions at the end of an interview.”

“You do, and I reserve the right to choose what to disclose. Let’s just say that you have the kind of… genetic makeup that I’m looking for.”

“Healthy, twenties, fertile…” she lists off.

I laugh. “More like smart, sassy, pretty face…”

“I had no idea parents wanted ‘sassy’ kids these days,” she says.

“I do,” I answer honestly.

“Why do you want a kid in the first place?” Kat studies me with suspicion in her almond-shaped green eyes.

“Why does anyone want a kid?” I ask.

“To take care of them when they’re old and broke,” she answers quickly. “But you will never become poor—not even if you buy a new car every week. I’ve seen your financial statements.”

I chuckle. “You’re sharp, too, kitten. Someone with your brains and a good Ivy League education—in finance, of course—would go on to take on the world.”

“Ah, so you want someone to keep your empire going after you’re gone,” Kat says.

“Something like that.”

If that answer satisfies your curiosity, kitten, that will do.

Her red lips twist as she bites the inside of her cheek.

“That’s a bad habit,” I point out.

“I know,” she says absently.

“What are your considerations?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she says. “My brain is just going ‘this is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy…’ on repeat right now.”

I can’t help but laugh at her honesty. Even though she usually keeps things professional, it seems like she’s finally loosening up. I say, “It’s obviously not so crazy you wouldn’t consider it, or you would’ve walked out of my office.”

“I guess…” she says softly.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you a taste of what’s to come. I’ll give you until the end of the week to decide. Meanwhile, you don’t have to come in to work and you’ll get $5,000 in the bank today. That way, you can see what it’s like to have all the time you need to write and not have to worry about money while you’re doing it. Today's Tuesday,” Heath says as he glances at his calendar, “so you have three days to decide.”

“And that’s… That doesn’t count as my agreement to take your offer, I assume.” She has a long way to go, but Kat has a natural instinct for negotiations. I’m sure that’ll serve her well when the time comes for her to sign a publishing deal.

“Not at all,” I say. “Just take the rest of the week off and get an extra $5,000 in the process. No strings attached.”

“I’d be stupid not to take it,” she admits.

“You’d be stupid not to take it.” I give her a cordial smile.

I’ve got this. The first step to winning a negotiation is getting your opponent to agree with you. Now that we’ve reached one agreement, it’ll be easier for her to say “yes” to my other, bigger offer.

It’s also a good idea to be generous. Research shows that the idea of reciprocity is sound. If you do someone a favor, they’ll like you and they’ll want to do something nice for you, too.

This means I can essentially buy goodwill. And with the amount of resources at my fingertips, there’s no end to the favors I can do for Kat.

“I’ll give you my answer before the end of the week,” Kat says as she gets up from her chair and starts to make her way to the door.

Not so fast, kitten.

I catch up to her and corner her against the wall. “Didn’t you forget something?”

Kat leans her head back and looks up at me. There’s apprehension in her eyes—I’ll admit this is a highly unusual situation and she has good reason to worry. But there’s something else, too, deep in those moss-colored eyes, so deep most people would miss it.

Lust. Wild, uncontrollable lust. The kind that has been suppressed for so long it would incinerate everything within her reach once it’s let out.

And I can see from the way she gazes at me that she already expects me to be the one to take her inner slut out to play. I can’t wait.

“What is it?” Kat asks. Her lips part, letting her breaths out in shallow little pants.

“I told you I was going to give you a taste of what’s to come.” I put my palms up against the wall, caging her in.

Kat says nothing. She only glances at my hands on either side of her head and swallows as she directs her gaze back to me.

She wants this. I bet it’s not just her face that’s filling with blood. I can almost make out her nipples as the hard little peaks poke through her thin white blouse.

The corners of my lips tug up. “I wasn’t done showing you the benefits of this arrangement.”  

I grab her hair in my fist. I swear her eyelids flutter shut and, in a split second, as soon as she opens them again, the hidden lust from before roars to the surface. She just opens up for me—eager, yielding, submissive.

Fuck.

I crush her lips with mine, and I feel her body melt under my touch. She’d spread her toned legs faster than hot butter if I were to take here right here, right now.

But I have to be patient. She might run away if I get too hasty.

This is a game. And I have to play my cards right.

Once, I made the mistake of letting my dick do the thinking for me. But guess what, kitten? I’m in full control now—of both my own desires, and of your delicious little body.

I can’t wait to have more than just a taste. But today’s not the day.

When I pull away and let her go, Kat drifts down the wall for a second before she regains her balance.

That’s right. I bet your legs feel weak now.

She stares at me, wide-eyed and alarmed, as if she has just realized what’s happened.

But she doesn’t waste much time staying confused. She smooths out her blouse and pencil skirt, as well as her hair, which is put up into a neat bun as usual. And my prim-and-proper assistant is back.

Interesting.

“Like I said, I’ll, uh, get in touch before Friday.” She gives me a quick glance, as if afraid of what those pretty eyes would reveal if she lingered.

And then she’s gone.

But only for the week.

I know she’ll be back. And when she comes back, it’ll be as the future mother of my child.

Kat

“You kissed Heath Anders?” Jane almost screams the question.

“Shh…” I put a finger against my lips. I’ve been telling her to quiet down, but she just won’t do it.

We’re in our own living room, but the walls are thin and I know how shocking this news is.

Heath Anders used to be all about working hard and playing hard. And by that I mean there are pictures still circulating today of him snorting some white powder up his nose, with multiple girls hanging on his arms.

But that was the old Heath. He stopped his partying ways when he met the woman who would later become his ex-wife. And after the divorce, he just never got back to his old ways.

People are dying to hear some juicy personal news from Heath Anders. I’m sure there are gossip journalists out there who’d kill to learn about the hot kiss he gave me in his office today.

“He kissed me,” I correct Jane. “I didn’t do anything.”

“And by that you mean you kissed him back, right?” Jane looks at me with so much hope in her hazel eyes you’d think she was waiting to hear me announce her lottery number as the winner of some multi-million jackpot—or, since this is Jane we’re talking about, give her the insider info on the stocks Heath is personally holding.

“Yeah,” I admit.

“I knew it!” Jane exclaims with victory. “I told you he wants that ass.”

I let out a big sigh. I really have no idea how to feel about this whole thing. “I checked my bank account and the money’s already there.”

“Of course it is,” Jane says with the absolute conviction of a true fan. “If Heath Anders says it was going to be there, then it would be there. What, you think he doesn’t have $5,000 to spare? The financial papers say he made, like, seven million dollars on his last transaction.”

“No, I just… I don’t know. I keep thinking this must be just a dream, or a prank, or something… you know? Something other than an actual offer for me to have his baby.”

“I still can’t get over how bold of a move it is,” Jane says with more than just a hint of admiration in her voice. “That’s just like Heath Anders. He’s a ruthless shark.” She sighs with regret. “God, I wish I could tell someone about this.”

“I’ll kill you if you do,” I say quickly before she gets any ideas.

If people find out about this… I don’t even know what that’s going to do to my good name—not that people would remember and recognize my name if the news got out today… but one day, I will be a household name.

“You know, Kat, if this gets on the news, it could be a good thing for your romance career. You want to put your name out there, right?”

“Not like that.”

I’d rather not have a nasty scandal be my claim to fame.

I mean, look at Monica Lewinsky. It’s been more than twenty years since her thing with Bill Clinton, and that’s still the main thing people remember her for. We’re already on our third president since that scandal, for God’s sake.

No, a sex scandal doesn’t go away. And I want to be known for my writing.

Right now, I can’t even get people to read my book, much less like it and become fans of my work. Something’s missing and I know it’s not my writing. If I can just get my foot in the door, I know I can make it.

And then maybe Vera will stop treating me like shit, and maybe my dad will see how much I’ve grown and he’ll want to see me.

One can dream.

It’s been years since I last saw my dad—or my real mom, for that matter. According to Vera, my dad just showed up with me one day and admitted that I was his child with his mistress. I was four.

To her credit, Vera took me in and let me grow up with her kids. I was always aware that I was different—I always had to wash my own dishes and theirs too—but at least I had a home.

When I was fourteen, Dad left and that place stopped becoming a home. It became hell.

Vera blamed me for everything—for my dad’s infidelity, for looking so much like him, and even for the electricity being cut off (even though the whole reason that happened was because she hadn’t worked in months and we had no money in the bank to clear the check I’d mailed on time to the utilities company).

“Are you going to do it?” Jane asks, startling me back into reality.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “If I think about it, it’s not so different from what my mom did with me, right? She gave birth to me, and then gave me to my dad to take care of.”

“Plenty of people become surrogates these days, Kat,” Jane says. “Even Kim and Kanye are hiring one. It’s getting more and more common.”

“Really? I don’t know anybody doing that.”

“That’s because you don’t have rich friends,” Jane says plainly.

I shrug. That’s true, I guess, and it doesn't offend me one bit.

Most of my friends make enough to live on. They write for the paper, take photographs for travel magazines, and edit videos for advertising agencies. Those jobs come with a lot of perks, too, on top of the salaries, like free travel or backstage admission at concerts.

But Jane’s friends, who are investment bankers just like her, make the kind of money that would make relatives of the Saudi king jealous. Jane’s just starting out herself, but I have no doubt she’ll start making six figures in no time.

“A few of my colleagues have been talking about doing it. That’s why I know,” Jane says. “It’s a huge topic among the women in my office these days. They want to have families, but they don’t want to sacrifice their careers. Plenty of women have been demoted after taking their maternity leaves. Finance is a cut-throat industry.”

I nod along to Jane’s story. I like how different our worlds are, and I enjoy the occasional glimpse into hers.

“So, for these women, surrogacy is the perfect solution. It’s not cheap. The national average cost for it is between $98,000 and $140,000.” Jane looks right at me. “So that $500,000 Heath offers you is very generous. That’s between three and five times the national average.”

I can always count on Jane to give me the facts and figures.

She gives me an impish grin. “I guess the higher fee is because he wants to do it the old-fashioned way.”

I try to stop my body from reacting, but it’s too late. Before I know it, my whole face is burning. Damn it.

“Ooohhh… Someone’s looking forward to it,” Jane teases me.

“Shut up,” I say. I cup my cheeks with my hands in an attempt to bring the temperature down. I pause to think for a few moments and give Jane a serious look. “You really think I should do it?”

“I don’t see why not.” Jane shrugs. “You’ll get a lot of money. You’ll get a lot of time to write and polish your manuscript. You’ll get a book deal out of it—” Jane holds up her index finger before I can open my mouth “—and don’t even dare say that you may not find anyone to publish you because you will. You absolutely will.”

I stare at Jane. “So you think I should do it?”

“It’s your decision, Kat. If I were you, I’d do it.” Jane giggles. “But let’s be honest here. If I were you, I would’ve jumped his bones for free.”

“It’s about the baby, Jane. Not about the sex,” I say, even though I don’t buy that myself. How can I, when my body still thrums at the thought of the sizzling kiss he gave me at the office today?

“It’s about both, Kat. Face it. He wouldn’t have kissed you otherwise,” Jane insists. “But since you brought it up, I’m sure the baby will be in good care, too. I remember reading some magazine—this was when Heath was still married—about how he was looking forward to building a family.”

I can only nod along. I don’t keep up with updates from the real world because most of the time I’m busy with my own fantasy world.

Luckily, Jane reads everything: gossip tabloids, financial newspapers, political websites, women’s magazines, and even cooking blogs (although she doesn’t even cook). She keeps me up to date with the latest developments in the real world.

Jane continues, “And that’s why Heath stopped partying. He was ready to be a family man. Your baby won’t just grow up with material wealth, but also a good dad who’s present.”

“My baby,” I form the word on my tongue and sound it out.

It’s strange. But I don’t dislike it.

In my mind’s eye, I see tiny little fingers and toes, pink and perfect.

“It’s probably not a good idea to think of it as your baby. It’s Heath’s baby, really.” Jane gives me a stern look. “If you’re going to do this, you need to be careful not to get carried away and start thinking it’s a real relationship or a real family. Your hormones will try to convince you that it’s real, but you can’t listen to them.”

“I know,” I say.

Despite Heath’s obvious interest in my body, he doesn’t seem to expect any kind of personal involvement between us. This is going to be a business arrangement and nothing else.

“So…?” Jane asks, her eyes searching for clues in my face.

“I’ll do it.”

Kat

“I’ve reviewed the contract you sent me, and I only have one thing to ask,” I say.

“Go ahead.” Heath sits back in his chair, looking stately and confident. He knows he’s won.

But it’s okay. I’ve thought this through.

After talking about it with Jane that first night after Heath gave me the offer, the challenge for the rest of the week was to come up with a decision. I went back and forth, but in the end I decided to go for it.

Jane’s right. It’s not like I’ll be exploited. Heath needs me as much as I need him, so we’re helping each other. What’s wrong with that?

This is a one-way ticket to success, which is what I’ve always wanted.

I feel like the experience would bring me closer to my mom, whom I’ve never met. Maybe if I have my own baby and then give it away, I’ll finally understand why she did it.

And… I don’t hold out much hope that this will happen… but I wish my dad would come out of hiding and reach out to me if I’m successful.

I’m concerned about my obvious attraction to Heath.

Obviously, it would be easier to keep things professional if I didn’t soak my panties as soon as he speaks to me in that low, sexy voice. But at the same time, I wouldn’t have even considered accepting this offer if Heath weren’t so irresistibly gorgeous.

Now there’s only one thing to straighten out.

“This is going to be confidential, right? Nobody’s ever going to find out.”

Heath bursts out laughing. “Kitten, that’s the last thing I expected to hear from you, but I’m glad that’s what you’re concerned about.” Heath gives me a reassuring smile. “Believe me, I don’t want anyone to find out about this arrangement either. I think we can both agree that I have more to lose in that scenario than you do.”

He’s right.

I’m a nobody—at least for now. People don’t care about me. They don’t want to read about me in their favorite gossip blogs.

But Heath… Even him going out to buy coffee is newsworthy, judging by the paparazzi who wait just outside the building for Heath to appear every morning.

“So this is never going to get out?” I ask again.

“If you don’t say anything, nobody’s going to find out. Only you know about it, and my lawyer who’s drafted this agreement.” Heath stares at me with his sharp, blue eyes. “Have you told anyone about our arrangement?”

I squirm. I didn’t expect my question to backfire. “I told my roommate, but she won’t tell anyone.”

“That’s what they always say,” Heath says dismissively. “Just so we’re both clear on what to expect, I’ll deny any involvement with you publicly if word ever gets out about this.” He points at me, and then at himself. “I’m sure you understand why, and I recommend that you do the same if the media ever goes after you for confirmation about our association. To everyone else, I’m just your boss and you’re just my personal assistant.”

“I know,” I say curtly. It’s kind of offensive, what he’s saying. He’s implying that I’ll blab to the media about this.

“If you ever mention my name and say that we’re more than that, the deal is off. Even years from now, I’ll come after you with my lawyer if you ever decide to write an exposé about it or something,” he says.

“I don’t even write non-fiction,” I snap.

“Maybe you’ll reconsider. Maybe you’ll think it’s a good way to market your work.” Heath shrugs. “But hey, no need to get defensive. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just going through what’s going to happen under certain circumstances. That’s what this contract is about, remember?”

“Yes.” I nod. I should leave my emotions out of this. This is strictly business, I remind myself.

“Good,” Heath says in the kind of voice that sends a thrill straight to my core. He speaks with absolute certainty. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You will report to work in the morning as usual, but you’ll be working inside my office. And as we’ve already discussed, it’ll be a different kind of work.” His smile is calm, but his hungry gaze leaves no doubt as to what he means.

As I nod, I concentrate on ignoring his hot stare and his filthy words. I hate how easily I blush. In a situation like this where I need to put forward a strong front, it’s a big handicap that I need to contain.

“Once you get pregnant, you’ll move into my apartment,” Heath continues. “You’ll go to the doctors’ appointments that will be scheduled for you, and you’ll eat whatever my personal chef cooks for you. I want to make sure you’ll give birth to a healthy baby.”

I listen to Heath’s words, but I already know these things from the contract he sent me. We’re just going through things we already know now.

But I like how thorough he is. It makes me feel like we can actually pull this off. Yes, this may be a crazy plan. But if we cover all the bases, it could work.

“When the baby is born, you’ll continue to live with me to breastfeed the baby. Once he or she is weaned, you’ll go back to your old life—or an improved version of your old life, I should say.” Heath pauses to let his words sink in.

“You’ll have a new job as a romance author, and you’ll be free to plan your days,” he says. “You won’t have to wake up in the morning and get stuck in an office, doing things you don’t care about for eight hours. You can fill your days with activities you enjoy doing.

“Hell, you can just stop working altogether and retire on the money I’ll give you. You can do that if you invest that money well and live simply.

“You know what? That’s probably a good thing to do, no matter what you decide to do. I’ll introduce you to a great financial planner. He’ll help you get things sorted out.”

“Thank you,” I simply say.

I acknowledge his thoughtfulness, but I don’t mistake it for kindness.

I’ve worked with Heath long enough to know that he often throws in some unexpected bonuses at the end of negotiations, just to seal the deal. That wasn’t a spontaneous offer.

The strategy works well, although I’ve always thought Heath’s clients were suckers for buying this cheap move.

But now, as I sit on the other side of the negotiation table from Heath, I recognize how sincere he comes across. He puts so much thought into every little thing that it feels personal.

Even though he can be ruthless toward certain big corporations, Heath is a courteous, reliable business partner who keeps his side of the bargain.

I know I’m in good hands. And I know he’s going to be a great dad, if he approaches fatherhood like he approaches his business.

“I believe that’s everything,” Heath says with a small smile as he slides a copy of the contract across his desk.

“Yes.”

I take the contract and flip through it. Everything seems familiar because I’ve done nothing over the past few days but read every clause, over and over again. I don’t know if I was looking for an excuse to bail or to go all in.

But right now, I’ve made my decision. I take the fountain pen Heath’s offering and sign my name on the dotted line.

There. It’s done.

I’m really doing this.

Heath

“Let’s go,” I say as soon as she shows up in my office.

Kat looks delicious today, but then she always does. A thin pink blouse covers her body, affixed to the skin of her cleavage by gravity and skimming the rest of her upper body demurely. Her white lace pencil skirt shows off the flare of her hips.

My strait-laced personal assistant with the tight bun on her head. I can’t wait to peel off her office-appropriate clothes and plunder the prize within.

Her hand is still on the door handle. A cute little frown appears on her pretty face. “Where?”

“You’ll see.” I put my arm around her delicate shoulders and lead her out of the office.

She keeps insisting, though, and I keep refusing to answer. She puts on a mirthless expression in the car.

“You don’t like surprises, kitten?” I ask.

“Not when I’d planned to spend the day at the office,” she answers curtly.

I chuckle. She’s always been highly organized, which makes her a great personal assistant. She wrangles my schedule like she was born to do it.

“I only told you to show up at the office in the morning as usual. I never said anything about staying in the office the whole day. Sounds like you were anxious to get started on the baby-making,” I say. “Did you want to pick things up where we left off the other day?”

I know she remembers the kiss I gave her in my office. With her sparkling green eyes, she panted and begged me for more.

But it’s not my style to gobble up everything in front of me, like I’m in a cheap buffet joint.

No, someone like Kat… I want to taste her, really savor her. An exquisite beauty like her doesn’t come around often. And she’s not just a looker—I’ve seen glimpses of her brilliance and her sensuality.

I can’t wait to enjoy this arrangement.

To me, sex without intimacy is like a dish without any spices. But I get the feeling that being with Kat is going to be like an explosion of tastes… and not just in my mouth either.

But I need to wait. It’s going to take a little preparation to get her to the right state of mind.

“Let’s keep this professional,” she retorts, which only proves my point. She’s not ready yet.

“Work can be fun, too, kitten,” I remind her.

“Spoken like a true workaholic.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Fair enough.”

Kitty’s got claws!

“I’m just saying, it’s okay to enjoy your work. That’s why you want to be a romance author, right? Because you enjoy the work?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she admits.

“You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“Is that what this is? Play?” she asks.

“You can say that.”

I take no more questions and ask Kat to tell me about herself instead. But beyond saying that she lives with an investment banker (the roommate who made notes on her smutty manuscript), she doesn’t reveal much.

When I ask her about her family, she mentions having a step-mom and step-siblings, but gets even more tight-lipped than usual. It really makes me wonder what her life is like.

She stops talking about herself altogether when we pull up outside the airport and park the car. It’s her turn to ask questions now.

“Why are we at the airport?” she asks with suspicion in her voice.

“You don’t have to plan every second of your life, kitten. Let loose a little. Go with the flow,” I say as I get out of the car. I smile to myself when she follows me and we make our way into the airport building.

Kat’s jaw slackens as a man in a smart suit drives up in a caddy and takes us past the lines at the check-in desks and the security checkpoints.

“Are we… flying somewhere?” she asks. The widest part of her hips brushes against my thigh as the caddy whizzes past other travelers.

“That’s generally why people go to airports, yes. To fly somewhere.” I give her a smile.

It’s so amusing to watch her try to figure out what I’m planning. I can almost hear the gears turning in her mind. But she’s not going to guess this one.

“You’re not… This is… not human trafficking, right?” she asks in a small voice, as if she realizes how ridiculous it sounds but still has to ask.

I burst out laughing. When I finally calm down, I give her a dramatic, sinister look and say, “If this were human trafficking, you think I’m just going to tell you?”

“No?”

“Not a chance.” I shake my head.

“You really did make your money from stock trading, right?” she asks.

“Stocks, humans… Whatever makes the most money. What’s the difference?” I pause to watch her decide whether to laugh at my lame joke or run in the other direction.

She lets out a nervous laugh. “You’re not going to fool me. I know some finance nerds who are big fans of your work.”

“Sure.” I hop off the caddy when it stops. “But they don’t know all the things I do on the side.”

Kat catches up to me in the jet bridge connecting the airport gate to the private jet. “Ha-ha. Very funny. Where are we really going?”

“Shopping.” I nod at the flight attendant welcoming us on board.

“Shopping for what?” If anything, her tone only gets more insistent after getting an answer for one of her many questions.

“Wine.”

The flight attendant directs Kat to her seat. She lands her luscious ass on the leather and folds her toned legs gracefully. She keeps her eyes on me, waiting for an explanation. “Where?”

“A winery.” I know she’s just going to keep asking the same question, trying to get me to reveal more information about the location. “You’re going to work overtime tonight. We’re probably only going to reach our destination at the end of the day.” I pause. “Or is it going to be morning again when we get there, because of the time difference? I can never tell.”

“We’re flying far enough for there to be a time difference?” Kat asks in a surprised voice.

“Yeah.” I fasten my seatbelt.

I usually like this big, comfortable seat with plenty of leg room, but right now I hate that the spaciousness of the aircraft also means that there’s a wide aisle between my hands and her sexy little body.

“So we’re probably flying to the east or the west…” Kat’s voice trails off as she thinks.

“Hint: we’re going to fly over the Atlantic.”

“We’re going to Europe?” Kat asks in a fascinating mixture of disbelief Apprehension, and excitement.

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s going to be about ten hours until we get there. You’d better rest up. It’s going to be morning when we land.”

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said ‘overtime,’” Kat says.

I laugh. I don’t often have people challenge me, and that’s the way I usually like it.

But with Kat…

I don’t know. Even when she’s being a sassy smart-mouth, she’s entertaining. There’s an honesty about her, a genuine quality.

Most people want something from me. Money. Connections. Power. Assistance.

I’m not saying Kat doesn’t want all those things. Let’s not pretend that I’m not paying her to be here. I’m not delusional.

But she acts like she doesn’t need all those things. Like she could take it or leave it. I can’t tell if it’s pride or if she’s here for a different reason.

Is it me she’s staying for? Is it something else?

I’ve worked my ass off to build my business from an unknown investment firm into an international hedge fund management company worth billions of dollars.

If there’s anything I know, it’s that I can make anything happen if I really put my mind to it.

So here’s what I’m going to do. I’ll crack Kat’s armor and show her how much fun this can be, if she lets go and follows her instincts.

Sure, this agreement is about having Kat deliver my baby. But that doesn't have to be all it is.

I’ve decided that Kat will be my next project. I’m going to tame her.

Kat

As if the impromptu trans-Atlantic flight on a freaking private jet isn’t crazy enough, we’re met on the tarmac by a black sedan at our destination. The rear door of the car is open, held by a man in a tweed flat cap, a pair of white gloves and a big, friendly smile.

“Merci, Alain,” Heath says as he hops in beside me on the backseat.

The man nods and closes the car door.

The interior of the car smells like fresh lavender and vanilla. The leather seat feels buttery soft on my skin—except for the few inches between Heath and me. That space is electric, like I’d risk a zap if I were to get too close.

This feels like a dream, and not just because I’m suddenly all the way in France, when I’d never even traveled out of the country before—say, to Canada, for example.

To be honest, though, this morning… Or was it yesterday morning? This time difference thing is really messing with my head.

Anyway, when I walked into Heath’s office—whenever it was—I was considering cancelling the whole arrangement.

Who cared about my romance career? If it was meant to be, it would happen.

And there was never any guarantee that I’d get a lightbulb moment that shines a light on the circumstances of my own birth and helps me understand my birth mother. Same went for the tearful reunion with my dad.

These were just pathetic, impossible, childish wishes.

But then Heath knocked me completely off my balance. Who the hell just randomly takes a girl to another continent just to have some wine?

But then again, who the hell just randomly hires a girl to have his baby?

The answer to both is Heath Anders.

He just keeps coming up with surprises. This is not just about him having the money to do these things, but also about his spontaneity.

Contrary to what I told him, I actually love surprises.

It's just that I was already feeling conflicted, and he was making it hard for me to stick to the decision I’d made while tossing and turning in my bed last night.

When I saw him, I couldn’t end it. I wanted to know what else he had up his sleeves.

But if nothing else, at least the lack of sleep allowed me to snooze like a baby in the plane, all the way to the south of France. That's probably one of the reasons why I still feel like I’m trapped in a surreal dream.

“So this place we’re going to, it’s this small, organic vineyard. Most vineyards in this area are like, 100 hectares, but this one is only 6 hectares. The couple that owns the place doesn’t use chemical fertilizers. They have pet donkeys and sheep to help with that. So these animals just graze among the vines and fertilize the soil naturally,” Heath says, suddenly chatty after dodging my questions about our destination the whole flight.

“Did you read the guidebook on the flight here?” I ask, only half-joking.

“Something like that,” he admits with a boyish grin. “You were asleep for a long time.”

“You said to rest up.” I shrug.

“I’m not complaining,” he says. “I enjoyed watching you sleep. You looked so peaceful.”

I’m not sure if that’s a compliment. “Uh… thanks?”

“I took some pictures and videos, I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t help it, especially when you starting moaning my name…”

“I what?” I ask, louder than I intended.

Heath chuckles, and laugh lines appear around his startling blue eyes.

“I really did that?” I ask again. I need to know.

“No,” he says, still grinning from ear to ear.

Relief and embarrassment flood my chest at the same time. I’m glad I didn’t actually do that, but I’m annoyed that Heath has pulled a fast one on me again.

Or maybe I’ve been in a bad mood all day. Without knowing what we were about to do, I couldn't come up with a challenge for today. And now it's… I don't even know the day anymore because of the time difference.

“You didn’t say my name in your sleep, kitten,” he says as he traps my gaze, his eyes darkened by lust. “But you’ll scream it out loud while you’re wide awake. Soon. You’ll see.”

* * *

The small vineyard is enchanting. It’s like something straight out of a fairy tale.

The main building is an old stone cottage, that nevertheless is equipped with all the modern comforts, like Wi-Fi, which is very important to me. I need it to check Jane’s latest notes on my manuscript, which I update on Google Docs whenever inspiration strikes.

All around us are other squat, old buildings that have probably stood here for hundreds of years, keeping watch over the village, generation after generation. The rolling green hills around us have been here even longer.

Everything’s old. Ancient. It’s like stepping back in time, to an era when the world was small and everybody knew everybody else.

The wines are exquisite, and the food is out of this world. Everything’s fresh from the local farms: the eggs, the breads, the jams, the milk, and the butter.

Now, I’ve had all these foods before, but not like this. I feel like holding up any one item from this meal and going, “Now this is bread” or something equally theatrical. They’re that good.

The couple who owns the place sits with us as we eat. They tell us about their vines, their traditional processes, and their little experiments to improve the subtle notes of the wines. It’s obvious they’re passionate about their products.

All I want in life is to be like them. I want to do something I love and watch people enjoy my work. That would feel so rewarding.

“I can see why you’d fly all the way here for this. This is easily the best meal I’ve ever had,” I say to Heath when we're finally left to our own devices.

“Actually, I didn’t expect them to serve food as well. I thought it was just going to be the wines.” Heath takes another sip of the red wine.

I follow suit. “My first day, and I’m already drinking on the job.”

“And in front of your boss, too,” Heath adds.

“What can I say?” I give Heath a grin. “I eat danger for breakfast.”

“Actually, I think they call this déjeuner,” Heath says, pointing at the food on the table between us. “And it means lunch, not breakfast.”

I laugh as I recall that one French class I took years and years ago. I’ll admit that’s a good one.

I don’t know what I expected, but I definitely didn’t foresee myself having such an easy banter with my boss, the rising star of Wall Street.

Sure, he’s got good looks and a truckload of money. But I didn’t expect him to also be funny, and that’s somehow more impressive to me than all the things he’s accomplished.

As the sun starts to set in the late afternoon, we leave town—sadly, before we get the chance to have dîner.

I don’t know why I expected us to stay the night. Probably because I’ve never actually flown anywhere for just one meal before. But then I’ve also never had a private jet waiting at my beck and call before.  

And so I sleep the whole way back, my natural clock confused by the time zones that keep changing.

My first day has been delayed.

I’m relieved to have more time to think (although I can’t be bothered to calculate exactly how much time), but at the same time, this romantic trans-Atlantic trip doesn’t bode well for my resolve to keep things strictly professional.

It kind of scares me. Obviously, I shouldn’t get attached because we have an expiration date. Once my work with the baby—Heath’s baby—is done, there's no reason for me to stick around anymore.

But it doesn’t make me want to turn on my heel and run away. On the contrary, it just makes me want to spend more time with Heath.

Looks like this going to be my challenge for many, many days throughout this strange arrangement of ours: try not to fall for my boss.

I’ve never failed one of my challenges, except for when I was trying to decide if I should sign Heath’s contract.

To be honest, these challenges have been getting easier for a while anyway, ever since I moved out of Vera’s, so maybe I’m overdue for a good one.

Heath Anders, I’ve decided. You’re my next challenge, and I’m not going to fail this one.

I’m going to let you have my body however you please, but my heart belongs to my fictional heroes. You’re just a stepping stone so I can introduce them to the world one day.

Kat

“Why have you been ignoring my phone calls, Kat?” Vera asks, her voice dripping with venom.

“I haven’t been ignoring you, Vera,” I say wearily into my phone as the big Anders Capital Management logo on top of the office building comes into view. I’m tired of the way Vera always assumes the worst of me. “I’ve just been busy with my new job.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just drop your responsibilities. You were supposed to look after Bruce yesterday afternoon.”

“I never agreed to do that.” I grit my teeth to stop myself from telling her to take care of her own child. He’s not my responsibility; he’s hers.

“You know I have Zumba class every Tuesday.”

“Yes, but I never actually said that I’d watch Bruce every single Tuesday,” I retort.

“After everything I’ve done for you, you can’t even do a little thing for me,” Vera says. “You’re just like your dad. Selfish and ungrateful.”

Oh God, I don’t want to listen to this speech again. “Vera, I’ll get someone to babysit Bruce next Tuesday, okay? I’ll find some high-school girl from Craigslist or something.”

“Who’s going to pay for that? You?” Vera asks, obviously expecting me to balk.

“Yes,” I say, running on the last iota of patience as I enter the building and wait by the elevators with a bunch of other office workers.

Vera pauses. “Since when did you have money?”

“It’s just one night of baby-sitting, Vera. It’s not like I’m taking anyone on a trip around the world,” I say, evading her question.

“You said you had a new job?” she asks.

“Yeah. I have to go now, Vera. I have to go to work. Bye.” I end the call before she can say anything else and step into the elevator that has arrived.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I walk up to Heath’s door and knock.

“Come in,” he says from behind the door.

Strange. I’ve done this many times before. I’ve knocked on this same door more times than I can remember, and I’ve always heard that same familiar response from Heath.

But it feels different today.

Because Heath’s made it clear that this morning, he’s cleared his schedule for me.

No, that’s not it. Not for me.

For his baby. The one that’s not yet born. The one we’re going to make.

A pang of jealousy stings my chest.

My whole life, neither my dad nor my step-mom has ever cleared their schedule for me—and they weren’t even close to being busy billionaires like Heath.

And now, even before our bab—shit, I mean his baby—is born, he’s already a better parent than those two.

Is Heath just exceptionally good at everything he does, or are my parents just exceptionally bad at everything they do?

“You look great today, kitten,” Heath says cheerfully.

He never used to make any comments regarding my appearance, but ever since we signed that contract, he’s been showering me with compliments.

And he calls me “kitten.” It’s kind of weird, but I also kind of like it. I don’t know.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

“Where?”

He gives me a look that says you should’ve known better than to ask.

“I know, I know. You’re not going to tell me. Because you’re all mysterious and unpredictable,” I say.

“Actually… I know this great breakfast place,” Heath says.

I surreptitiously let out a big, relieved exhale. I didn’t expect his plan to be so normal.

“Oh, I’ve already had breakfast. But I’ll go with you,” I say.

Maybe I’ll have an orange juice and just chat with him.

I don’t know why, because I want to jump Heath’s bones, and he’s incredibly attractive, but the thought of stripping naked in front of him, letting him see every part of me… It makes me feel vulnerable.

Other men have never made me feel this way. I don’t really have much casual sex, but I’m pretty good at separating sex from emotions. In fact, I often scoff when girls tell me they can’t “just have sex like men do,” because I do it all the time.

Or at least I did.

But now… I don’t know.

Heath turns off his computer and gets up from his chair. His gaze zeroes in on me—the exposed skin of my calves, the curves hidden underneath my usual blouse-and-pencil-skirt combo, and my face as I struggle to decide where to look. He’s making me forget how to act normal.

He smirks as his hot stare brands his desire onto my body.

Somehow, that doesn’t look like the kind of expression one puts on for breakfast…

* * *

“You said we were having breakfast.” I scamper down the carpeted hotel hallway to catch up with Heath.

“We are.” He maintains his easy stride. With his long legs, he doesn’t need to try to outpace me.

“Why are we going to a hotel room?” I glance at the plastic card in Heath’s hand. That’s a room key, right? He must’ve gotten it from the front desk downstairs.

“Haven’t you heard of room service?” Heath asks as he swipes the key card and the door beeps open. “After you,” he says with an exaggerated bow.

“Thank you.” I curtsy. I hear him chuckle as I walk past him into the hotel room. I ask again, “So, breakfast?”

The door swings shut behind us with an ominous click.

“You said you’d already had breakfast.” Heath’s footsteps get nearer, the rubber soles muffled by the thick carpet. “Did you maybe just have danger again for breakfast and that’s why you’re hungry now?”

I huff a small, nervous laugh. “Maybe.”

“Danger with a side of danger?”  

“Exactly.” I walk deeper into the room until I reach the big floor-to-ceiling window at the far end and touch the cold, hard glass with the pads of my fingers.

“What are you so afraid of?” Heath asks, his voice so close I can almost feel its vibrations.

“Nothing,” I say.

That's a lie. It’s not nothing. But I don’t know what it is either.

Without saying a word, Heath approaches from behind, his hard chest almost touching my back. I shudder from his nearness, and I hope he doesn’t notice.

He’s warm, and solid. He feels like safety. Like shelter on a rainy day—even if it’s a temporary one.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I lean back and close the gap between us.

Heath takes that as an invitation. His arms run up my sides and wrap around me.

A chill runs down my entire body as his breath lands on the back of my neck. With my hair up in a ponytail, Heath has full access to that sensitive part of my body.

When his lips graze my skin, soft and firm at the same time, a heavy sigh escapes my mouth. It only makes him kiss me harder, his tongue and teeth joining in on the assault on my receptive nerve endings.

As my sighs turn into moans, it becomes clear that Heath has no plans to stop any time soon.

I bite my lower lip to stop myself from making any more noises that would only urge Heath on. Then, I bite harder to distract myself from the sinful sensations shooting from my neck and straight to my center, making my whole being yearn for him.

“Heath,” I say, in an attempt to interrupt him. But my voice comes out raspy with arousal, and it sounds like a cry of passion.

“I told you I was going to make you say my name,” he whispers before he nibbles on my earlobe, sending another shudder down my spine.

I decide it takes too much effort to correct him, so I get to the point. “What about breakfast?”

“You’re my breakfast, kitten,” he says with a light chuckle as he drags his mouth over my shoulder, pushing the fabric of my blouse with his lips. His fingers deftly work on the buttons along the front of my blouse.

So he’s planned to do this, the entire time.

Heath pulls my blouse off and turns me around. He yanks me into a bruising kiss, his lips and tongue claiming my mouth. I can only open up and let him do as he pleases, while the pressure in my pussy grows stronger and more insistent.

There’s no going back from this. I’m starting to lose my mind, and I’m starting to forget why I need to keep things professional.

Maybe Heath’s right. Just because I’m also making money from this arrangement, doesn’t mean it can’t also be fun. Maybe I should allow myself to enjoy this.

Like Jane said, this is going to make for great dinner-party conversation material. I’m sure there are women out there who’d pay good money to know what Heath Anders is packing underneath his designer suits.

But I can’t even think anymore. Heath’s hands roam all over my hips, my tits, my ass… My mind is filled to the point of bursting with little explosions of pleasure.

I don’t even pay attention when my clothes fall to the carpeted floor one by one, until I’m standing without a thread on my body, while Heath descends to his knees, his lips trailing kisses down my cleavage, my abdomen, and my thighs.

My knees feel weak. My back and ass press back against the glass window. We’re on a high floor, but technically, anyone with a strong enough zoom lens can see me butt naked as the day I was born.

Except I’m doing something very adult right now. Or rather, very adult things are being done to me.

Heath parts my legs and drags his lips up my thighs. The world spins into an inconsequential blur. All that matters is how much closer he is to where I want him to be, where I need him to be—the part of me that’s throbbing in need right now, craving him.

“Heath,” I sigh as I reach down to touch his hair—his silky, luscious hair. I rest my palm on his head. “Should we…” My sentence hangs in the air as my words turn into a breathy moan. I try again. “Maybe we should move to the bed.”

“No, I’m good here.” He smirks as he parts my legs even further and wraps his arms around my thighs, making me lose even more balance.

I lean back against the glass—warm now from my body heat—and feel myself slide down to a point where my legs no longer supports me. Only Heath’s muscular arms and strong hands are keeping me upright.

“Heath, I…” I bite my lower lip as Heath’s lips grazes over my pussy lips, light as a feather. God. How do I even get a chance to think a complete thought?

“Yeah?” he asks in an innocent, casual tone before he goes back to torturing me, his lips only barely touching my folds, and his breath caressing the hyper-sensitive skin around them.

The pressure within me builds up to the point where I have to remind myself to breathe.

“Did you say something?” Heath asks with his lips still between my legs, sending little sparks of pleasure with every syllable he utters.

Before I can think of anything to say, Heath’s tongue swipes over my lower lips, and I can only gasp in surprise. After that slow tease, I didn’t expect him to do that.

“I guess you changed your mind and now you don’t want to move anymore, huh, kitten?” Heath asks before he dives back in.

He sucks my pussy lips into his mouth, where it’s impossibly warm and wet and… Ugh, I don’t even know how to describe this sensation. Yes, it’s warm and it’s wet, but that doesn’t do justice to just how head-explodingly good this feels. (Is that a word? Head-explodingly? If it's not, it should be.)

I’m melting. My insides have grown so hot that there’s nothing left to do but liquefy.

I don’t care anymore who’s looking at me from outside the hotel building, or whether my legs are strong enough to support my weight. I let go and rest my weight on Heath’s sturdy arms,

“You can move to the bed yourself if you want to, kitten,” Heath says. “I’m staying, though. But you’re free to go.”

Is he joking? As if I can walk away from this. Even talking has become a struggle. We both know I’m not going anywhere.

Even though Heath’s not restraining me with his hands, his mouth has imprisoned me. Now all I can focus on is his tongue going around my clit in tighter and tighter circles.

Before I know what I’m doing, I put my hand on his head and feel his little movements under my palm.

Heath Anders. The Wall Street genius who’s made a killing in the stock market with his bold moves. The billionaire who runs a big, successful hedge fund management company. That's the man kneeling between my legs right now, driving me insane.

My moans get louder as Heath’s skillful tongue plays with my clit, rubbing me mercilessly. The time for teasing is over, and he means business now.

Every little cell in my body thrums, waiting for Heath to deliver the final blow. My muscles tense.

And then, it comes. It starts with an explosion in my core, that spreads throughout my body, to the top of my head and the tips of my toes. Shudders rip through me, and I can only let go, trusting that Heath won’t let me fall.

As I come down from my climax, Heath props me up while I regulate my breathing and regain my balance.

“That was a delicious breakfast, kitten,” Heath says as he gets up and wipes my wetness from his face. “I need to get back to the office now, but you’re welcome to stay here for the rest of the day. You can spend the night, too, if you want to.”

“Oh… Umm… Thanks.” I can’t really think of anything better to say, which makes me feel dumb.

But then again, it’s not like I could’ve prepared myself for this situation by Googling “what to say to my boss after he randomly eats me out in a hotel” for suggestions.

I feel small and vulnerable after my violent orgasm. The fact that I’m naked only magnifies my feelings of self-consciousness.

Heath is still wearing his suit, jacket and all. Except for a few more creases at the knees, he appears perfectly respectable.

I, on the other hand… My forehead is dotted with sweat, my cheeks are flushed red, and my clothes are scattered all over the floor.

Before I can collect myself, Heath cracks open the door. “See you tomorrow, kitten.”

With that, he walks away, leaving me naked and dumbfounded in an unfamiliar, upscale hotel room.

Any notion that this is going to stay strictly a baby-for-money arrangement has evaporated.

I mean, what did that have to do with having a baby together? Unless I’ve been sorely misinformed, that’s not how it’s done.

And yet… I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy that. I did, immensely. And I’m already looking forward to more of that.

I don’t know how I’m going to feel after the baby’s born and things between Heath and me come to an end.

Maybe I’ll be fine with it. I’ll admit it’s difficult when Heath insists on being his charming self, and it turns out he’s a generous lover, too. That’s a lethal combination. But maybe I’m not as fragile as I am afraid.

Or maybe I’m just grasping for excuses to keep this crazy plan going, just because I haven’t had enough of him. Perhaps I’m ignoring a big warning sign. It could be a mistake to let my guard down and have a little fun with this arrangement.

But as I draw a hot bath in the luxurious en-suite, I realize none of the rationalizations I come up with matter. I’m doing this for reasons I don’t understand anymore.

It’s just like before, when Heath had me trapped in place even though he was only pressing his lips against my pussy. He’s cast a spell on me, and now I can’t muster up the will to walk away. I don’t even want to.

I dip my hand into the soothing, hot water in the tub.

Everything's going to be okay. After all, that was clearly about sex, right? And there's only one rule: don't fall in love.

Heath

Even though my marriage was a disaster, one thing I’m glad to have done was adjust my schedule so I had some kind of work-life balance.

After the divorce, it would’ve been easy for me to fall back into old patterns and start overworking myself again. But I knew it wouldn't have been the healthiest thing for me to do, so I resisted the pull to stay at my desk past office hours.

Work can be an all-consuming distraction if I let it.

I can tune out the world when I’m analyzing financial statements and market movements, until all I see are the facts and figures, and non-logical things are forgotten.

There’s always more work to do. It never ends when you’re the one running the business. You can always take on more projects, hire more people, and expand the operations.

Unlike other addictions, workaholism is socially rewarded. People who work to the point of obsession tend to be good at what they do. And the more they do it, the more they get: money, women, gemstones, yachts, fast cars, and the list goes on indefinitely.

If you’re good enough at what you do, you can buy whatever you want.

But I’ve already bought all the toys I’ve ever wanted. The only thing I don’t have is a family of my own.

Once, I thought I was finally going to have it all. A wife and a few kids would’ve made my life complete.

Instead, Melanie had to shit all over my dreams.

I still can’t believe I missed all the signs that she was just a common gold digger. Looking back, she didn't exactly hide the fact that she wasn't wife material.

All those birthdays when she demanded diamond jewelry. All those dinners when she went for the most expensive items on the menu, every single time. All those times she took the private jet for shopping trips all over the world, leaving me stranded without any means to travel for my work—which, by the way, was the very thing funding her expensive lifestyle.

But she didn’t care. What Melanie wanted, Melanie got. Even if I had to skip important meetings and miss out on multi-million deals because of her.

When we finally got divorced, even with the big settlement she received, she still tried to drain our bank accounts and max out our joint credit cards, knowing I’d be on the hook for them too. Luckily, I had a great team of lawyers watching my back.

It sounds obvious now that she was just using me, but at the time I couldn’t see it.

There were times when she wasn’t completely self-centered, and I stupidly kept her in my life for those rare moments. And then, she left me as soon as our marriage made it to three years, which was when she’d get the big pay-out, according to our pre-nup.

Yeah, I know, it was fucked up. I was a dumbass.

But I’m more angry at myself than I am at Melanie. I was unbelievably stupid. I actually thought she loved me. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Want to know what the truth is?

It took me a while to accept that I’m always going to be a target. With my wealth and my business profits publicized in the papers all the time, it’s almost like someone’s painted a target on my back.

It’s not like I can complain, though. All that publicity is good for business—necessary for business, even.

So despite my annoyance at how nosy people can be, I grin and bear it. It’s just a shitty part of my otherwise great job. Everybody has at least one of those, right?

But as much as I like my job, I’ve already made the decision to work less and live more. I know that's the healthy thing to do, wife or no wife.

It's not always easy to stick to it, though, especially right after the divorce.

Even going to the gym meant that I was staring at a blank wall while I was running on the treadmill or lifting weights. Sometimes I had a screen to stare at, which was only a small consolation. It would invariably show shit like fashion shows, or celebrity gossip, or some stupid movie that I’d already seen in the cinema with Melanie.

I tried to pick up reading, but the books I picked were invariably related to my job, and the whole point was to spend less time working. Besides, the authors of those books probably weren’t making as much money as I was, so why should I care about what they were saying?

No. I needed some human interaction in order to distract myself.

So I started spending more time with my parents. And I continue to do that until now, two years after the divorce.

I press the doorbell and stand on the porch while I wait for Mom to open the door.

“I got you some wine.” I hold up the three bottles by their slender necks.

Mom takes one of the bottles off my hands, obviously worried I’d drop them on the smooth, wooden planks of the porch floor.

“I’ve never seen this brand before.” Mom rotates the bottle in her hands. She pulls down her reading glasses from their perch on top of her head, causing a few strands of her hair to fall over her forehead. Her mouth moves as she examines the writing. “It’s all in French.”

“I bought it in France. Of course it’s in French.” I push the door open wider and slip inside.

Mom closes the door behind her and follows me inside. “Another business trip?”

“No.” I spot Dad sprawled out on the recliner in front of the TV. “Hey, Dad. You’re taking the doctor’s advice to rest up seriously, I see.” I take a seat on one of the couches and place the wine bottles on the coffee table.

“Oh, don’t even get me started,” Mom says as she enters the spacious living room. “He tried to trim the grass yesterday. I had to threaten him, saying I’d sell the lawn mower if he’d as much as touch it. I don't think there's anyone else in the world who gets that excited thinking about getting to fix stuff around the house again after recovering from a serious illness.”

Dad grins at me. “You know what it’s like. Staying still is making me antsy. I feel like a sick person.”

“You are a sick person,” Mom admonishes him.

“Yeah, but I don’t have to feel sick, do I?” Dad counters.

“Try it and see how sick you feel after five minutes outside. You heard what the doctor said. You need a lot of rest.”

“Don’t look at me,” I say when Dad glances at me for support. “I’m not going to go against the doctors and Mom, too. I love you, Dad, but as Meatloaf would say… I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that.”

“Look at what Heath got us,” Mom says as she offers Dad the bottle.

Like Mom did, Dad puts on his reading glasses and checks out the label. Except he recognizes the name of the vineyard.

“I didn’t know they imported their stuff,” he says with a frown, his eyes fixated on the label as if he can’t quite believe he’s holding what he’s holding. “I’ve been looking for this wine everywhere.”

“I know. Mom told me you were planning to visit the winery.” I stop myself from saying “after you retire,” because Dad hasn’t been working for a few days, and I know he’s bummed out about that. He doesn’t say it, but he’s probably worried he won’t ever get well enough to to go back to work.

We all know Dad’s probably dying. Sure, there’s the drug trial, but it’s unlikely to work.

Like a fourth person in the room, Death sits close by as we chat. He’s listening, waiting for the right time to strike. Strangely, it makes our gathering feel less private, knowing at any time we might need to invite a horde of paramedics into our living room.

Still, we don’t talk about it—the very real probability of Dad dying.

Maybe we’re afraid to tempt fate if we talk about it. Or maybe we know there’s nothing we can do about it and we’d rather try to enjoy what little time we have.

“Where did you get this wine from?” Dad says, still inspecting the bottle like he’s a detective and there’s a clue on it that he needs to solve a murder. I can almost see the hunting cap on his head and the smoking pipe hanging between his lips.

“From the South of France,” I say.

My parents can’t go there themselves because of Dad’s illness, but at least they can enjoy the wine.

“Another business trip?” he asks.

“Yeah, Dad. I had business in that sleepy rural town. The biggest grocery store in town was considering an IPO,” I answer sarcastically with a big grin.

“Smart-ass,” Dad says, chuckling. He coughs, and Mom rubs his back with a look of concern on her face. when he settles down, he says, “Thanks for the wine, but you didn’t have to do that.”

A few years ago, Dad would’ve started lecturing me on the value of money whenever I spent in a way that he saw as “reckless.” These days, he’s mellowed out. I wonder if he simply knows I won’t listen anyway, or if he’s just getting old.

“Ready for lunch?” I ask.

It takes a while to get everyone seated in the car, even with the wheelchair I got for Dad. But soon we arrive at their favorite neighborhood restaurant, an Italian joint we’ve been frequenting for as long as I can remember. As usual, Mom orders the spaghetti carbonara, while Dad asks for the pepperoni pizza. I’m getting the best fucking chicken linguini in the whole world; I swear not even Rome has better pasta.

The food is good, the wine is even better than my parents expected, and by all accounts, it's as pleasant as a lunch can be, when one of us is dying.

And then the paparazzi appear.

As we walk out of the restaurant, a swarm of reporters crowd us, shoving microphones in our faces.

“Mom, take Dad to the car,” I say as I let go of the push handles. I lift my hand up to get the reporters’ attention and let them gather around me. “My dad is sick, so I’d appreciate it if you guys could leave my parents out of it. I don’t have much time because they’re waiting for me, but I can answer a couple of questions before I go. Quick ones.”

“Have you heard about the price of the Petro stock shooting up?” asks one reporter.

Shit. That’s bad news. I have a big short in that stock, and I’d lose a fortune if the price keeps going up.

But that can wait until I get back to the office. There’s not much I can do from here anyway.

“We are aware, of course, and we’re already coming up with strategies to face that.” It’s not a complete lie. I’m sure the people at the office have got it covered. I only hire the cream of the crop. That’s why my business is so successful.

“Heath, we’ve noticed a woman walking into a downtown hotel with you. Who is she?” a female reporter asks. Judging by her question, she’s probably from a gossip tabloid.

They always seem to have a photographer or two following me around, and even more when something happens with my investments because they know I’m going to appear in a lot of mainstream media and they want to capture some of that interest, too.

A tabloid is not the kind of publication I usually pay attention to. Under normal circumstances, I’d ignore this woman. I don’t care what people think about me as a person. All that matters is they see me as a competent, successful investor whom they can trust with their wealth.

But this is different.

I was supposed to keep things with Kat under wraps. My plan was to tell my parents about the baby after Kat leaves, without giving them much information beyond the fact that the baby's mine.

I don’t want them trying to find Kat and coaxing her to have a relationship with the kid. No, I know better than to get entangled with a woman now, especially when it comes to sharing something with one—like money, a private jet, or a baby.

So I don’t want anything to be traced back to Kat at all. Letting her forge a relationship with the kid means creating a vulnerable spot that she can use as a weapon.

She seems nice now, but who knows what time will do to her? In ten years, or twenty-five years, she could become desperate or plain greedy. And then what’s going to stop her from blackmailing me?

Nothing. That’s what.

So Kat absolutely has to disappear when the baby doesn’t need her anymore. When that happens, I won't have any need for her either. And ideally, neither the baby or I will ever hear from her again.

The pang of reluctance in my chest surprises me. But I’m not straying from my original plan. I know what happens when I put my hopes in a woman, and I’m not going to repeat that mistake again.

“She’s just someone who works for me,” I answer the reporter. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my parents are waiting for me. Thank you.”

Kat

“Are you at the subway station yet?” Even over the phone, Heath’s voice carries the same gravitas as it usually does. This is a man who knows what he wants and always gets it.

“Yes.” I keep my voice small as I speak into the microphone built into my earphones. I’m worried the other commuters are going to hear me.

Luckily, it’s past the morning rush hour. I’m joined by a bunch of tourists, college students, and old people on the platform. A three-man band is playing an upbeat song on their wind instruments.

I usually like to watch people whenever there’s music playing in public places. I like to see everybody syncing up to the rhythm as they walk past. But right now, I can't focus on anything except the voice in my ears.

“Good,” Heath says with wickedness dripping from this one innocuous word.

I gasp as the little toy inside me starts to vibrate. It’s a low buzz, slow and quiet, but it sends a jolt through my entire body.

I know Heath is holding the controller right now and listening to my every breath, and the thought drives me crazy with arousal. Wetness leaks out of me and pools in my panties.

When I got to the office this morning, Heath told me to go back home because he has a ton of work today.

I was just about to protest when he pulled me close, gave me a hot kiss, and slipped his hand into my panties. By the time I felt something cold and plastic being pushed into my pussy, I was already panting and grabbing onto his hard biceps.

The toy is long and cylindrical, and it’s lodged inside me, kept in place by my panties. The part of the toy that sticks out of me lies flat against my lips and stimulates my clit.

A strong wind blows through the tunnel, and I shudder as I realize the train’s coming. I’m not cold. I’m just worried I’m going to come, too.

“That sounds like the train,” Heath says on the phone.

“It is.” I bite my lower lip to stifle a moan.

Considering all the weird stuff that happens every day in subway stations and trains all over the city, a woman wearing a vibrator and coming while surrounded by commuters wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows. But I would rather raise none.

Yet I’m doing this. It’s not even a part of our agreement that I have to follow all his sexual demands. But this is not about the agreement anymore.

There’s just something about Heath. I can’t explain it, but he gets me so hot and bothered that I’d do anything for a release.

It’s the way he looks at me. The way he talks to me.

“Get on the train,” Heath commands.

“I need to wait for the next one to get home,” I say, my voice shaking with concentration.

Just talking is a struggle because if I’m not careful I’m going to sound breathy and raspy, and it would become too obvious to the people around me that something strange is happening with me. I’d turn more heads than Sally when she met Harry and faked an orgasm over their meal at that diner.

“I said get on this train,” Heath repeats. “I told you to go home, but I didn’t say when, did I?”

“No,” I admit.

“And the agreement also says that your hours are nine to five until you get pregnant and move in with me.”

A part of me wants to tell him the agreement doesn’t say anything about sexual acts that won’t result in pregnancy. But another part of me doesn't care; it's throbbing and dripping with arousal, willing to do anything as long as Heath dangles a sexy payoff at the finish line.

So I get on the train.

I walk slowly. My legs feel weak, and I know at any time Heath could turn up the intensity of the vibrations and make this even harder for me.

I pick one of the empty orange seats lining the sides of the subway car. When my ass lands on the hard, plastic surface, it pushes the vibrator deeper inside me. I look down to hide my face as my breathing gets heavier.

“Okay. I’m sitting down,” I say, panting into the phone. I know he’s listening. He can probably tell by my voice that I’m already close.

“Good,”  Heath says. “Are you wet?”

“Yes.”

“I wish I could be there to watch you. I’d sit right across from you and just watch you squirm in your seat. And if it weren’t for these fucking meetings, I’d take you somewhere quiet so I can do even more. I bet you're completely drenched right now.”

My core clenches around the toy inside me as I imagine Heath spearing into me. I can’t wait.

“I still remember how you writhed for me last week, kitten. Just thinking about how sweet you tasted and how wet you must be right now…” Heath lets out a sexy groan that makes me want to grind myself against my seat.

But I’m an adult with self-control, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself. So I listen with frustration to Heath’s dirty words, tensing all my muscles so I won’t make strange movements in my state of extreme arousal.

“I hope there’s a something for you to hold on to, kitten,” Heath says, “because this is going to be one bumpy ride.”

I cast my glance around me. If I move three seats to the right, there’s a pole I can grab. But I’d be sitting right next to the door, through which people walk in and out of the train.

So I keep my gaze down and grab the edge of my seat with both hands. My knuckles turn white as the vibrations in my pussy grows and grows until a shudder rips through me.

“Did you just come?” Heath asks. No doubt he notices a change in my breathing.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

I sigh with relief as the vibrations dissipate. As I come down from my climax, heat washes over my body, probably as much from the orgasm as from the embarrassment.

“That was unbelievably hot. You’ve made me hard as stone, kitten. I can’t wait for tomorrow,” Heath says before he ends the call.

I have to get off at the next station and make a long detour to finally reach home. Along the way, I keep expecting the vibrator to suddenly start moving again, but it turns out Heath is pretty busy with his meetings.

I wonder when he’s going to finally fuck me.

Technically, if we just keep doing this forever and never actually make a baby, there’s no end date to this arrangement.

Or is there? I can’t remember exactly how things are worded in our contract.

I guess this is why I’m not a lawyer. Overly convoluted language turns me off. I much prefer the simple prose of romance novels, the kind that doesn’t get in the way of the story-telling.

As soon as I open the door to my apartment, I dash into the bathroom. I pull out the vibrator, which is coated with my slick juices, and clean myself up.

When I’m done, I head to the living room and plop down on our cheap Ikea sofa. It’s just long enough to accommodate my 5’6” height. I lie down and stretch.

It’s noon. It’s going to be another six hours until Jane gets home. Even though I’m home early compared to my normal work day, I’m exhausted.

I guess my next challenge to myself is: don’t move from this sofa until Jane gets home. Yes, that’s realistic, achievable, and measurable. All signs of a good goal.

I reach my hand out onto the coffee table and grab a random magazine from Jane’s usual pile.

Hmm… Celebs Magazine. Not a bad pick for a lazy read, I guess…

Oh, are Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie getting back together? No way!

I impatiently flip open the magazine, looking for the cover story. But before I can find it, I see something that makes my blood run cold.

What the hell…?

Is that… Heath?

And is that… me?

No way…

Jane would’ve told me… right?

Jane buys a ton of magazines, and sometimes she just leaves them piling up on the coffee table for days until she finally reads them all, in one go. So it’s possible she hasn’t seen it yet.

But that’s not what’s important here.

There’s no mistaking Heath’s broad, solid body underneath that designer business suit, or his steely blue eyes, or his wicked, arrogant smirk.

And he’s a regular in the media, so I’m not surprised to see his pictures here, except I think I recognize the woman beside him, too. And I think there's a chance she could possibly be… me.

Jane says pencil skirts make my ass look good. Now that I’m finally looking at pictures of myself from behind, I have to thank her for making me buy a bunch of them when I got this office job.

I recognize the white lace one that I wore when we went to France. I recognize my pink blouse, too. And my blonde hair in a simple, practical bun.

This photo was taken at the airport, when we were about to board our flight. Heath’s arm wraps possessively around my waist, his strong hand looking large on my narrow waist. Beside Heath’s imposing frame, I look small and delicate.

I skim through the article. It contains quotes from “a close friend of the couple” and “an onlooker.” Just an all-round excellent piece of journalism.

My heart races as I keep reading, expecting to read my name whenever I move down to the next line of words. The article also mentions a “reported sighting” at a local hotel, although there are no pictures of that—thank God. And there’s no mention of my name at all.

I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief when I reach the last paragraph, where I read a sentence that jumps out of the page and stabs me in the heart.

“She’s just someone who works for me.” That’s what Heath said about me.

Yep. It says “Heath” right there. Not a “trusted source.”

He said that. I’m just someone who works for him.

I mean, he's not wrong. Heath has every right to say that. I do work for him.

What confuses me is… Why would it hurt to know that’s what he thinks about me?

This was just supposed to be about an exchange. Baby for money. Okay, so the “baby” part hasn’t happened yet, but we’re getting to it.

My point is, this should not hurt my feelings. Because Heath and I were never about feelings—just sex. Oh, and the baby, too.

But maybe it’s not such a strange reaction… I mean, if Jane were to suddenly say that I’m just someone she lives with, I’d be hurt too. But that doesn’t mean I’m in love with her, right? It’s just that we’re a little more than that, and it hurts when that’s not acknowledged.

It’s not like Heath can acknowledge the actual nature of our relationship in public, though. Neither one of us needs that kind of attention. It would only hurt both our reputations.

I can't stop thinking about that sentence from Heath’s own mouth. “She’s just someone who works for me.” It keeps repeating again and again in my head. My mind even re-imagines it in Heath’s voice, so vividly it feels like I was there when he said it.

When Jane saw the magazine, she asked me questions and I gave her half-hearted answers. I tell her I don’t know anything, mostly, which is true. But I also don’t feel like talking about this with anyone.

I was going to keep this strictly business, and it seems like I’ve failed. But I can get this situation under control before anyone realizes it.

The next morning, I show up bright and early at my old desk, right in front of Heath’s office.

Another personal assistant is managing Heath’s appointments and all the other admin stuff now, but since Heath has told her that I’m only temporarily off duty to help him with a certain project, she remains at her old desk. My desk is empty.

As soon as Heath shows up, I follow him inside.

I won't make the mistake of entering his office without him again. The first and only time I did it, he ended up reading my dirty fantasies.

“You got here early, kitten,” Heath says as he walks into his office. “You miss me?”

I rip my gaze away from his cute butt and take my seat. This is no time to be thinking dirty thoughts. I need to have a serious talk with him.

But as Heath’s fingers unbuttons his suit before he sits down, I can’t help but imagine him removing more buttons until he’s naked before me, or him undoing my buttons and getting on top of me.

“Yesterday was hot as fuck,” Heath says as he leans forward in his chair and rests his hands on the desk between us.

Desire flashes in his eyes as his gaze caresses my hips and my tits. His jaw tightens as his stare gets more obscene. He smirks.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, sitting on the subway and coming for me, with people all around you,” he says. “I wanted to pick you up after work, but it was after five and that would’ve been against the agreement.”

The agreement. Right. That’s what I came here to talk about.

“Were you wet when you got home, kitten? Did you play with yourself?” Heath asks. “I was rock hard last night, and I thought of you when I—”

“I got home yesterday…” I cut him off before I get carried away by the filthy things he’s saying. I realize my voice sounds squeaky and I clear my throat. “I got home yesterday and I saw my pictures in a tabloid. Then I went online and saw more pictures of me—and you, together—on the celebrity gossip blogs.”

Heath doesn’t seem surprised. “I thought those were going to hit the newsstands soon.”

“So you admit you knew about this?” I ask. Of course I already know that he spoke with at least one reporter, but everybody says not to trust the tabloids.  

“I’ve been approached by some reporters,” he says calmly.

“And you didn’t think to let me know?”

Heath shrugs. “I have reporters asking me questions all the time. I had no idea you were expecting me to report every single encounter. Besides, I don’t think they know who you are.”

“But they have my pictures,” I say incredulously.

“Taken with a long lens from afar. That really can’t be helped, unless you want to live in hiding.” Heath pauses as he considers his own words. “Sometimes I forget that not everyone’s personal life is regularly offered up for public consumption. I’m sorry.”

I was ready with a counter-argument for his excuses. I was going to tell him that the agreement made it perfectly clear that my anonymity was to be protected.

But despite his ruthless reputation in destroying businesses he doesn’t like, Heath respects contracts once he’s signed them. From my short stint as his personal assistant, I know he goes to great lengths to meet his obligations.

“I should try harder to protect your privacy,” Heath continues. “We can just stay here in the office if you want. That means nobody will see us together outside.”

“That sounds good.” I was about to suggest the same thing as a solution myself, but it looks like I won’t have to.

“Or you can always move in with me sooner.” Heath traps my gaze as a lopsided smile curves on his lips. “How about tonight?”

Heath

“Umm… That’s probably not a good idea,” Kat says as she sits there, all pretty and tempting.

“Okay. It was just a suggestion.” I shrug.

I don’t know why I asked her to move in sooner. It’s a bad idea.

But maybe it has something to do with the fact that I stayed up just to jerk off to thoughts of Kat coming for me in the subway. How fucked up is that? I didn’t even look at one porn video.

“So we’re going to just stay in the office from now on?” she asks again.

“Sure. If that’s what it takes to give you peace of mind,” I say, projecting an air of calm and agreeableness.

Inwardly, I’m surprised that she doesn’t use this as a weapon to get more money out of me.

I guess I’ve been jaded by my dealings with Melanie.

Even though she’s gotten more money from the divorce than she could ever need, she still calls me from time to time, asking for more.

She makes all kinds of meaningless threats. Once, she said she was going to make a statement to the media about how I’d told her my business had been floundering, but of course that piece of “news” only got as far as the gossip tabloids. The serious publications probably asked her for proof and she couldn’t come up with shit, so that was the end of that.

I never pay attention to her anymore.

I’ve blocked her number and directed her to the legal department. Jeff can deal with her.. It pisses her off to no end that she can’t ruffle my feathers anymore—which, of course, means that it was the right move.

Another thing I did, which I’m proud of, was taking out the gold bars and the jewelry from the safety deposit box at the bank.

According to the branch manager, Melanie and her lawyer got there about half an hour before the bank even opened—I didn’t believe this until I saw the security footage myself because she was always late. To her, punctuality only mattered when money was involved, apparently.

She demanded the bank manager to open the door early for her, stomped inside as soon as he’d obliged, and then found only a note from me in the box.

It simply said, “He who is greedy is always in want—Horace.” Short, succinct, and eloquent, I thought.

Melanie didn’t appreciate it, but the bank manager got a chuckle from the piece of paper she crumpled up and threw on the floor of the vault.

I’m glad I’m done with her.

I don’t regret losing the money. I’ve learned an important lesson from my business. Sometimes you have to lose some today to avoid losing even more in the future.

What really riles me up, though, is the feeling that she’s made a fool out of me, that I was dumb enough to fall for her deception and lies.

Now, I have to avoid putting myself in that position again. Because if I keep doing the same things again and again, I’d just keep getting caught in the same mistake.

And that, as Grandpa Joe would say, is not how an Anders man handles things. An Anders man learns quickly and does what needs to be done.

If I get soft, I’d end up marrying ten wrong women and getting scammed by all ten. And then I’d retire in poverty, like Grandpa Joe.

What was I trying to pull, asking Kat to move in when it’s not yet necessary? I’m already straying from the script by… well, doing things that won’t result in a baby.

The problem is, the contract says that we won’t have sex once Kat gets pregnant, which seemed reasonable at the time. But once I get her naked, once I’m staring at her supple, delicious curves, I can’t help but want to worship her body. I want to draw it out, to take it slow, to burn every little taste to my memory.

Yes, I’ll admit it. I’m deliberately prolonging this because I want to have her body to myself for a while longer. I’ll hate myself if I fuck her once and she gets pregnant right away, preventing any encores.

But it’s time to man up. Grandpa Joe would’ve been proud of me for doing what I have to do.

But first… a little fun.

“Come here, kitten,” I say slowly.

She gets up and walks around the desk, her hips swaying with every delicious step. She doesn’t utter a word, but her lips are parted with desire, and her green eyes are darkened with want.

“Tell me what you want.” I lean back on my chair and stare at her. I make sure she knows I’m watching her every move.

“I want you to kiss me,” she says with a nervous smile.

I pat my hand on the surface of my desk and say, “Sit here.”

“Huh?” Kat eyes the pieces of paper strewn on the desk.

“You heard me. Get your sexy ass on the desk.”

Kat gently moves the pieces of paper aside before she daintily sits on the space she’s cleared.

“Lie down,” I say.

Apprehension and lust flash in her beautiful eyes. She opens her lips to protest, but she knows she’s going to enjoy whatever I’m about to do to her.

The corners of my lips tug up into a smile. “You didn’t say where you want me to kiss you.” I put my hands on her knees and slide them up her thighs, pushing up the hem of her skirt as I do.

“On the lips?” she asks. It’s funny how clearly her expression tells me that she doesn’t know what she wants anymore.

“No, kitten. Lie down and you’ll find out.” I push her down with my palm on her abdomen.

She relents when I put my lips on her inner thigh, letting my breath fall on her skin. With a sigh, she gives in and lies her back flat on the desk.

She’s not wearing panties today. Just as I told her. Fuck. This has just gotten a thousand degrees hotter.

I suck her petals into my mouth, I tease her opening, I lick up her wetness, and finally, I rub her clit with my tongue until she loses control of her own body. She’s so responsive, and I love watching her gasp for air and grow red in the face as she comes.

It makes me want to plunder her. Take her back to my cave. There's this primal, ancient instinct within me, roaring to the surface like it never has before.

I’ve been holding myself back, but I can’t do it anymore. I get up from my chair and position myself between her legs. I split her thighs wide open and start to fumble with my belt.

But before I can release the one-eyed snake in my pants, Kat props herself up on her elbow and puts her hand over mine. “It’s your turn to just sit back now,” she says with a naughty smile on her face.

Lying down on her back has messed up her tight bun, but I think she looks better this way, with looser hair and wet, blood-red lips. Sexy.

I can’t say “no” to that offer. I just can’t.

Sure, there’s a voice inside me that says, “Hey, man! What about the making-a-baby thing? Have you forgotten what we’re trying to do here?”

But that part of me is not in charge right now. No, the only thing in charge is the hard cock that’s straining the fabric of my pants right now.

Kat gets up onto her ass and hops down onto the floor. Her heels hit the tiles with sharp, staccato thuds.

With her palm, she pushes gently against my chest until I lean all the way back against my chair.

She stands between my legs and leans down, giving me an eyeful of her smooth, creamy tits as her blouse hangs down. She catches me looking and gives me a wicked grin. “My eyes are up here.”

“Yeah, but your tits are down there.” I return her grin.

Kat laughs softly and puts her lips over mine, her kiss soft and gentle. But before I let myself get lost in it, she lowers herself down to her knees and stares into my eyes as her graceful fingers unbuckle my belt and undoes my fly.

Her eyes widen when she pulls out my hard, throbbing cock. She looks up at me in surprise, and I give her a knowing look. I’ve had that reaction before. Many times before.

Without breaking eye contact, she grabs my cock. Her tongue darts up my shaft and she wraps her full lips around the head.

Damn. This is so not the kind of sex I thought I’d be having with my dry, prim-and-proper personal assistant.

If anyone had asked me what sex with her would be like, before I discovered her writing, I would’ve thought she was the kind of woman who’d meticulously track her cycles and only want to have sex when her mucus or whatever was in optimum condition.

But as she wraps her fingers around my cock and starts to bob up and down, I realize I’d judged her wrong. She has an incredibly sensual side that she doesn’t normally show. It feels like such a privilege to be able to see it.

And fuck, this is every man’s dream, to have a gorgeous girl service him at work. In a porn, Kat would be blowing me while a business client chats with me about the weather, or about the financial statement, and maybe he’d even join in. But this is real life—my real life, and I don’t share what’s mine. Including Kat.

I plan to fuck her against the desk. But every time it gets to be too much and I try to pull her off my cock, she just sucks me harder and takes me deeper. It doesn’t take long for this treatment to take me dangerously close to the edge.

I can feel cum boiling in my balls. I grab Kat’s hair—a messy, nest-like structure by now—and make a last, half-hearted attempt at stopping her. But as she did before, she just tightens her grip around the base of my shaft and swirls her tongue around the head of my cock, and I let go. I explode, shooting hot cum into her mouth and down her throat.

I know there’s no egg to fertilize there. I fucking know we're not getting any closer to having a baby.

It’s okay. I’ll let her win this round. That blowjob was worth the delay. I can wait another day for us to have sex.

But as the days go by, it becomes apparent that neither one of us wants to cross that line.

We have such explosive chemistry that it’s not hard to imagine Kat feels the same way I do. Obviously, we just fit. And when every single encounter feels like the pinnacle of human experience, it’s hard to do something to potentially put an end to that.

But time is ticking, and I don’t have much time. I need to end this dumb stand-off.

She said moving in was probably not a good idea, right? Which means that she just wanted me to convince her.

I knew it then, but I didn’t know what I wanted. Now I do. I want her not just in my house, but in my bed. I want her body available to me in the morning when I wake up, and at night before I go to sleep.

She just needs a little persuasion. And I’m a master of persuasion. You don’t have a chance, kitten.

Kat

“Every contract can be renegotiated,” Heath says, across the desk from me.

“Yes.” I nod, although I have no idea what he’s talking about. But I know he’s getting somewhere, and it’s probably best to just play along.

“We obviously have a situation here,” he says. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Not a clue.”

Heath raises an eyebrow. “Okay…” He pauses. “There’s nothing about the contract that you want to discuss?”

“No.”

“There’s one clause in the contract that basically says that sex stops after you get pregnant.” Heath watches my expression as I start to understand what he’s saying. He smirks. “I have a problem with that clause. What about you?”

“Well… I remember that clause, but I didn’t think it was going to matter,” I say.

Heath seems taken aback. “Why was that?”

Despite the fact that Heath obviously also wants to keep having sex with me after I get pregnant, I feel vulnerable having to admit this to him.

“I just thought we’d keep doing it for as long as it feels good,” I say softly. I pause for a moment and add, “I hear pregnancy makes you really horny.”

Heath bursts out laughing. His blue eyes sparkle as lines appear on his skin.

God, he looks so gorgeous when he’s like this. I’m seeing a side of him that I didn’t see before we entered this agreement, and it makes him appear a hundred times more attractive to me. And he was already irresistible before.

“Yes,” Heath says with a big grin stretching from ear to ear as he gets up and stalks around the desk to approach me, “I have heard about pregnancy hormones making women horny, too. And of course I’ll be happy to help you with that.”

“Uh… Thank you?”

Heath chuckles. “You’re very welcome.” He stands to the right of my chair and leans down, supporting himself with his hands on my armrest. “Then, kitten, if that’s not a problem, why have you insisted on finishing me with your mouth?”

Heat creeps up my neck and fills my face. I bet I look like a boiled crab right now.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Heath says, “I love having your pretty lips wrapped around my cock. Some nights when I’m at home, I jerk myself off to the memory of you staring up at me with my hard cock stretching your mouth.”

Heath’s words only fan the fire in my core. I can’t help but think about Heath with his fist shuttling up and down his thick shaft, fantasizing about me. God, that would be a sight to remember.

“I love it when you swallow every last drop of my cum. You always look like you enjoy it,” Heath says.

“I do enjoy it.” I don’t usually like giving blowjobs, but with Heath, it's different.

Firstly, he has the perfect cock. I know, I know. There’s no such thing as the perfect cock because every one of them is a special snowflake. But Heath has the One True Snowflake. One Snowflake to Rule Them All. I start to wonder what movie that's from, but it doesn't matter. I was about to describe the perfect cock.

It’s big, thick, and hard as rock. The velvety skin, the spongy head, the bulging veins along the shaft… It’s the perfect specimen.

And the noises he makes… Jesus, those grunts and groans. They haunt my nights and force my hand down my panties as my pussy aches for him in the darkness.

Looks like we both suffer at night when we’re apart. Maybe his idea to move in together isn’t so bad. I’m going to do it eventually anyway, as soon as I get pregnant. So what’s the difference if we do it now?

Heath leans closer and levels his gaze at me, looking straight into my eyes like he’s trying to read me. “I’m happy to hear that you enjoy it, kitten, because I do too. But tell me one thing, why haven’t we fucked yet?”

“Oh. I… Uh… I was waiting for you to… Umm…” I stammer.

“You were waiting for me to ask you, just like this?” Heath asks.

“No,” I say. This is hardly the sexiest way to initiate sex.

“Because when you were sucking my dick and I pulled you away, you just did it harder and made me come. Care to explain?” Heath gazes deeply into my eyes, searching for answers. “Do you maybe want to back out? Have you changed your mind about having the baby? Because I need to know if you have.”

“No,” I answer quickly. “I haven’t changed my mind. I’m not backing out.”

If anything, I’m looking forward to experiencing the magic of pregnancy and labor. I can’t wait to see what a baby that’s half Heath and half me would look like.

“Then what’s wrong?” he asks again.

“Nothing.” I raise my gaze to meet his. “I just… I wanted you to... make me.”

Surprise registers in Heath’s sculpted features. His blue eyes widen and his thick eyebrows jump up, but soon he gets over it and his lips curl up into a sexy, hungry smile.

That’s the predator I’ve been waiting for. I knew he was holding back, and I wanted him to unleash his primal desires on me.

Without saying a word, Heath circles my chair. As he moves his hand along my armrest, his fingers graze my arm and my shoulder.

From behind me, Heath bends forward until his lips are almost touching my earlobe. I can feel his hot breath on my neck, and it sends goosebumps all over my skin.

“I thought you said you weren’t like the submissive girl in your story?” Heath whispers.

“I didn’t think I was. But maybe I am, just a little bit.”

I feel a huff of hot air on the back of my neck as Heath chuckles. He drags his lips across my skin, waking up my nerve endings with a heavy dose of pure pleasure.

Then, just like in my story, Heath says, “You’re in trouble now, kitten.”

What happens now? I haven’t begun writing the next part of the story.

Heath grabs the hair on the back of my head and turns me around to kiss him. His free hand travels down my front, undoing my buttons one by one. He grabs my tits roughly before he takes off my bra.

With one hand pulling my hair and the other one pinching my nipple, Heath says, “Get on your knees, kitten.”

The marble tiles feel hard and cold under my knees, but that’s not where I’m paying attention. I watch, rapt, as Heath unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants.

“Pinch your own nipples,” he says.

I’m still wearing my pencil skirt, and I’m only naked above my waist. For some reason, this feels more indecent than being completely naked.

My boss is standing in his business suit, fully clothed, except for the open fly and the perfect cock jutting out through the opening. And I’m on my knees in my disheveled office wear. It feels pornographic.

Heath looks down at me and watches as he strokes his hard cock. His other hand rests on my head, guiding me forward. “Open your mouth,” he says, almost growling.

I swallow and part my lips. With my fingers on my own nipples, I can’t hold on to Heath’s thighs or push him away if it gets to be too much.

This feels like such a submissive act, and I’ve never done anything like this. But there’s something about Heath that make me crave being dominated. I know he can give me what I need, and so far he’s proving me right.

Heath presses the head of his cock against my lips. A clear glob of pre-cum has gathered at the tip, and I dart out my tongue to take a lick at the thick, salty liquid.

“Fuck,” Heath curses, his voice hoarse with lust.

That’s the kind of noise that will fuel my midnight fantasies. My core clenches as arousal drips out of me.

“So you want me to be more forceful with you, huh, kitten?” Heath asks.

I look up at him and nod, letting my lips slide up and down his shaft as I do, taking him in deeper into my mouth.

“Be careful what you wish for.” Heath grabs my hair and slides his hard cock inside. He thrusts in and out of me. His shaft gets slicker as it gets coated by my saliva.

I let Heath control the depth and the speed, while I just stay there on my knees as his cock saws in and out of my mouth.

He’s using me, and that’s exactly the way I like it. The way his cock twitches against the inside of my mouth… It drives me crazy, knowing that I’m driving him crazy. I can feel his pulse with my tongue.

As usual, when Heath gets close to coming, he pulls away. I start to suck him harder, but he knows I want to be overpowered today.

He pulls me by the hair before I get a chance to make him spill his seed on my tongue.

“Get up,” he says, his voice low and dark.

My legs are weak from having been on my knees, but I obey.

“Get naked. I want to see all of you,” he says, his gaze roaming all over my curves, searing his desire into my flesh.

Under his watchful eyes, I reach behind me and unzip my skirt. I let it fall to the floor, then pull my panties down, too.

My face grows hot as Heath stares at me like he owns me. His gaze lingers at my chest, which is rising up and down with my every breath. Then he shifts his attention to the juncture of my legs, where some wetness has escaped.

Heath pushes me against the wall and gets down on the floor. Before I realize what he’s doing, he runs his tongue over my wet folds, making me gasp. With every lick, arousal grows inside of me.

“You taste so good, kitten, but it’s time for my cock to get in there,” Heath says.

He gets up to his full height and corners me, his sturdy body blocking me and his hands on the wall caging me in.

“I’m going to fuck you hard and put a baby in you,” Heath says with a lopsided smile.

In one smooth move, he grabs my thigh and pulls it up against his side, then he bends his knees slightly so his cock is right at my opening.

I’m so slick he only has to push gently to glide inside me. I gasp as he enters me, his gaze trapping mine as his thrust takes my breath away. My lips part with desire and I look up at him, begging him for more with my eyes.

But he tortures me, keeping his movements slow and giving me just a tiny bit more of him every time he pushes into me. Heath just smirks as I push my hips forward, offering more of myself to him. I bite my lower lip and whimper in frustration.

“Heath, please…” I say breathlessly.

“What do you want, kitten?” Heath asks. “Please what?”

“Please…” My sentence hangs in the air as I interrupt myself with a moan.

“Say it clearly,” he says as he pulls out of me again, slowly, agonizingly.

“Please, Heath…” I look into his eyes, but I realize he’s going to make me say it. “Please fuck me.”

“Say you’re begging me,” he says, clearly enjoying this. His blue eyes darken dangerously.

“I’m begging you. Please fuck me,” I say between pants.

Heath smiles and stares at my face as he slowly pushes back into me. But this time, he doesn’t stop halfway through. He spears balls-deep inside me, stretching the walls of my pussy and impaling me with his cock.

He’s bottomed out. Good. I’m filled to the brim. Any bigger and he’d tear me into two. Like I said, it's the perfect cock.

I let out a moan, and Heath puts his hand over my mouth. “Be quiet, kitten. People may hear you if you get too loud.”

I bite my lower lip until it hurts, until I suppress the urge to scream. But Jesus, the way his cock strokes my insides… His cock rubs deliciously against the sensitive spots in my pussy. I don’t know if that’s my G-spot or if the G-spot is even real, but right now my whole pussy feels like one big erogenous zone.

I’m already close to coming from all the teasing and the build-up. I’ve been waiting for Heath to take control of my body, and now that he has, it feels even better than I could ever imagine.

Heath watches intently as I start to shudder, my pussy muscles clenching around his cock. “That’s right, kitten. Come. Come on my cock. Cream yourself all over me.” He picks up his speed and starts to fuck me harder, sending me over the edge.

At the edge of my consciousness, I realize Heath is coming, too. He grabs my hips tightly and pulls me onto his cock, even as he slams into me. Every thrust is urgent. The need for release overpowers everything else.

“Come inside me, Heath,” I moan. My body shakes involuntarily.

Heath goes into overdrive at my words, his fingers digging into my flesh almost painfully. He fucks me with abandon, chasing his own peak. He grunts as he unleashes with one deafening blow. His breathing is erratic as he explodes inside my soaked pussy.

Heath tenses and grinds against me before he comes down from his climax. Then, gently, he pulls me into his arms and leans his forehead against the wall. “Fuck, kitten, that was amazing,” he says.

“I know,” I say, just as blown away by him.

“Move in with me?” he asks.

“Okay,” I say, without thinking twice.

“Tonight?”

“I’ll go home and pack now.”

“I’ll pick you up at the end of the day.”

Kat

“Tell me what he’s like, in bed,” Jane says excitedly on the other end of the line. “I still can't believe you didn't jump him earlier, by the way. I wouldn’t have waited for the ink to dry on that contract.”

“I don’t know. He’s good, I guess,” I say into my phone.

I was okay with giving Jane all the sordid details in the beginning. But ever since I moved into Heath’s apartment, I’ve been holding back on the deets.

I don’t know why. I’d never had any problems telling Jane all about my conquests previously, but somehow this feels different.

Maybe it’s because Heath’s famous and this could be a huge scandal if the story got out. But that’s not it. I trust Jane to keep this a secret.

I just feel like… Heath has such a public persona that strangers know lots of little things about him—things that I don’t even know about him. So when I learn something about him that only I know… I kind of want to keep it to myself.

“That’s all?” Jane asks. “Come on. Dish.”

“I can’t talk now, Jane. I just got a good idea for my story and I want to write the next part now, before it gets away from me. My challenge of the day is to write four thousand words.”

“Wow, that’s a lot.”

I'm failing at my other challenge, which is to remain indifferent to Heath, so I need to step my game up some other way to make up for it.

“I know,” I say. “I should go now. Thanks for the bank account details, by the way. I’ll set up some kind of an automatic payment schedule so you’ll get my portion of the rent every month.”

“Thanks, Kat. I hope I’ll find a new roommate soon so you won’t have to keep doing that. I’m really not looking forward to it, though. You’re, like, the best roommate ever. I know it's temporary and I haven’t even met the candidates yet, but I’m already disappointed in my new roommate.”

I laugh. “I’m sure you’ll find someone nice, Jane. Miss your face!” I say before I hang up.

Sorry, Jane, but Heath’s the best roommate ever.

Don’t get me wrong. Jane is great. I lived with her for years, and I had no complaints. I’d move in with her again in a heartbeat.

But she’s no Heath.

Apart from the fact that Heath lets me stay in his outrageously spacious penthouse apartment with views of the New York City skyline rent-free, he also has impossibly high cheekbones and a jaw that has been chiseled by the gods themselves.

With looks like that, he can get away with anything. Seriously. When he looks at me with those sharp blue eyes, I forget everything and as if hypnotized, I nod along to anything he says.

And let’s not forget the fact that he’s been fucking me the way I’ve always wanted to be fucked, the way no man has ever fucked me before. I don’t know how I’ll ever go back to normal, vanilla sex after Heath.

After only a couple of weeks, I’ve already made myself at home in this apartment. I like it here, and that's not just because it’s a nice place, but also because it's Heath’s place. His scent permeates the space, marking everything within the apartment as his. I wonder if I have that same scent on me, too.

I know it’s still a long way away, because I’ll still be here through the nine months of pregnancy and the first few months after that for breastfeeding, but I’m starting to dread going back home to live with Jane again.

Yes, I prefer Heath’s company to my own best friend’s.

It’s strange. I don’t know Heath as well as I know Jane, simply because of the length of time I’ve known them.

But with Heath, it’s like I’m a hungry black hole. Every little thing about him—down to the brand of shampoo he uses—is interesting. I can’t help my curiosity. And every little thing that I learn about him only fuels my desire for more.

Like right now.

Heath’s just told me why we had to buy that particular wine from the south of France. His dad has a brain tumor and, even though he’d gone under the knife to get rid of it, it came back and now it doesn’t look like it’s going away. He’d always wanted to try this wine so Heath got it for him, in case he’d never make it to the south of France himself.

I thought rich people didn’t have problems, but I guess I was wrong. Some things can’t be solved with money.

I wrap the soft knit blanket tighter around my shoulders. It’s warm because it’s the middle of summer, but the wind is pretty strong up here, among the tall buildings. The blue in the sky is deepening into a pretty purple.

“So did they like the wine?” I ask, changing the subject from Heath’s dad’s illness to something a little happier.

“Yeah,” he says. “My dad has always been into wines, so a good bottle is always a safe choice for his gift.”

I smile. “They’re lucky to have you as their son.”

“I’m lucky to have them as my parents, too,” Heath says.

I’ve come to enjoy our conversations. Every night, I’m sitting up here, either going through the catalogs of successful romance authors, or working on my own manuscript. And each night, Heath finds me here and tells me about his visit to see his parents.

He does that every day after work, which I think is really sweet of him. I wish I had someone like him in my family, someone who’d show me that level of concern.

“What about your family?” he asks.

“I told you. I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Come on,” he says, giving me a smile as he twists his body on the couch we’re sharing so he’s facing me. “I told you about mine. It’s your turn to tell me about yours.”

“We never agreed on that,” I retort.

“With a little more practice, you’d make a mean negotiator, kitten,” he says with a chuckle. As the colors in the sky deepen, Heath’s pupils dilate, darkening his blue eyes. He says, “But I happen to be pretty good, too. How about you tell me just one thing about them? It can be anything.”

I let out a sigh. I know he’s not just going to let this go. He can be like a dog with a bone sometimes. But a part of me is happy that he’s as curious about me as I am about him, even though my life is evidently a lot more ordinary than his.

“My dad was an author. Is. I don’t know,” I say finally, staring out into the distance, at the glossy, tall buildings with glass surfaces that reflect the weakening glow in the sky.

Even though we’re all the way up here, I feel like we’re in a secret garden because of the lush shrubbery growing in big pots placed all over this outdoor deck. I feel like whatever I say here will remain here.

“You don’t know if your dad still writes?” Heath asks.

“I don’t even know if he’s still alive.” I catch the look of pity in Heath’s eyes and, before he can say “sorry,” I decide to tell him something happy. “He used to read me bedtime stories. When I started writing my own fairy tales, he gave me critiques and suggestions. We had a lot of fun writing stories together.” I pause. “We said we were going to do a father-daughter book tour together.”

“When was that?”

“I don't know. For as long as I can remember, we’d always made up stories together. Up until the night he disappeared, when he said he was just going out to the convenience store. In reality, he’d probably found a new girlfriend.” I laugh wearily to myself.

“I’m sorry he’s not around,” Heath says.

“I don’t need your pity. I’m doing fine without him,” I say, deliberately leaving out the part about me hoping my dad would find me once I’m a successful author because I know it sounds crazy.

“Of course you are,” Heath says, to my surprise. “You’re smart, capable, and independent. You can take care of yourself.”

I grow quiet and then I tell him, “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“Really?” Heath asks.

“Yeah.”

“You mean you don't know you have a special talent for keeping shit under control?”

I wince as an unpleasant memory invades my mind. “My step-mom, she used to blame me for everything that went wrong. It took me a while to realize she was wrong, and I’m still trying to convince myself every day.”

Heath doesn’t say anything, but he scoots closer to me on the couch and slings his arm around my shoulders.

I shut my mouth when I realize how much I’m telling him. I didn’t mean to say all those things, but this place—or maybe this man—makes me feel like it’s time to share the secret, because my burden has been heavy and I’ve finally found someone to share it with.

“I said I don't want your pity,” I repeat curtly.

“It's not pity, kitten.”

“I must seem pathetic from your point of view. It really sounds like you have the perfect family.”

“You can't choose the family you're born into. I got lucky with my parents. Some people aren't as lucky.” He smiles wryly. “It's more embarrassing to fuck up the family you choose for yourself.”

“You're talking about your marriage?” My heart beats rapidly as I perk my ears up to listen. I’ve been curious about this, and not just because it was such a high-profile divorce. Now I want to know about it because it’s something that happened to Heath, and I want to know everything there is to know about him.

This is exactly the kind of juicy insider info Jane and her friends would be interested in. But I can't tell her, and I haven't been telling her much lately.

Heath has been opening himself up to me and letting himself be vulnerable. I can't break his trust in me.

“Yeah,” he says. “I really thought we were going to make it. But looking back now, I realize there were some warning signs that I failed to notice. So this failure, I can't blame it on fate or someone else.”

“Whoever says you're a failure is crazy, and you're out of your mind too if you believe that,” I say.

Heath chuckles as he wraps his other arm around me and pulls me against his chest. “You're the crazy one for thinking anyone suspects you can't handle life on your own.”

“Maybe we're both crazy.” I nuzzle into his chest. The fabric of his business suit feels soft on my cheek.

“Evidently,” Heath says as he kisses my temple. “No sane person would be doing what we're doing.”

“On the other hand, if we pull this off, nobody will ever find out about it, so people would still think it hasn't ever been done,” I say, suddenly feeling like we're partners in crime.

“That's true. Maybe millions of people have done this and nobody knows,” Heath says as his hands start to move down from my shoulders and caress my sides, brushing against my breast and settling on my waist. “But I bet not too many people have had sex on the deck of a New York City penthouse.”

The corners of my lips tug up into a smile. I know where this conversation is going, and I like it. “It would be pretty cool to be a baby who's conceived on the deck of a New York City penthouse.”

I think about adding a line about how the kid could boast about it in private school, but I bite my tongue. It's just too sad to imagine the kid growing up and Heath moving on without me.

I’ve been trying to pretend that won't happen, even though I know full well that it will. But maybe if I don't think about it, I can convince myself otherwise and go on to lead a somewhat normal life as a romance author.  

I should be excited about that new life, but as sadness washes over me, I can't not admit that I’ve let myself get carried away.

As Heath leans me down until I’m lying flat on the couch, I push all those thoughts away.

I won't have him forever. Our time is limited. I should make it count.

Heath wedges his knees between my legs, forcing them apart, pushing himself against me like he wants to climb inside me. He doesn't know he's already penetrated my armor and seeped through my skin.

It's going to hurt when this is over, when the time comes for me to yank him out of me. But everything ends, right? It's just a matter of time.

I loved having my dad around when I was younger, until he left.

I had no choice but to stick with Vera, until I finally gathered up the courage to leave.

Living with Jane had been great, until I left. Maybe I’ll end up moving back in with her, maybe I won't.

But my point is, everything in life has an expiration date. I just have to make my peace with that, otherwise it would be impossible to enjoy anything life has to offer.

And so, I open myself up to his fingers, welcoming the present pleasure and the pain that's sure to come in the future.

“You’re so wet,” he says, half groaning with urgency.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.” I give him a flirty smile.

“I thought you were going to work today?”

“Yeah. I was writing down what we did in your office.”

“Oh, Sarah and Mr. Jones got laid?” Heath asks.

I can't believe he remembers the names of my characters.

I start to laugh, but it turns into a sharp gasp when he pushes his fingers inside me and explores the most intimate part of me. His knows what he's looking for, and he knows he's found it when my body tenses. He watches me with this look of satisfaction that says he enjoys driving me crazy with arousal.

I can't wait anymore. I reach down and feel for his cock. It's already rock hard. I feel a spark of feminine pride, knowing he's getting hard for me.

“Heath, please…” I beg as my back arches. “I need you.”

“Fuck,” he curses. “You're unbelievably hot.”

I guide him to my center, and he pushes inside. It doesn't take long for him to find the same spot he stroked with his fingers earlier. As the pressure inside me builds to the point of trembling, Heath’s every thrust grows more insistent and less refined. When he grips my hips hard, I know he's close. His cock gets slightly bigger and harder inside me as his movements grow jerky.

“Put a baby in me,” I say before a white-hot explosion of pleasure overtakes us both.

Yeah. This wouldn't have happened with my previous roommate.

Heath

“Thank you, Bob. I really appreciate it.” I get up to shake the man’s hand. He’s the CEO of a big publishing house and we’ve just signed a contract for me to manage his portfolio. But that’s not what we’re talking about now.

I do favors for people all the time so they’ll do the same for me when I need them. I’m calling in one of those favors now, but this time I’m not doing it for my business.

“Honestly, it’s no problem at all,” Bob says. “All I did was forward your email. She likes the manuscript.”

“I’m sure the fact that the CEO himself asked her to do it also factored in her decision.” I give Bob a smile as we both make our way toward the door of my office.

“It probably did,” Bob says with a shrug and a genial smile. Laugh lines appear in his face and blend in with his wrinkles.

I like Bob. I don’t often see laid-back guys like him become CEOs, but the guy is just so damn likeable, I can see people working extra hard for him just because he’s asked nicely. His secret to success is probably something fucking snuggly, like treating his employees well.

“So, I’m guessing this emerging author is someone special to you, then?” Bob asks with a cheeky raise of his eyebrows as we stop by the door.

“She’s a friend.” I give Bob a diplomatic smile.

“Ah, friend. I see.” Bob winks. “You know, when my wife and I first met, she told her friend I was just a fling. Forty years later, she’s still with me. Pretty good for a fling, huh?”

I can’t help but grin. I don’t doubt that a young Bob could charm any woman he wanted into all kinds of things.

“If this friend is the reason you’ve been so happy lately, you should keep her around,” Bob says.

“Really, she’s just a friend.”

“And I’m just your client. But I’m also an old man who knows a thing or two about being in love. You’ve been zoning out a lot during our meetings lately. And smiling to yourself, too. I know the symptoms.” Bob pauses. “When you asked me to personally request a meeting with Miss Laura Love, that was my confirmation. You’re sick, son.”

My heartbeat grows faster as I realize that I’ve made a mistake. I thought Bob was far enough removed from the situation for me to ask for his help. But he’s nothing if not perceptive. Now I’ll always wonder if Bob knows the identity of the mother of my future child.

“You’ve got it wrong, Bob.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone,” Bob says quickly, as if he can read my mind. “I just like it when love stories have happy endings, especially if I have a hand in making romance happen. I just couldn’t help giving you some advice. My wife makes me happy, I like you, and people I like deserve to have that kind of happiness too.”

He seems so certain, it’s probably not a good idea to protest and try to convince him that I’m not lovesick. I simply say, “Thank you, Bob. I like you, too.” Which is true.

“It’s a pleasure to do business with you, Heath,” Bob says before he strolls out of my office, whistling.

Whatever that guy’s on, I want it. But I don’t think I’ll ever be that happy—I’ll never stroll and whistle in an office after a business meeting.

If anyone knows the secret to happiness, it’s probably Bob. But could he be right? Am I in love with Kat?

This is not the time to be thinking about that. I have a job to do now. An unpleasant one.

Come to think of it, my work day is quickly filling up with Kat-related things. She’s been living with me for almost one month now, and before I realize it, she’s invaded all parts of my life. I even make a little detour to get her stuff when I pick up some groceries.

I was pretty good at keeping my work at the office and not bringing it home when I was with Melanie. But now, I’m failing at keeping my personal life at home and not bringing it to the office. This has never happened before. Even a client has noticed. I really need to do better.

But first, there’s another thing I need take care of.

“Hello,” Jeff answers his phone.

“Jeff, come to my office now.” I was in a good mood before, but as soon as hear this motherfucker’s voice, I want to punch something.

“There’s no update from the legal department today,” he says.

“It’s not about that. I need to see you about something else. Now.” I hang up.

I stew in my chair as I wait for Jeff to reach my office.

How much time does it take to take the elevator and go two floors up? My fists itch to meet his face. But violence has never been my style. It causes more problems than it’s worth.

No, I’m going to hit Jeff where it really hurts: his bank account.

“Heath, you wanted to see me?” Jeff says as he cracks the door open.

“That’s what I said.”

He looks nervous. He twitches more than he usually does, and his face is even paler than usual—more green than white. Maybe he knows something is up.

Or maybe he’s finally realizing how deep the fucking hole he’s dug for himself is. Because I’m going to kick him in there screaming, “This is Sparta!” like Leonidas in 300.

I throw the magazine on my desk. It slides over the smooth wooden surface until it stops right in front of Jeff. He gulps, almost audibly.

Yeah, you know you’ve fucked up.

“Does that look familiar?” I ask him.

Sure, it does. Hell, it looks fucking familiar to me.

The garish pink “Celebs” across the top of the cover. The big, yellow headlines. The pictures of trashy people in heavy makeup. And then, there’s me—and Kat.

This is just one of the many magazines that display our pictures on their loud, gaudy pages. But the pictures are the same. They were taken at the airport.

Many people saw us zooming past them on the caddy that day, but these were apparently taken with a professional zoom lens from a staff-only area of the airport. In other words, these were taken by paparazzi, who had expected us at exactly that spot at that particular time.

Someone must’ve leaked the details about my flight to the media. After some sleuthing, I learned that it was Jeff.

“If that magazine doesn’t jog your memory, maybe this will help.” I turn my computer monitor to face Jeff so he can see the pictures he’s taken of Kat, in and around the office. “You’re a fucking creep, Jeff.”

At my words, his gaze snaps from my monitor to my face. Good. He’s been silent for long enough. I want to hear what he has to say. This should be good.

“Yeah? I’m the creep?” Jeff asks. “You’re the one who’s got a fucked up contract with her.”

The fucking nerve on this guy.

“Everything between Kat and me is consensual. She entered the contract out of her own free will,” I say calmly, keeping my simmering anger under the lid.

Jeff shakes his head slowly. “Kat wouldn’t do that to me. You must’ve made her.”

She wouldn’t do that to him? What the fuck…?

“Get help, man. You don’t even know her,” I say. “And what you did, taking her pictures without her knowledge, could be considered workplace harassment. And you know we don’t tolerate that.”

“Fuck harassment. What about how you lured her into your trap?” Jeff asks.

Okay, something is seriously wrong with this guy.

“You’re delusional.” I wish I saw that before I asked him to draft the contract between Kat and me. “I was going to ask you some questions, but I know everything I need to know now. Obviously, there’s some mental issue you need to see a professional about.”

“You need to let her go,” Jeff says.

“I’m not keeping her against her will,” I say. “Now, Rita is waiting for you at HR. I suggest you—”

“You need to let her go,” Jeff repeats, louder this time.

“What part of ‘consensual’ don’t you understand?”

“You’re going to pay for this, for what you’re doing to her,” he says.

Jesus, it’s like he doesn’t even hear me.

“If you care so much about her, why did you let the paparazzi take her pictures? At the very least, you could've taken the pictures yourself and put fucking black bars over her face before you send them to the media. But you don't have the balls,” I say, unable to hold myself back any longer. “She was really upset about her anonymity being compromised.”

“Bullshit!” Jeff screams, becoming completely unhinged now. “If people don’t see her face, how are they going to be able to rescue her? You’re just afraid that she’s going to gather up the courage to leave you.”

Fuck, he’s just not listening to me, and his narrative is sounding stranger by the second.

I’m starting to feel sorry for the man. He seems to genuinely think that Kat’s in danger.

But at the same time, he’s becoming agitated and I’m worried he could become violent. I press the hidden button on the underside of my desk to call security personnel.

“I’m telling you, Jeff, things are not how you think they are,” I say calmly as I clasp my hands together under the desk.

“Of course you’d say that, you fucking asshole!” Jeff yells.

“Look, I’m sorry I have to do this, but you need to leave, okay? I’m not sure you’re in any condition to stay any longer. Skip the trip to HR and go straight home. Once you’re there, I suggest you call a shrink and make an appointment. You need help.”

As two burly security guys in all-black uniform appear in the doorway, Jeff twists to glance at them. He then stares me in the eye and says, “I swear I’m going to make you pay for this.”

“Please take him away,” I say to the security guys, ignoring Jeff’s threat. What’s he going to do? Tell the paparazzi to take even more pictures of me?

Once he’s gone, I call HR to let them know what’s happened. They’ll remove Jeff’s name from the list of active employees and put him on a blacklist. He won’t find another job at a company of this caliber ever again.

I’m sure I’ve done the right thing, but it bothers me.

I’m sorry to see Jeff go. He used to be a brilliant lawyer. I don’t know what’s happened to him. Maybe he’s always been unstable, but he used to be good at hiding it, until Kat apparently triggered something within him.

I can’t blame a guy for going crazy over her, though. She’s something else.

And I can’t blame anyone for wanting to protect that strong beauty who seems perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

I know that doesn’t seem to make sense at first glance, but the very fact that she’s so independent makes me want her to rely on me, to share some of her burden with me. That would feel like such a privilege. She wouldn’t trust just any man with that kind of responsibility.

Hell, that girl can make a bad habit look good. I used to hate it when she bit her cheek. But now, every time she does that, usually while she's concentrating on writing her novel… I just die. It's like my heart crumbles and my lungs collapse for a second.

...

Ah, fuck.

Now I’ve gone and done it. The very thing I said I wouldn’t do.

It just took me a long time to realize it, so long that even Bob saw it first.

Kat

“I love this latest installment of your story. Things are really heating up between Sarah and Mr. Jones. Rawr! <3”

I smile to myself as I read the e-mail from Laura Love, my favorite romance author. She’s been on the New York Times bestsellers list so many times nobody's keeping track anymore. And she's been nice enough to critique my manuscript.

I still can’t quite believe that we’re friends now. Ever since we went on that first coffee date that Heath arranged, we’ve been staying in touch. She even lets me read her unfinished, unpublished manuscript!

The romance fan inside me is still freaking out, while the author in me is trying her best to keep her cool so I can at least glean some knowledge from her.

Laura told me that Bob, the CEO of Core Publishing, had sent her an email one day, asking her to read my manuscript if she had the time.

She gets multiple such emails every week, mostly from her fans. But since this was from the CEO, even though she didn’t have to read the manuscript, her curiosity was piqued.

At first Laura intended to hate-read it because, in her own words, “If the CEO recommended you, you were probably some spoiled brat who’d graduated college with an English degree and thought that meant you could write. I expected it to be bad. But then suddenly I’d finished the first chapter and I hadn’t seen anything bad. So I read another chapter, and then another, and then before I knew it, I’d stayed up the whole night to finish it.”

Those words are some of the best things my ears have had the pleasure of hearing.

Laura’s given me a lot of great feedback about plotting and pacing. I’ve read a lot of books on fiction writing, so I get the general idea. But it’s so much better to have a professional analyze my work and point out my weak points.

Now I see where I’ve been going wrong and why I’ve been getting rejected. Going forward, I’m confident I’ll hear back from some publishers, even if I didn’t have Heath’s connections—not that I want to forgo them. I’ve had disadvantages thrown in my path my whole life. It’s about time I get to be the one enjoying some unfair competitive advantage.

But in a way, Laura counts as one of Heath’s connections too, doesn’t she?

Really, I owe my progress to Heath.

He gives me the time and freedom I need to write. He introduces me to a kick-ass mentor.

He does filthy things to me that I write into my sex scenes, which are now a thousand degrees hotter than they used to be.

But it’s not just about career progression and hot sex.

He takes note of the brands of toiletries that I use and when they’re running low, he always remembers to stock up before I run out. This has saved me mid-lather a couple of times.

I know it’s a stupid little thing, but when I was living with Vera, I had to be the one keeping track of everything in the house or we’d have to go without.

I was expected to always keep some essentials in stock, even though Vera never gave me any money for the soaps, the milk, the eggs, or any of the other things I had to purchase. I had to use the money I’d earned from my shitty, minimum-wage waitressing job at a run-down diner.

And as if that's not enough, Heath also fired Jeff as soon as he found out who had been responsible for the media leak. I guess he partly did it for himself because he was in those pictures with me, too.

But the way he talked about it, it felt like he’d done it for my sake, because Jeff had risked my anonymity. No one had ever defended me like that before.

And when he got to the point of the story where the IT team found a hidden folder in his computer containing pictures of me, I could swear he sounded jealous.

It feels like things have been different since last week, when Heath came home after firing Jeff.

I like the new Heath. He’s more attentive and more affectionate.

But that also makes it hard for me to separate my emotions from this arrangement.

Whenever I leave the apartment—always separately from Heath to avoid the cameras—it’s like there’s an elastic rope tugging at me, trying to snap me back home, and the further away I go, the stronger it tries to pull me back.

I think about Heath constantly. When I’m writing, I imagine him as the hero in my story. And then as I think about the story throughout the day, I ponder Heath’s personality traits, his strengths and weaknesses, how he would react in certain fictional situations…

Heath is the air I breathe. At first I thought it was just because we had been spending a lot of time together. But now, I realize it’s probably also because something of him has become embedded within me, and it’s growing inside me. What I’m saying is, maybe I’m feeling this way because my pregnancy hormones are masquerading as genuine emotions.

“What is it?” Heath’s voice yanks me back to the living room, where he’s just joined me on the couch after changing into his comfortable sweatpants and faded, old T-shirt.

“Huh?” I ask, still half-dazed.

“You said you wanted to tell me something.”

“Right.” I give Heath a smile, while internally freaking out. Do I already have pregnancy brain?

“Did you just want me close? Because you could’ve just said that.” Heath grins as he scoots closer on the couch until his arm is slung around my shoulders. He pecks me on the cheek.

Sweatpants. Lame jokes. Chaste pecks. Chilling on the couch on a quiet night together.

We’re acting more like an old couple than two people in a strictly-business arrangement.

“Heath, I’m pregnant,” I blurt out before I overthink things.

Heath’s grin disappears. His blue eyes widen and his jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

“Is that such a surprise? This is exactly what we’ve been trying to accomplish. You really shouldn’t be surprised.” I nudge him gently with a smile. “I wouldn’t joke about this. I’m really preggo.”

Heath stares at me with a flat expression I can’t read.

“Heath,” I say, “you haven’t changed your mind or anything, right?”

“No, of course not,” Heath says quickly. “I’m just… I didn’t think it would happen so soon, and so easily.”

“Well, apparently we’re both pretty fertile.” I shrug.

Heath grimaces. “It’s weird to use the word ‘fertile’ to describe people, but I’m going to let that slide for now. How did you find out?”

“I used the test stick and it came out positive. Then I tried three more sticks to be sure—” I pause to enjoy the suspense “—and they were all positive.”

“Oh, wow. Oh my God. Fuck.” Heath lets out a string of random words containing curses and appeals to the divine. “I’m going to be a father!”

“Yeah.” I give him a wry smile.

That’s right. He’s going to be a father. I won’t be in the picture at all. Thanks for reminding me, Heath.

This pregnancy just means that the date for me to move out is drawing closer. I’ll live here for nine months, then I’ll give birth to the baby, and then I’ll breastfeed it, and then… I’ll leave.

I’ll have given birth to a baby—my baby—and I’ll probably have fallen in love with him or her, just like I’ve fallen for his or her father.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Heath asks with concern in his eyes. Gone is the  big grin that was on his gorgeous face, only moments ago.

“Huh?” It’s hard to speak. It’s like my lips have been glued together, and my throat has been blocked.

“Are you okay, kitten?” Heath puts his hand on my cheek and rubs his thumb on my skin.

As dampness streams down my face, I realize I’m crying.

“Why are you crying? We’re going to be parents,” he says in a soothing voice.

“No, you’re going to be a father,” I say, forcing my voice through the lump in my throat. I can’t keep this bottled up inside me any longer. “I’m going to be a stranger—to both the baby and to you.”

“No, kitten. Please don’t cry. Like I told you before, everything can be renegotiated,” Heath says as he brushes stray hair off my face and caresses my damp cheek.

“Is this… something you want to renegotiate?” I ask in a voice interrupted by sobs. I think about the terms of the contract. “What are we talking about? Like, your consent to let me and the kid email each other, some kind of a visitation schedule, or what?”

“Maybe renegotiation is the wrong word for it.”

I look at Heath expectantly as my shoulders continue to shake. I want to hear this. If there’s some way to stay in the kid’s life—and in Heath’s life—I want it. I don’t even care if the kid will know how we’re related. He can call me Aunt Kat for all I care.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a few days, kitten. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I wanted to be sure.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I knew you were troubled, but I held back. It’s just that… You didn’t do anything wrong. But I’ve been burned before and I just wanted to be sure, because this is something I’d sworn I was never going to do even again in my life.”

“What are you talking about?” I repeat, my heart thumping loudly in my chest.

“I guess I’m just going to say it.” Heath takes a long breath and stares deep into my eyes. “I love you, Kat. I don’t want a fucking business arrangement. I thought that was what I needed, but I was wrong.”

I just stare at him with my jaw slack and my mouth open.

“I want the whole package with you. I want a relationship. I want a family. Maybe even a wedding, if you want one. Anything you want, I’ll do. For you.”

For a few intense seconds, neither one of us says anything. We just watch each other, studying each other, searching for truth.

“Are you sure?” I ask when I finally find my voice. My tears have stopped falling down my face. I can’t quite believe what Heath has just said, but hope starts to take root in my heart. “This is all so sudden, Heath. Are you sure you’re not just saying that to stop my crying?” I huff a small laugh. “Look, I’m not crying anymore. Just give it to me straight.”

“I mean it,” Heath says, sincerity in his eyes. There’s no doubt about it—he’s telling the truth. “I love you,” he says.

“Are you sure it’s not just you sensing my pregnancy hormones?” I bite the inside of my cheek as I consider the situation.

“I don’t know what it is. But I fall for you every time you do that little cheek-biting thing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a bad habit you need to stop, but I just find you so damn adorable when you do that. My heart just squeezes and I want to kiss you.”

“So kiss me.”

“Give me an answer first. I love you, kitten. What do you have to say to that?” Heath asks, his voice soft and vulnerable. His eyes fixate on my face as he observes every little micro-expression I make.

“I love you, too,” I say. And just like that, a heavy burden is lifted. A secret is shared. “But are you sure it’s not just because I’m pregnant?”

“I’ve been thinking about having this talk with you for days, and I still haven’t figured everything out. But I think I love you, and you just said you love me back. And you’re living in my apartment, carrying my baby. It seems pretty obvious what we should do here, don’t you think?” Heath asks, leveling his gaze at me.

I take a deep breath and strengthen my resolve. “Yes. We should give this a chance. This baby deserves the best family he or she can have.”

“It’s not just for the baby,” Heath says as he leans closer and finally lands a gentle kiss on my lips. “It’s for me, too. And hopefully for you, as well.”

“Yeah,” I say as I close my eyes and let Heath make me forget everything with his sinful lips, his skillful hands, and that beautiful cock between his strong thighs.

Kat

“I can tell he likes you,” Heath’s dad, David, says as he takes a sip of the wine we got him, from the local liquor store this time.

“What gave it away? My giant belly?” I grin. At four months, my belly is hardly giant, but you can definitely tell that there’s a bun baking in the oven.

“I’m an old-fashioned man. I don’t know anything about pregnancy. Back in my days, that was women's business.” As David gives me a cheeky smile, the sparkle in his blue eyes reminds me of Heath.

By that, to be more specific, he means pregnancy was Martha’s business. Heath's mom is whipping up some dessert. I can hear the clangs of pots and pans in the kitchen. I feel useless just sitting here twiddling my thumbs, but Martha insists she doesn’t need my help.

She looked gutted when she realized she was missing an important ingredient, so Heath offered to go out and buy it.

I love how Heath treats his family. Every time he refills his dad’s glass of water, I tear up. I keep thinking about us being old and grey, with kids of our own. I’d die happy if our kids treated us like he treats his parents.

I wanted to go with Heath to the store, but David asked me to stay and—hell, I can’t say “no” to the future grandfather of my unborn child, can I? Especially when he also happens to be terminally ill.

So it’s just David and me now, chilling in their living room—David in his recliner, and me on the sofa across the coffee table from him.

“It’s the wine,” David says as he lifts up his glass, disturbing the red wine inside.

“What about the wine?”

“This is good wine.”

“I know. I have good taste in wine,” I say, grinning.

“Bullshit,” he says, waving his pale, frail hand dismissively.

I widen my eyes, channeling a picture of innocence. “What are you talking about?”

“This wine has Heath written all over it. You’re lying to me, young lady. But now I know the truth.” David’s lips form a lopsided smile, not unlike Heath’s, and he says, “He picked the wine, didn’t he? And he told you to lie to me.”

I let out a big exhale and raise my hands in defeat. “You got me.”

“I may not know anything about pregnancy, but I know my wines. And this wine has strong undertones of my-son’s-helping-a-girl-impress-me.”

Something rises up my throat and escapes through my eyes as tears. God, this pregnancy… I’m so damn emotional lately.

“Dad, why did you make her cry? What did you do to her?” Heath says loudly as he enters the room. He joins me on the couch, wraps his arm around my shoulders, and wipes my tears away with his warm, gentle fingers. He grins at David. “Just kidding. I know how easily she cries these days. The smallest things set her off.”

“You don’t have to tell me about it. When your mother was pregnant with you, I had to sneak out of the house just to breathe at a normal volume.”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about pregnancy,” I say.

David raises his eyebrows. “Shots fired.” He looks at Heath and says, “I can see why you like this one.”

“So really, what did he do?” Heath asks me.

“He, uh, said you like me,” I say in a small voice.

Heath bursts out laughing. “How could you, Dad?”

“Looks like everyone’s having fun,” Martha says as she brings a tray out and places it on the coffee table. On the tray are little brown squares with white cream and bits of kiwis and strawberries on top. “These are baked wonton wrappers with yogurt and fruits. Strange combination, I know. But I’ve been trying to cook healthier and they taste pretty good together.”

Martha picks up one of the little squares and feeds it to David.

“This is better than just ‘pretty good,’ dear,” David says.

I give Heath a look. Your parents are adorable!

Heath gives me a strange smile that I can’t decode.

It’s only much later, after many more dinners with his parents, do I learn the truth.

When I’m thirty weeks pregnant, Heath tells me something that I never would’ve guessed about his parents.

We’ve just had a lovely dinner together, as a family. Man, I just love the fact that I can say the word “family” and feel good about it these days.

We say our goodbyes at the door of Martha and David’s house, then Heath and I step out into the cold, winter night. The sky is bright red, and snow covers the ground.

I hold on to Heath’s arm for balance as I waddle. It’s hard to worry about being graceful with a giant bump on my belly.

“Your parents are wonderful,” I say for probably the hundredth time.

“My parents…” The corners of Heath’s lips tug up—there’s that strange smile again. “Things haven’t always been this way with my parents.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They used to… When I was little, they were separated,” Heath says.

“It’s hard for me to imagine that. They look so happy together.”

“Yeah. The separation lasted three years. They couldn’t stay apart for long. It was stupid.”

“How old were you?” I ask, sensing the hint of pain in Heath’s voice.

“About seven,” Heath says, not offering more information.

“Did you live with your mom, or your dad? Or did they continue to live together?”

“I lived with my Grandpa Joe. My dad’s dad.” Heath lets out a sigh. “I guess my parents had me too young. They had to drop everything and become adults. Eventually, they cracked under pressure, I guess.”

“Heath!” I hear Martha call from behind us. I twist to see her waving something in the air—something black and familiar. “You left your scarf.”

Heath looks at his mom, then he turns to me. Handing me his car keys, he says, “It’s cold. You’d better get inside the car first. This could take a while. My mom can be really chatty.”

As Heath strides briskly back to the porch that we just left, I blow on my hands, trying to keep them warm. I press the button to unlock Heath’s car doors, then I start to walk toward the black sedan, the top up now that it’s winter.

When I take my step, I realize something’s wrong. There’s no friction. My foot slips further, past the point where I can regain my balance. With my pregnant belly changing my center of gravity, it’s hard to correct my stance.

Just like in slow motion, I fall toward the ground. The grey cement slabs are covered by a thin veneer of slippery ice. I let out a shriek. From the corner of my eyes, I can see Heath looking my way.

And then, I hit the cold, hard ground. My whole body hurts. But what’s worse than that is, as the sound of Heath’s shoes pounding the sidewalk echo in the background, I feel something warm leak out of me and I see blood staining the crotch of my pants.

Kat

“Bed rest?” Jane asks from the other end of the line.

“That’s what I said.” I wrap my hand around the cup of warm, caffeine-free tea and raise it to my lips. I take a sip.

“Jesus, as if you weren't already getting enough rest. You were already stuck in that apartment all day,” Jane says. “What about me? I work, like, sixty hours a week. I need a doctor’s note so I can skip work and lie around in bed all day.”

“You think I want this? Jesus, I swear I’m dying of restlessness. I can’t even do laundry or go to the store,” I complain. “I read somewhere that bed rests aren’t even a good idea in a lot of cases. It could cause blood clots and reduce bone mass.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I researched it and found this scientific study. I showed Heath. I even saw another OB/GYN to get a second opinion. He said bed rest doesn’t have any proven benefits.” I let out an irritated sigh. “But Heath wouldn’t listen. He actually wants me to be horizontal 24/7, except for maybe about fifteen minutes a day.”

“You know, if you’d said that a few months ago, it would’ve sounded sexy. But now, with you practically incapacitated… I don’t know.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I’m not getting any either.”

“Damn.”

“I know. At least I can still write.”

“That’s really sweet of him, though, to insist on the bed rest and do everything for you. I never would’ve thought the ruthless Heath Anders to be such a softie.”

I giggle. “He’s only aggressive when it comes to his investments. With me and his parents? He’s super sweet. He wasn’t even mean when I was his personal assistant—just kind of distant.”

“I’m really happy this worked out for you, Kat. When you told me you were starting to catch the feels for him, I thought it was going to end in a disaster.”

“Yeah. You were all doom and gloom,” I say.

“You can’t blame me for that. You two had an agreement—a legal contract—detailing the rules of your relationship. You were supposed to be a service provider, and he was supposed to be a customer. It wasn’t meant to develop into a real relationship. I didn’t expect the two of you to get married and ride off into the sunset.”

“That’s true. But then again, what is marriage, if not just another legal contract?”

“That’s  also true,” Jane admits. “So now that the two of you are a legit couple and you’re having a baby together, are you getting married, too?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about it. But it just feels like a lot of things happening quickly, all at once. Maybe we should take it slow.”

“Says the pregnant woman, about her relationship with the unborn baby’s father.”

I laugh. What can I say? Jane has a point. Besides, if not for her phone calls, I’d have lost all contact with the outside world.

The days go by in a blissful blur.

Despite the bed rest, life doesn’t suck. And I can thank Heath for that. He’s been nice enough to handle all the chores, errands, and meals—he doesn’t do those things himself because he has to work, but he hires people to make sure I don’t have to lift a finger.

And even though one of the reasons I cited for moving in here was to be able to have sex during the horny months of my pregnancy, that’s not happening either. Heath is too scared of hurting me.

Or, in his own words, “I don’t want to put a dent in our baby’s head.”

Yep. Charming, I know.

I feel conflicted.

On one hand, Heath’s attentive care makes me feel loved. He treats me like I’m something precious, and I’ve never had that before.

On the other hand, I want to scream because I know all this fuss is not necessary. And I feel like one of those prime-cut cows who get fed premium grass and receive regular massages, just so it will taste good when they finally take it to the slaughterhouse.

Wait. Maybe that came out wrong.

Heath isn’t taking me to any slaughterhouse, of course. He wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. But it sometimes feels like he’s doing all those things not because he cares about me, but because he cares about the baby.

I know it’s stupid, but a part of me is still afraid that Heath’s only staying with me because I’m carrying his baby, that he’s going to leave me once this is all over. Which is dumb, of course. He’s taken me to see his family and everything. And I can feel the sincerity in his every word, in every little touch.

Then, I get the phone call. Jane calls me and I stupidly think we’re just about to have another easy chat together, when in fact bad news can come from anywhere.

“Where are you?” Jane asks.

“At the skate park, doing back flips.” I laugh. “Hello? Bed rest? Remem—”

“You need to turn on your TV. Channel Two. Now.” She sounds urgent. She doesn't even let me finish my sentence or laugh at my joke. Sure, it's not my best joke, but it's not that bad.

“Wow, you’re bossy today. PMS?” I ask as I lean forward in the couch and reach for the remote control on the coffee table. It sounds easy, but with a baby bump the size of a beach ball… it’s a feat of willpower and determination.

“What have you been doing today, that you don’t know about this?” Jane asks.

“About what? I’ve been writing. Didn’t I tell you, that’s the one thing I can still do?” I ask as I press the red button to turn on the TV. “Heath doesn’t even like it when I laze around on the couch like I’m doing right now, because he wants me to be in bed instead.”

Channel Two shows up on the TV and my jaw drops. “What the hell…?”

“I take it you’re watching it right now?” Jane asks.

“What is he doing?” I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

“Looks like he’s leaving,” Jane says. “That’s smart. I don’t think this is a good time for him to make a statement.”

“A statement about what?” I watch, dumbfounded, as I watch Heath make his way through the crowd of reporters on the TV screen. This looks like like big news.

“About you, and the baby,” Jane says, sympathy in her voice.

Heath

“Raunchy Account of Seduction in the Workplace by Heath Anders’ Ex-Assistant.”

I run my fingers through my hair as I stare at the title of the blog post on my big computer monitor—all the better to see my problem with.

The Internet is abuzz with activity, and TV stations, too. Soon, the magazines will catch up when they release their latest editions.

I just wonder what their headlines will be. How bad will they get?

The winner for the worst title ever goes to Exposé, a celebrity gossip TV show. The winning title: “Sexual Harassment Alive and Well in Wall Street.”

Yeah, I know it’s not as stupid as some of the other ones. It sounds serious and shit. That’s exactly why it’s the worst.

If a gossip show can come up with a title like that, I’m screwed as soon as mainstream newspapers get a sniff of this.

“Heath, we need to make a decision,” Angela says. She’s a veteran PR executive, who has handled multiple crises before. She looks tense, which is probably not a good sign. “If we stay quiet, it’ll be taken as an admission of guilt. It’ll look like you have something to hide.”

“I don’t know what else these people have on me, Angela. I swear I’m innocent, but they may have some dirt on me that they can use to hurt my reputation and credibility.”

Normally, I like my office. But today it feels like the walls are closing in on me, even though this place is just the same as ever.

“If you’re innocent, it’s best to come clean,” she says, across the desk from me. “Be honest and just put a positive spin on things. Have the girl make a statement that there’s no sexual harassment going on, and everything will go back to normal.”

“No,” I say swiftly. “I’m not having her make any statement, or show up in any way on the media.”

“Why? Because she may have a different story than you?” Angela asks, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Jesus, Angela.” I can’t believe this. “How long have you been working for me? Have you ever seen me make someone do something against their will?”

“So you’re saying it’s all consensual?” Angela asks. “If it is, you have nothing to worry about. But like I said, the girl will have to make an appearance. Because otherwise, you’ll only have your own words to back you up. And in my experience? The words of men accused of sexual crimes don’t mean anything to the public.”

I see her point.

On the other hand, she’s asking the impossible of me. I can’t parade Kat in front of the cameras just so strangers won’t blame me for any crime they imagine to have taken place.

Firstly, she’s on bed rest.

And secondly, I promised to maintain her anonymity in our contract. Things are dramatically different now that we’re together for real, but I want to do that for her.

I want her to remain in the shadows, at least until after she publishes her first book and it becomes wildly successful—which I have no doubt will happen. I know how important it is to her that she’s not just known as my girlfriend, or even the mother of my child.

No, she doesn’t want people reading her book and guessing which aspects of the story have been taken from her real life. She wants her story to stand on its own merit. She wants people to pick up her book and judge it by its artistic value—not its association with public figures.

“Heath,” Angela says, reminding me again that I need to make a decision, “the clock is ticking. The longer it takes for us to issue a statement, the more suspicious it looks.”

I clasp my hands together and turn to look at Angela. “Tell them to mind their own fucking business. I’m not making her face the media for me.”

“Okay. So we can say something like… we request them to honor your privacy. Maybe also mention the fact that these rumors stem from hearsay. All they have is whatever Jeff’s telling them.”

My blood boils at the sound of that name. “I swear, if I ever see that guy again—”

“And this is why I’ll be facing the media on my own,” Angela says. “You need to stay calm, Heath. You’re usually good at that.”

That’s probably because my problems usually don’t involve Kat.

Even on days when I’ve made multi-million-dollar mistakes, it doesn’t touch me—not really. I already have more than enough money to last me the rest of my life. Losses like that don’t bother me.

But if anyone hurts Kat, I’ll use everything in my power to make that person’s life a living hell.

Something buzzes on my desk, and I sit bolt upright as the screen of my high-priority phone lights up.

It’s Kat. She wouldn’t have called this number if this weren’t important.

She fucking knows.

“Excuse me,” I say to Angela before I pick up the phone. “Hello.”

“Heath, what’s going on?” Kat asks in a panicked voice.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” I say gently. “I’ve got everything under control.”

“Do you?” Kat asks. “It doesn’t look like it. I saw you trying to get through the crowd on TV.”

“That was a normal after-lunch crowd for me,” I lie. I only get that kind of attention when something big happens.

“Yeah, right. I used to be your personal assistant, Heath. Tell me the truth.”

“Everything’s under control, Kat. That’s the truth.”

Kat remains quiet for a few seconds before she says, “I should say something.”

“What?”

“Not to you. I mean I should say something to the media.”

“Absolutely not,” I say. “You’re on bed rest.”

I notice movements in my peripheral vision, and I realize Angela has been waving her arms, trying to get my attention. She’s pointing urgently at the TV screen across the room from us. Jeff’s saying something.

“But Heath—”

“If that’s all, I need to go so I can actually handle this crisis,” I say. “Sorry, kitten. I’ll see you at home. Just turn off the TV and take a nap, okay?”

I hang up the phone, then I watch helplessly as Jeff tells them everything—Kat’s full name, as well as the contract. Yes, that contract. The one with all the sordid details of our arrangement, including how much sex is involved.

Everybody’s going to see this and know Kat’s name. My mind flies back to that day when Jeff went berserk in my office. He said he was going to save Kat from my evil clutches, and now I guess he’s decided her safety is more important than her anonymity.

And worse than that, my parents will see this and think Kat and I have been trying to deceive them.

“Fuck,” I say, almost at the same time as Angela.

Kat

“Hi, Angela,” I say into the phone as my heart thumps in my chest. I know I'm not supposed to do this.

I mean, it's not illegal or anything, but Heath won't be happy.

Well, too bad, because I’m doing it anyway.

“Kat?” Angela asks in a hushed voice.

We’ve seen each other and spoken a few times at the office, of course. But we're not close and we both know we're only talking because there's an emergency going on, and we may be able to help each other. That's what I’m hoping for, anyway.

And we both know we can't talk in front of Heath.

“Is it safe to talk?” I ask.

“Yes. I’m back at my desk.” Something rattles on Angela’s end of the line. “Actually, I’m leaving my desk now. It's probably best if I go outside to speak to you.”

As Angela’s heels click-clack against the tiled floor of the office, I ask her, “What's really going on?”

“Jeff’s gone rogue. He’s gone to the media and told them how Heath’s apparently committing sexual harassment and assault. He even showed them your contract,” Angela says.

I know that much from the TV, but that's not what I’m asking. I bite my cheek as I pace the floor. The marble tiles feel freezing underfoot, like my blood. Beads of cold sweat form on my temples.

I hear the sound of a door opening and closing, and I know she’s probably standing in the balcony where people usually smoke.

“Yeah, I know.” I swallow and ask, “Is everything under control?”

Angela laughs. “No, Kat. Everything’s fucked up.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean we don’t have a plan. Nada.” Angela takes a deep breath. “Heath wants to just tell them to respect his privacy, or something like that. I haven’t thought of the right wording yet. But I don’t think there are enough words in the dictionary to make his statement sound good. People want answers, and Heath’s basically doubling down on his no-comment policy.”

I wince. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it’s not good at all. He’s treating it like he used to treat his sex scandals—you know, from before he got married?”

My chest tightens, but I manage a short “yeah.” This is not the time for jealousy.

“Yeah,” Angela says. “This is completely different, though. Those girls didn’t work for him, and they were obviously professional gold diggers—or socialites, as they prefer to be called.” Angela’s eye-roll is almost audible.

“How is it different this time?” I ask.

“It’s different because this concerns the company,” Angela says. “This could end up hurting our reputation and credibility, especially because Heath’s trading style is to go after unethical companies. We have enemies, and we need to keep our image squeaky clean if we want to maintain our brand as ethical investors.

“Our clients, they don’t only choose us because we grow their money, but also because we do it in a way that allows them to sleep at night. And now, Heath’s being painted as a monster, who preys on his innocent, young assistant. How are our clients going to make peace with the thought of their wealth going toward supporting someone like that?”

“They aren’t going to,” I blurt out as realization dawns on me. “They’re just going to switch to another company.”

“Exactly.” Angela pauses. “We’ve already been quiet for far too long. The news broke in the morning and it’s past lunch time now, so it’s been almost four hours of silence.”

Angela huffs a wry laugh. “God, I can’t believe I just said that. But it’s true. After Twitter, people expect answers within minutes. It didn’t use to be this way in the good old days. We could take a breath and carefully formulate a response back then.”

Angela is in her forties, which means that she didn’t grow up with Twitter. It also means that she’s been doing PR for about two decades, and she knows her shit. If she says things are fucked up, she’s probably right.

“Is there anything we can do to fix things?” I ask as my heart pounds. I’d do anything to contain this situation.

Angela goes quiet. “Is that a serious question?”

“Yes, of course.” Why wouldn’t it be?

“Well…” Angela lets her voice hang in the air, intensifying the suspense. “I can’t fix this mess… but you can.”

“Me?” I frown.

I’ve never dealt with the media before. And now that things are so bad even Angela can’t fix them, I’m supposed to be the knight riding into battle to save everyone?

What can I do?

I’m a nobody. I’m not Heath, with his wealth, power, and high profile—or Angela, with her years of experience as a PR professional.

“Yes, you’re the only one who can save us now,” Angela says. “Are you serious, though?”

“Yes,” I say in a heartbeat.

“You mean that, right? You’re not just saying whatever you think I want to hear?” Angela asks urgently. “Because while I’m sure this is going to work, it also means that you’ll have to put yourself out there for people to scrutinize and judge.”

“Yes,” I repeat. I’m doing this. They’re attacking Heath, which means they’re attacking the only family I have. And I can’t just sit here drinking my caffeine-free tea and rubbing my pregnant belly.

Angela lets out a big, relieved sigh. When she speaks, the tension has disappeared from her voice, replaced by eagerness. “That’s perfect. You’re saving the whole company, Kat. You’re doing the right thing. You’re helping a lot of people keep their jobs.”

“What do I have to do?”

Now Angela’s all business. She speaks with the certainty of someone who has a solid plan. “You’ll just have to tell them the truth. I don’t know anything about your relationship—good job hiding it, by the way. I had no clue. But I know Heath, and I know you. I’m sure everything between the two of you is consensual.”

“Of course,” I say.

“I’ll be honest, I had my doubts. But seeing you so willing to put your ass on the line to save Heath when he insisted on not dragging you into this… I can tell you two have something real.”

“He insisted on what?” I ask, curious. This is the first time I’m hearing this.

“Well, I suggested that the only way I could see to solve this problem was for you to make a statement to clarify everything. But he said that was out of the question.”

I don’t know how to feel about this information.

On one hand, my chest swells at the thought of Heath being so protective of me.

On the other hand, this is my problem too, damn it. And if I can help solve it, I will. Bed rest, schmed rest.

Heath

Earlier That Morning

Everything's perfect when I wake up.

I open my eyes to see a beautiful woman lying next to me, all soft and feminine and mine.

Oh, and she’s carrying my baby—in her belly, and not just in her arms like she said when I offered her the deal.

I never thought that deal would give me everything I could ever want.

I start to get up, but Kat takes my hand.

“Go back to sleep, kitten,” I say as I plant a soft kiss on her temple.

She makes a sexy, sleepy moan and my heart flips—my cock stirs, too. It’s been too long since the last time I fucked this gorgeous woman. The urge to claim her body and mark her with my seed again is building up, even though obviously my swimmers have already conquered her womb.

The human body is dumb sometimes. Having sex will not serve any procreative purpose, but fuck, I’d give up my left arm to do it.

But I can’t. I have to think of what's best for Kat and our baby. I just wish my fucking dick got the memo. Jesus Christ, I’m already hard as rock and pulsating against my sweatpants. I can see it tenting the grey cotton fabric.

This reminds me of that time I had a raging boner at a pool party held by some kid from school. I had to slip into a bathroom and rub one out before going back out.

Kat puts my arm around her waist and I snuggle close until I’m spooning her, except I have to stick my ass out so my cock doesn’t poke her. That would make it really hard for me to stop myself from rubbing myself against her.

It’s warm under the blanket, and she’s warm, too. As I wrap my arms around her, my fingers graze the bottom of her tits—braless and enlarged by pregnancy. She smells like vanilla and cinnamon, like her body wash. I draw closer to take in more of her scent, and as my lips brush against the back of her neck, I freeze.

Don’t kiss her.

My lips and tongue on her neck are sure to elicit a few moans and some writhing from her. I know this because that move has never failed me with Kat.

Damn this bed rest.

Kat turns to me, her eyes heavy-lidded. Her lips curve to form a smile. “I didn’t hear your alarm.”

“It hasn’t gone off yet. I just thought I’d take a shower now, since I’m up anyway.”

“No, stay,” she says in a sweet voice I can’t possibly say “no” to.

So I run my hands over her back, smoothing out the creases in her shirt. Then, she fucking moans—she does it the way people getting massages do and not the way people being fucked do, but my cock doesn’t know the difference anymore.

I swear, right after this baby arrives, I’m ripping her clothes to shreds and burying myself balls deep inside her.

“How much time do you have?” Kat bites her bottom lip and gazes at me from underneath her lashes, desire darkening her big doe eyes.

“No.” I watch as she parts her lips and lets out a big, heavy sigh. Shit, I’m in trouble. “Don’t tempt me, woman.”

Kat giggles. She runs her delicate hand down my side, and my cock jumps in my pants. I swear my body’s forgotten its own age; I’m reacting more like a teenager than a twenty-eight-year-old.

Kat’s eyes widen as she glances at the bulge in my pants. A small smile plays on her lips. “Come on. You know you want it, too.”

“Fuck, do I know it,” I say in desperation. Can’t she see how badly I want her?

“Let me suck your cock,” she says with hunger in her voice. How did I luck out at finding this woman? She offers blowjobs without me having to ask.

We haven’t done anything in weeks, and the pent-up sexual energy that has built up inside me is unbearable. At night, when Kat’s asleep, I sneak out into the bathroom to jerk off. Without that release, I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep next to her tantalizing curves.

The worst thing is, Kat has been an absolute nympho. She touches me all the time, giving me that look—the one with the intense gaze, the small smile, and the slightly raised eyebrow. After showers, she walks out stark naked into the bedroom and then takes her sweet time picking out clothing items and putting them back in the wardrobe before she finally covers herself with the first outfit. It doesn't make any sense. She barely even leaves the apartment.

She looks like a goddess with her heavy belly. She’s glowing. I don’t know if it’s from her pregnancy or from being able to spend her time doing what she loves at home, but I dig it.

After holding myself back for so long, my willpower is wearing thin.

Besides, the doctor said she’s allowed to have some outside stimulation, as long as there’s no penetration.

“Okay,” I hear myself say.

Kat turns onto her back, and I climb out of the blanket. I quickly slip off my clothes, then I get on my knees, straddling Kat’s head.

“Mmm…” Kat stares eagerly at my cock, her full lips parted.

I lower myself and lift my gaze to the ceiling when Kat’s warm, wet mouth envelops the head of my cock. Her tongue licks and swirls over me, making me groan.

I reach in front of me and slip my hand inside Kat’s panties. With her giant belly in the way, we can’t do a sixty-nine. But my fingers can still work magic on this woman’s body.

It doesn’t take long for us to reach our peaks. I finish her off with intense, prolonged teasing of her clit, while she makes me come with a combination of her beautiful mouth and her pumping hand.

“Do you think the baby felt that?” Kat asks as she rubs her round, tight belly over her shirt.

“I hope not.” I grimace.

Kat laughs. “Relax. He’s a lot more resilient than that. That’s what the doctor told me.”

“You mean the doctor who doesn’t believe in bed rest?”

“Yeah.” Kat shrugs. “I don’t know why you discount what he says. He’s a legit doctor.”

“I know. I just prefer to be safe than sorry.”

“Says the guy who’s famous for taking risks,” Kat says.

“That’s only when it comes to stocks.” I pull her close and give her a quick kiss on the lips. “With you? And our son? I’m not taking any risks.”

The corners of Kat’s lips tug up into a big smile. Despite her protests, I know she likes it when I look out for her best interests.

“I’ll take a shower, okay?” I start to get up.

Kat puts her hand on my abs, then traces the lines of my hard muscles with her soft fingers. “I’ll join you.”

“I’m almost late.” I give her a grin as I hop off the bed. “And with you in the shower, I wouldn’t even be able to make it to the office. Go back to sleep, kitten.”

Kat pulls the blanket up to cover her shoulders and gets comfortable. It makes me want to join her. It would be heaven to snuggle in bed all day with Kat and our baby boy. But I can’t do that.

There’s a time for everything, and right now is the time for a shower.

Once I manage to extricate myself from my favorite little seductress, I whizz through my routine for the day. I shower, have an avocado and a few strips of bacon for my breakfast, and drive to the office.

The day goes by like any other day, until Angela comes knocking on the door with unusual urgency. It doesn’t take long for her to explain what’s going on, and it doesn't take long for me to decide what to do either.

When someone at a meeting casually mentions a press conference happening on the ground floor of the building, I realize I should've tucked myself in with Kat under the blanket this morning and skipped work.

Angela hasn't told me anything about the press conference, which means she's doing something behind my back. And considering her suggestion this morning to have Kat make a statement, I’m guessing that’s what’s going on.

If I were home, I could’ve at least stopped Kat from coming all the way here, or even prevented her from finding out about this PR crisis.

But now that she’s already here, all I can do is minimize the amount of information she shares with the media.

That said, they already know her name and recognize her face. It’s not like I can keep her identity hidden any longer.

But I also can’t just let her take this bullet for me. Besides, she’s supposed to be on bed rest. Surely doing a press conference counts as the kind of “strenuous activities” she’s not supposed to do.

“Excuse me, Mr. Zhang. There’s an emergency. I have to leave this meeting,” I say as I stand up from my chair. All eyes turn to me, especially those of my own employees. They know I never miss an important meeting with one of my biggest investors.

“But I flew here to see you, all the way from Beijing. Can't we finish this before you leave?” The disapproval in his dark eyes doesn’t change my mind.

“Sorry, I have to leave now,” I say, already holding the doorknob with one hand. “Parker over there has handled numerous accounts like yours, and I’m sure he can help you with everything you need. I’ll personally review your paperwork once I get back to the office.”

With that, I rush down the hallway and mash the elevator button until the door finally opens.

I need to stop Kat before she makes a big mistake she’ll regret for years and years to come.

Kat

I sit in the front row, clutching a piece of paper in my shaking hands, which I rest on my heavy belly. At least the podium on the stage will hide my tremors.

It’s not easy to mentally block everything that’s going on around me. The reporters are abuzz with activity, putting together their equipment and pointing their cameras at the spot where I’ll stand—only five more minutes from now.

Good thing Angela gave me a short list of bullet points, instead of some long-winded statement. This will be torture, but it’ll only last a minute or two.

God, and I thought my first press conference was going to be about my book—preferably the debut one.

I look around me, imagining myself holding my first book instead of this stupid list. This is just a function room in the office building, but it looks nice enough. The reporters seem eager… Oh, if only they were here for my book, enthusiastically waiting to hear all about where I got my inspiration from, and whether certain side characters are going to be featured in my future stories.

As I scan the room, my eyes land on a tall, imposing figure just outside the function hall. He’s moving with confidence, like he’s on a mission.

Shit.

I try to get up, pressing my palms against my seat cushion to push myself out of it. Damn it, why do I have to be so fat?

Yeah, I know I’m just pregnant. But it’s hard not to feel large when my calves have merged with my ankles.

I move quickly—as quickly as a heavily pregnant woman can move.I waddle up the three steps of stairs up the stage and reach the podium.

Immediately, all eyes and camera lenses turn to stare at me. Conversations grind to a halt as people abandon whatever they're doing to give me their full attention.

Whoa. I’ve never had so many pairs of eyes on me before. And to think there will be even more when those cameras put my face on TV and on tabloids—not to mention newspapers, if this gets big enough.

The mic on the podium sits a little too high, so I pull it down. Sharp audio feedback pierces through the room, and everyone winces as if in pain.

“Sorry,” I say into the mic when the noise finally stops.

Angela’s watching me with eyes as big as saucers and a facial expression that, without using any words, says, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?

This is not what we’ve planned. Angela was supposed to introduce me and stay beside me as I speak, but I need to improvise.

I catch Angela’s gaze and glance in the direction of Heath, who’s about to enter the function hall. He’s got the same expression as Angela, only with more anger. He asks the same question—what the fuck do you think you’re doing?—but his possessive gaze tells me he thinks he can tell me what to do.

Well, Mister, I’ve been patiently doing what you want me to do. The bed rest? Wasn’t even necessary. But I did it anyway. For you.

I probably shouldn’t admit at this point that the bed rest wasn’t horrible. I mean, getting to stay home and sit on my ass to write all day? That’s the life.

Angela follows my gaze and notices Heath. She seems taken aback. But then, she adjusts her glasses and starts marching toward him. She blocks his way and exchanges words with him.

It won’t take long for Heath to get past Angela. I don’t know what Heath plans to do to disrupt this press conference, but I’m not waiting to find out. I need to put whatever time I have to good use.

“Thank you for coming out here today,” I say into the mic. I pause for a second, distracted by the echo, and hold my cheat sheet in front of me. “I have a short statement to make regarding the news that’s circulating about Heath Anders and me.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but now there’s even more attention on me. Cameras freeze, pointed directly at me. Everything stands still. I don’t even notice any breathing.

So I take a breath and enjoy the silence for a moment. It’s hot here, under the intense lighting camera crews point at me. A thin film of sweat forms on my skin.

“I understand my name has been mentioned as Heath Anders’ victim. My name is Katherine York, by the way.” I feel dumb introducing myself in this way. Is this too late in the speech? I don’t know. This was supposed to be Angela's bit, but now I’m just playing it by ear. “That’s right. You saw my name on the contract that was shown this morning by Jeff Scott.”

Some of the reporters sitting in front of me scribble things on their notebooks, and I wonder which parts of my statement will make it to whose articles.

“I’d like to state that there’s been no improper conduct, much less harassment, from Heath Anders, in the entire time I worked for Anders Capital Management,” I say again into the mic.

Whispers turn into a low buzz among my audience, and I know I’m losing control of the situation. One man speaks up. “Katherine, are you carrying Heath’s baby?”

“Yes,” I admit, to the shock of almost everyone in the function hall. I can see the widened eyes, and the dropped jaws. “We’re together, and we’re having a baby. There’s nothing strange here. Just a couple who has decided to start a family.”

“What about the contract?” a reporter pipes up, his voice a little louder than the rest of them.

“The contract was just for fun. We didn’t mean it,” I say, as casually as possible. Easy and breezy. I put on a big smile and raise my eyebrows, as if I’m asking them, can you really believe Jeff thought it was real? He’s one crazy dude.

“Katherine,” a woman calls my name. “Did you start seeing each other when you were still working at Anders Capital Management?”

“We first met because I was Heath’s assistant. But as soon as we started to date, we decided it wasn’t a good idea for us to keep working together, even if there was no policy against dating in this office.” I smile.

This is easier than I thought it would be. Just tell them the truth, right? I can do that. I have to improvise a little, but I’m pretty good at fiction, too.

My reputation is going up in flames, and there’s no way for my name to not be forever associated with this scandal.

But I don’t mind it. If anything, this feels liberating.

I can finally do whatever I want, without caring about people judging me.

I don’t even care anymore about Vera, because I have my own little family now. Jesus, I can’t believe how much I used to worry about what she’d think when it shouldn’t have mattered.

She’s been asking a lot of questions about how I afford to hire a nanny to babysit his son for me. I guess now she’ll find out.

“What’s being pregnant like?” asks another reporter.

“Oh, it’s nice, but it’s not magical like some people say it is. I feel duped, honestly.” I’m starting to feel good about myself, having made a bunch of reporters laugh.

That’s when someone sidles up to me, making me jump in surprise. From the way my skin sizzles at his touch, I know who it is. I don’t even have to see his gorgeous face to know it's him.

Heath wraps his muscled arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. He smiles at our audience of reporters, but the strong grip of his hand on my upper arm tells me he’s ticked off.

Heath holds me in place while he adjusts the mic. The audio feedback makes everyone grimace again, but he makes no apologies. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have today. Thank you for coming out here.”

Heath pulls me tight against his side and says, in a low voice, “Smile.”

I bristle under the assumption that I’m just a little woman who does what Heath tells me to do. But I do it anyway. I smile. Because I’m done anyway, thanks to Angela’s short and concise note.

A million lights flash around us, almost blinding me, as the reporters sense a good photo op.

Kat

“What do you think you’re doing?” Heath asks as the door closes automatically and the elevator takes us up the building.

“Me?” I ask in outrage. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving you,” he says, without a hint of irony.

“I didn’t need any saving. I was doing fine on my own!” I insist.

“You obviously don’t know the limits of your own body. That’s why I have to be the one with the level head here.”

“I’ve told you again and again, I’m not as frail as you seem to think I am. And I do know my limits. A doctor, who’s just as legit as your doctor, told me I don’t need bed rest.” I challenge him with a glare. “What, you can’t admit there’s a possibility that you’re wrong?”

“I know I could be wrong,” Heath admits. “I deal with possibilities all the time in my work. There’s never a 100% chance that I’m making the right decision.”

“Then why can’t you let me make my own decisions?” I ask, frustrated. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“I told you this morning, when it comes to you and our baby, I want to play it safe.” The way he says “our baby” makes my heart instantly melt—must be pregnancy hormones—but I press on.

This has been bothering me for a while. Ever since I fell in front of Heath’s parents’ house, I’ve never been allowed to make the kind of decisions most adults take for granted.

During the day, I can write and do whatever in the apartment, so it’s not too bad. But when Heath’s home, I can’t do anything. We’d just laze around on the couch or in bed, being sedentary.

There are moments when Heath’s protectiveness makes me feel precious and loved—something I’ve always craved since my father left us without an explanation. But at the same time, having relied on myself for so long, I bristle when someone tries to tell me what to do, and Heath does a lot of that.

“I know you want to keep me safe and healthy, and I appreciate that. But I’m still a human being, Heath, not a decoration or a pet that you can just confine to your home.”

Heath frowns. “Is that how you see it? You think I’ve been treating you like a thing, or an animal?” He runs his fingers through his hair, letting it fall messily across his forehead. “Fuck, I’ve never treated anyone better than I treat you, and that’s still not good enough?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” I raise my volume. “You pay me enough attention—and affection. Too much, even. I just—”

“Too much? Too fucking much?” Now it’s Heath’s turn to raise his voice. With his palm, he hits the emergency stop button on the silver panel by the door.

The elevator jerks to a stop, and I have to grab hold of the wooden railing to maintain my balance.

“What are you doing?” I ask, alarmed.

“We’re not done talking, and there’s someone in my office. A client from China.”

“Mr. Zhang is here?” I ask.

I’ve spoken to people from his Beijing office, and I know he’s been planning his visit for a long time. He agreed to let Anders Capital Management handle his investment portfolio before he even met Heath, deciding to choose this company based on its reputation and track record.

“Yeah,” Heath says.

“You should go back up to see him. He’s traveled a long way to see you.”

“We’re not done here. And I decide what to do with my business,” he says.

“I wasn’t even…” I stop and take a deep breath, worried I’ll say something I’ll regret. Anger simmers just beneath my skin. “Even you must see how unfair you’re being. You want me to stay quiet about how you run your business, but you make me do all kinds of things and expect me to obey just because you say so.”

“It’s all for your own good,” Heath says.

“Oh, so now you know what’s best for me?” I ask, my irritation growing despite my desire to end this argument. “You know what I need, better than I do?”

“When it comes to the bed rest, yes. Obviously, it’s safer for both you and our baby to stay home.”

“It’s not as obvious as you think. What about my second opinion?”

“Like I said, I just want to play it safe,” Heath repeats. We're just going in circles now. The words are starting to lose their meaning.

One side of this elevator is clear glass that lets us see out into the city. It should make this space feel generous. But right now—I don’t know if it’s because I’m angry or because we’ve been trapped here for too long—right now it feels too small. Suffocating.

“But is safety all that matters, Heath?” I ask. “What about what I want? Does that not factor into anything?”

“You want a healthy baby, don’t you?” Heath asks, his sharp gaze piercing through me.

“You don’t get it,” I say quietly.

“What don’t I get? All I’m doing is try to protect you, but that makes you angry.” Heath shakes his head. “I’m sorry I care about you.”

“You don’t get it!” I exclaim, my patience running out. “I’m not just a baby incubator, Heath. I’m a person, whom you supposedly love. You should care about what I want.”

“I do,” Heath says softly. He steps closer and touches my shoulder, but I jerk away.

I can’t… I don’t want anyone, or anything, to touch me right now. This elevator is already too small. I already feel like hyperventilating.

“Let me out of here,” I say in a small voice as my breathing gets more labored. I probably look pale right now.

“Are you okay?” Heath asks as he presses the button for me.

I remain quiet until the elevator door opens at the ground floor. There are still reporters milling around, probably exchanging notes and asking for more information from people who work in the building.

Heath won’t be able to make a scene now. He knows it’ll end up in the media and hurt both of us—and the baby too, by extension.

“I’m leaving.”

“I’ll see you at home,” Heath says, worry filling his blue eyes. “I’ll call you a cab, okay? Or should I take you home? I’ll take you home. Stay here, okay? I just want to go up there and let them know I’m going home. I won’t be long.”

I nod, knowing there’s less chance of complications this way.

But I don’t intend to do as he says. No way. Not this time.

I’m tired of living by Heath’s rules. I want to live my own life.

As soon as Heath leaves, I waddle across the lobby as reporters watch and take some more pictures. Outside, I hail a cab and tell the driver to take me to Jane’s.

I’m not going home to Heath tonight. Maybe never.

Kat

“Kat, your baby daddy's here,” Jane says as she peers into the screen of the video intercom. She raises a smug eyebrow.

“Yeah, okay, fine. The video intercom is not useless,” I say. “But just ignore him.”

“The peeps at my office would freak out if they knew Heath Anders wants to be buzzed up to my apartment.” As Jane turns around, she catches sight of my displeased expression. “Not that I’d tell anyone about it.”

“About what?” Colleen, Jane’s roommate, wanders down the hallway.

“Kat was just appreciating our new video intercom,” Jane says.

“Oh, yeah, it was my idea.” Colleen giggles. “I had too many randos trying to come up here, and this little thing lets me filter them.”

“Colleen’s kind of a slut,” Jane says with a teasing grin.

“Hey!” Colleen protests. “Don't slut-shame me.”

Colleen works at the same place as Jane, and makes just as much money. The video intercom isn't the only upgrade they've made since I moved out of this apartment.

“Besides, it's not just for funsies. It's for our own safety,” Colleen says.

“And by that she means it's so she can make sure nobody's following the guy who delivers her weed.”

Colleen grins cheekily as she enters the living room, where Jane and I are sitting on the Ikea couch we bought together back in the day. She notices the screen of the video intercom is still on, and she stops in her tracks. “Mmm… This fine man can come up here any time.”

He's mine, bitch.

Luckily, I only said that in my head. Still, I’m surprised by my own instinctive response. The urge to lay my claim on Heath surges quickly and overwhelmingly.

“That man also happens to be this woman's baby daddy, so I’d back off if I were you,” Jane says with a grin. She's noticed my sudden irritation.

“Oh, I didn’t know he was taken. Sorry,” Colleen says with a giggle. “Oh, hey, you look familiar, by the way. Have I seen you before?”

“I don’t think so. But maybe there’s still a picture of me on the fridge or something. I used to live here.”

“Oh, you’re Kat… right?” she asks.

“That’s me.”

“I have to say, you have great taste in men, Kat,” Colleen says. She peers closer into the screen, which is still glowing. “In fact, he looks familiar, too.” She pauses while she studies the grainy little black-and-white video feed. “Oh shit.” She snaps her gaze toward me and stares. Pointing at the screen, she asks, “That’s Heath Anders, right?”

I turn to look at Jane, who just shrugs.

I weigh my options. At this point, what’s the difference if another person knows about Heath and me?

“Yeah,” I admit, my heart pounding. Somehow, saying it out loud feels exhilarating.

“You’re on all the gossip blogs right now,” Colleen says in amazement.

“Yeah.” I give her a polite smile.

This feels strange. I’ve never had anyone get star-struck at the sight of me before. But then I’ve never stood at the center of a media storm before either.

Colleen turns to look at the screen again. “Oh, hey, he’s gone.”

I squint to look at the screen. I can’t see the video clearly, but I can make out enough to tell that there’s nobody standing in front of the camera anymore.

He’s gone? Just like that?

As much as I hate myself for wanting him to try harder to find me, I can’t help it. My heart clenches, and suddenly, I miss him.

I wonder if this is just because of pregnancy hormones.

Then, three soft knocks are heard, and all three of us turn to stare at the door.

Is that him?

Again, even though I hate that I feel this way, my heart jumps in anticipation.

We all freeze. Jane and Colleen turn to look at me.

“What?” I mouth.

“Do we open the door?” Jane whispers.

“I don’t know.”

Colleen tiptoes toward the door and looks through the little peephole. Pointing at the door, she mouths, “It’s him.”

More knocking.

Then, a familiar voice that makes my stomach flutter. “I know someone’s home. I can see shadows moving behind this door.”

Nothing gets past him.

Colleen gives me an apologetic grimace.

I take a deep breath. Yeah. I think I’m ready to see him.

“Just open the door,” I say in a normal voice.

My heart hammers in my chest as Colleen reaches for the handle and pulls the door open.

And then, I see him.

His hair is more of a mess than usual, falling gently above the brow bone in a way that makes me want to run my hand through it to fix it. He’s wearing a long black coat over his business suit.

As soon as the door swings open, Heath looks past Colleen, ignoring her flirty greeting. His sweeping gaze finds me. In a second, the anxiety in his blue eyes disappears, to be replaced by relief. There’s some sadness that lingers, too.

“Can I come inside?” Heath asks, staring straight at me, even though Colleen’s still blocking his path.  

Colleen twists to look at me.

I give her a nod.

As Heath’s Italian leather shoes taps against the wooden floor, Jane says, “We’ll leave you two alone, then.” Before Colleen can protest, Jane drags her away into one of the bedrooms.

The cushion of the sofa dips when Heath sits down next to me.

I give him a flat stare.

“I thought you were going to be home. I was so worried when I didn’t find you there.” Heath’s gaze lands on the coffee table, where my cell phone is lying. “You didn’t answer any of my calls either. I thought something had happened to you.”

“As you can see, I’m fine.” I cross my arms over my chest and rest them on my swollen belly. The baby kicks as I do, and I wonder if he knows Heath’s here.

“Are you ready to go home yet?” Heath asks. The patronizing tone of his voice grates on me. It’s not what he’s saying that irritate me; it’s how he says it. So patronizing.

“Are you ready to apologize yet?” I ask him back.

He seems genuinely taken aback. Surprise registers on his chiseled features. “Apologize? For what?”

I stare at him. “Really?”

“You want me to apologize for wanting to keep you safe and healthy?” Heath asks.

“No,” I say quickly. Before he can utter another word, I say, “For treating me like a child. I can make my own decisions, you know. I can do whatever I want, go wherever I want. I may be younger than you, but I’m a grown-up just like you, and I can take care of myself.”

“Okay.” Heath frowns, but I can’t tell if he’s angry or confused. “But you’re also pregnant, and you need to take it easy.”

“Who are you to tell me that, though?” I ask, getting more worked up. Despite his calm tone, Heath’s just telling me to do what he wants me to do—again.

“We agreed that you were going to do everything the doctor recommends.”

“Yes. That’s why I eat the stuff your chef prepares. That’s why I stay home and sit on my ass so much,” I say. “But can’t you admit that, given the situation today, I had to do something?”

“You didn’t have to do anything. Angela was going to handle it on her own.”

“Angela was freaking out because she didn’t know if she could save you from this one!” I almost scream.

“I had it under control.”

“Obviously, you didn’t,” I say in a loud, high-pitched voice. “If you did, Angela wouldn’t have been so relieved when I told her I was going to show up.”

For a moment, I wonder if I have enough money to make it on my own as a single mom. Heath’s already paid me a portion of the money he promised me.

I probably have enough to stay home and not work for the first few years of the child’s life. I may even have enough left over for when he goes to college—I don’t want him to start his adult life saddled by student loans like I am.

That said, if Heath decides to take me to court to fight for custody over this child, I could spend everything I’m worth for legal representation, and I’ll still lose the child. I’ll probably end up penniless, too.

“By making a statement, you just turned it into a bigger story. It would’ve died down pretty quickly if we’d left it alone,” Heath insists.

“That’s not what Angela told me,” I say. “Either way, I had the right to make that decision myself.”

“You agreed you were going to do everything you could to make sure the baby’s as healthy as he can be.”

“Yes, and he’s fine. In fact, he’s kicking up a storm right now,” I say, glancing at my belly. “But seriously, you’re going to dangle our contract in front of me now? I thought we were past that. I thought we were more than just a sperm donor and a surrogate now.”

“We are,” Heath says with a frustrated sigh, his voice growing louder too. “And I’m not talking about the contract. I just mean… it’s best for the baby if you stayed home like the doctor told you to.”

“Correction: like your doctor told me to. I got a second opinion, remember?” I glare at him. The distinction between love and hate can be so unclear sometimes. “Why is it that your doctor is more credible than mine? And why is it that your opinion is always right when mine is always wrong?”

“It’s not like that at—”

“You’re not my boss anymore, Heath. You don’t get to tell me to do anything just because you’ve paid me. I’m not your employee.”

“I know, but—”

“Do you?” I ask. “Do you really know? Because you keep bringing up what I agreed to in the contract and I thought that wasn’t what we’re about anymore.”

“Listen to me, damn it,” Heath says sternly.

“That’s all I’ve been doing, up until this morning. Maybe I’m tired of listening to you and being your obedient little surrogate.”

“Jesus. That’s not what you are to me at all. You should—”

“Shit,” I say.

Heath stares at me. “You’re just going to keep cutting me off and not even listen to what I have to say? Remember what I told you about listening to the other party’s offer before you make a decision?”

“Firstly, this is not a negotiation. Secondly, that wasn’t directed at you.” I meet his gaze so he can see how serious I am. “I think my water just broke.”

Kat

“Are you kidding me right now? Fucking asshole!” Heath curses as a car cuts in front of us.

He’s been driving like a demon. I can’t check the speed, though, or look out the window, because I’m dealing with a pain of biblical proportions. Now I know why the snake cursed Eve with labor—this sucks, big time.

Colleen’s sitting in the front passenger seat, phone in hand, with a map on the screen. “If you take a left here, we can avoid the traffic. It’s a longer route, but it’s going to be faster.”

Thank God for technology. How else could we get information about real-time traffic conditions? What did we do in the age before apps?

I have no time to muse, though. Even breathing becomes a giant undertaking when my body feels like it’s about to rip into pieces.

“Breathe,” Jane says. “Remember all those videos we watched together? I want you to breathe just like that, okay?” Jane locks my gaze, then she inhales and exhales in a regular rhythm.

Maybe I should be more concerned about how Colleen is telling Heath what a nice car this is, and how she keeps trying to engage him in conversation when he’s obviously focused on driving.

But I don’t have any energy left to care about what’s going on around me. My world is pain—I know that sounds like something a Goth or emo kid would say, but I swear it’s true.

“Why are we stopping?” Jane asks, all of a sudden.

I glance around me, fat beads of sweat running down my face. My whole body hurts so much it’s taken me a while to even realize the car is not moving anymore.

“It’s the po-po,” Colleen says.

“I was speeding,” Heath says, clearly frustrated. “Fuck!”

Someone knocks on his window, and I don’t have to turn around to see that it’s a cop.

Heath lowers his window and says, “My girlfriend’s in labor. Could we make this quick, please?”

The cop remains quiet for a few tense seconds. All I can hear is my own heavy breathing. Or labored breathing—that word takes on a new meaning today.

“Forget about the ticket. Just go,” the cop says, to the relief of everyone in the car.

But just as Heath rolls the window back up, the cop knocks again.

Oh my God, what does he want? Can’t he see we’re in a rush?

“There’s a lot of traffic ahead. I’ll help you clear the way,” he says.

“Oh, thank you!” Heath says with a big, relieved exhale.

When the car starts gliding down the road again, there’s a police siren wailing in front of us. As far as I can tell, there’s no more stopping—for traffic, or even for the red lights.

But even with the police escort, it takes forever for the car to finally pull up and stop in the hospital driveway.

Colleen rushes ahead to find someone to help us while Jane helps me get up to a sitting position. I hear the other rear passenger door open and close, then Jane appears just outside mine and pulls it open.

I’ve been sweating the whole way in the car, and now the crisp, cold air feels good on my skin.

Colleen appears with a woman in scrubs who’s pushing a wheelchair. The effort they have to exert just to get me into it makes me feel like an elephant. Totally graceless.

“I’ll park the car and find you,” Heath says, anxiety written all over his face.

He drives off as I’m rushed through hospital hallways with fluorescent lighting and glossy, pastel-pink paint on the walls.

God, why are there so many humans in the world if giving birth is this painful?

Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to this. Maybe I shouldn't have accepted Heath's offer.

But it’s just a tiny bit too late for that. As I wheeze and groan from the pain twisting my insides, I ignore the stares from other patients and their loved ones.

“You’re okay,” Jane says nervously as her eyes dart around us, clearly freaked out by what’s happening. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

I don’t want to worry her any further, because even though I feel like I’m about to burst open and die, she’s probably right. I’m probably going to be okay.

I hold out my hand toward her as she scurries beside my speeding wheelchair. She takes my hand and I squeeze, hard. I look up at her and call out, “Jane.”

“Yeah? What do you need?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Nothing. But my vag hurts like a bitch.”

* * *

“He’s perfect,” the nurse says as she holds up the baby who has just come out of me.  

I heard the nurse and I appreciate the compliment, but he really is not perfect—at least not objectively.

He’s still covered with so much blood and all kinds of mysterious bodily fluids that have congealed into a sticky-looking, yellowish-brown film that covers almost every inch of his skin.

He’s also crying up a storm—how can something that small produce such a loud noise?

Oh, and he’s purple. And his face is all squished up. And his eyes are just two horizontal lines because, according to all the baby books I’ve read, he won’t open his eyes much for the first couple of weeks of his life.

“Ten fingers, ten toes,” Heath says as he looks upon the goo-covered baby with pride shining in his eyes and a big grin stretching from ear to ear.

To be honest, I probably have the same look on my face. Sure, the baby is dirty, but all that gross stuff came out of me. And he did, too. A new human just came out of me—I still can't believe it.

I watch the nurse’s back as she cleans the baby in a big, stainless-steel sink. When she turns around with my baby swaddled in a blue, soft-looking fabric, he looks brand new—which he is, I guess.

He looks perfect as the nurse passes him to the doctor.

Out of nowhere, my whole body shakes.

“Are you okay?” Heath asks, taking my hand in alarm.

“It’s completely normal,” says one of the nurses as she gives me a kind smile. “We call those ‘the shakes.’ They’re caused by changes in your hormones.”

“Do you want to hold him?” another nurse asks.

I look around me. I’m still hooked up to so much hospital equipment I feel like a cyborg. A clear oxygen mask covers my nose and mouth.

I thought the first time I held my baby, I’d be able to scoop him up in my arms. But when the doctor puts him on my belly, squirming and crying, all I can do is just take a closer look at his tiny body.

I touch him as gently as I can. He looks so small and delicate, I’m worried I’ll hurt him. He quiets down as I caress his face with the tips of my fingers. He’s softer than clouds.

Heath pulls up a chair beside my bed. Gingerly, he reaches out toward the baby, looking so nervous it makes me giggle.

“He’s beautiful,” Heath says, staring at our baby like he’s never seen an infant before.

“He is.” I join him, taking in the sight of the baby, memorizing every little fold of his skin. I know we’ll have a lot of time to get to know each other, but I can’t wait to start.

This baby was inside of me for nine months. And now that he’s out, I crave more closeness. He’s lying on my belly, but this is still as far apart as we’ve ever been.

“Welcome to the world, little baby,” Heath says. “Mommy and Daddy have been waiting to see you, and now you’re finally here.”

Mommy and Daddy. When we visited the doctor for regular check-ups during my pregnancy, sometimes he or his nurses called us Mommy and Daddy. I thought it was silly, because we weren’t technically parents yet.

But now we are.

We.

Not just Heath.

And definitely not just me.

I don’t know if I can still blame hormones for this, but tears spring to my eyes, quick as a flash, and stream down my face.

* * *

Two hours later, we’re finally alone.

And by “alone,” I mean Heath, me, and our baby. Because we’re not just two now but three.

Jane and Colleen have stormed in, squealed over the baby, taken some pictures to upload to Instagram, and left. And Heath’s parents are already on their way here, so we don’t have much time.

(But most parents I know never have any time, so maybe I should just start getting used to this feeling.)

“You were amazing,” Heath says as he plants a kiss on my forehead. “You were screaming so loud I was afraid something had gone wrong. I was so scared. I’m not a religious man, but I prayed for you and for our baby.”

His sweet words make me smile.

“I’m sorry I was such an ass,” he says. “I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve paid more attention to what you wanted.

“I just… I don’t know. My dad’s illness makes me hyper-aware of mortality, of just how easily it is for someone to… leave.” Heath’s voice cracks. He pauses as he blinks down his sadness. “I was trying to protect the people I love, but I know now that I was out of line. I’m sorry.”

“Okay, firstly, you shouldn’t curse around the baby,” I say, leveling my gaze at him.

“Oh, sh—” he stops himself before he finishes his word “—shucks.”

I burst out laughing. I stop myself mid-laugh, worried I’d made the baby uncomfortable on my chest. “I don’t know if that’s better or worse than regular cursing. It just sounds so weird, coming from you.”

“Well, get used to it, kitten.” Heath grins. “From now on, I’m the kind of guy who says ‘frick’ and ‘darn.’ Ducking get used to it.”

I giggle.

He remains silent, and a little sadness seeps into his eyes, turning them a darker shade of blue. “Forgive me?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I was just… I don’t know. I was afraid that you only saw me as a baby incubator.”

“What?” he asks with a deep frown. Then, his whole expression softens. His muscles relax, and he says, “I love you, and you’re my treasure. I tell you how I feel every day.”

“I know.” I take Heath’s hand and caress it with my thumb. “It was just hard to believe that someone like you would want to be with someone like me. You’re this big-shot guy and I’m a nobody.

“And all your rules made it seem like I was only there to carry your baby.” I notice Heath opening his mouth to speak and add, “I know that’s not true. And I knew it before this, too. It’s just that… sometimes, I had doubts.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” Heath says. “But, kitten, I don’t understand why you don’t see how beautiful and lovable you are.” He sees me start to smile. “It’s true. It’s so easy to love you. You’re smart, you stand up for yourself, you have big ambitions, and you work hard to make your dreams come true. I respect all those things about you.”

Again, tears well up in my eyes. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve cried today.

“Of course, it doesn’t hurt that you have a cute ass—I mean butt, too.”

I giggle.

All my worries seem insignificant, even though they were plaguing me up until the moment my water broke (and probably destroyed the Ikea couch I was sitting on).

“I’m sorry, too,” I say softly as I gaze into Heath’s eyes. “I know now how it feels to want to protect someone. I mean, I want to lock this baby up in a padded room so he doesn’t get hurt. There are so many sharp things out in the world.”

“So many,” Heath agrees. “But he’s going to have to learn to fend for himself. Otherwise, he’ll grow up to become one of those whiny, rich guys who can’t stand up on their own feet.”

“Exactly.”

As we gaze into each other’s eyes, I realize we’re in complete agreement. I understand where he was coming from, and he sees things from my perspective, too.

I know people say having a baby doesn’t solve problems or fix relationships. But, at least for us, it turns out all we need to stop fighting is this baby.

Epilogue

3 Years Later

“Mr. Anders asks that you wait here. He’ll be with you shortly,” says Tina, Heath’s new personal assistant. Apparently, she’s been doing great work, thanks to her thirty-year experience in corporate administration.

“Does he know who's looking for him?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yes, Mr. Anders is aware, Ma’am,” she says patiently, like she's a kindly old teacher trying to explain the class rules to a kindergartner.

“I’m his wife,” I say indignantly. There's nothing I hate more than pulling out the do-you-know-who-I-am card, but this is ridiculous. It's not like I’m trying to get a backstage pass to a concert; I just want to see my husband.

Well… he's not legally my husband, but… I don't know; we're both grown-ups and we even have a three-year old toddler together, so it just feels strange to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend. I feel like we need a more serious term for each other. At the same time, something about the word “partner” makes me think about stuffy old men in legal firms.

I don't even know who started it first, but one day Heath and I simply began referring to each other as husband and wife. And then, one day, we decided to get rings together—plain gold bands to signify our promise to each other.

That’s all it is, by the way: a promise. We’ll both do our best to treat each other with kindness and love. That’s all we need. That’s all we want.

What we don’t want is another contract dictating what our relationship is about. We’ll define it ourselves, thank you very much.

I love the fact that we don’t need a public celebration to bind ourselves to each other. So much of our lives is open to public consumption, so why not keep this one thing to ourselves?

I like the feeling of sharing something private, hiding a sexy secret. It feels naughty and just a little dirty. Sometimes, I feel like we’re going undercover, pretending to be a married couple.

Right now, though, I need Heath’s new personal assistant to learn who I am and stop blocking my path.

“Yes, Mrs. Anders, I know who you are. But Mr. Anders specifically told me to ask you to wait here,” she says.

“Why? Is he having a meeting?” I ask.

“As far as I know, Mr. Anders is currently on his own,” she says with a calm, polite smile.

“I’m sorry, Tina, but I have to see him now,” I say, more out of exasperation than actual urgency. I march past her. I can see Heath’s office door just a few steps away.

I’m going to make him regret telling me to wait outside. He’s going to pay. Oh, he’s so going to regret this.

I’ll give him a piece of my mind, go home, and dump a bunch of Lego bricks all over the apartment so he’ll step on them when he gets home. Or maybe I’ll put some Sweet’n Low in his coffee instead of his usual raw sugar.

The phone on Tina’s desk rings, and she stops in her tracks, which allows me to reach the door without any obstruction. I reach for the door handle. Almost there.

“Mrs. Anders, Mr. Anders says you may come in now,” Tina says with a smile.

Damn it.

“Thank you,” I mumble, annoyed that my entrance won’t be the dramatic act of rebellion that I wanted it to be.

I swing the door open and my jaw drops.

There’s the father of my child, sitting at his big, stately desk, wearing his crisp, expensive suit, staring at me with wickedness in his blue eyes.

But that’s just the usual sight.

Today, the shades have been drawn over the glass wall behind his desk, and the warm overhead lights have been turned on, making this office a warm, cozy space. A refuge from the chaos of the world outside. A sanctuary. A secret hideaway.

“I hear you think my office feels like a jazz lounge,” Heath says with a mysterious smirk. He grabs some kind of a remote control and presses a button. Smooth jazz floods the room—I honestly can’t call it an “office” anymore when it looks like this. Heath watches me intently, obviously amused by my confusion. “Take a seat, Sarah. Don’t forget to close the door. I don’t think you want anyone to overhear our… conversation,” he says, cocking an eyebrow.

Sarah? Who is Sarah? And why should I be worried about people hearing us talk about picking up our kid from daycare?

“What are you talking about, Heath?”

“Shhh…” Heath presses a finger to his lips. “Call me Mr. Jones in the office.”

I knit my brows and stare at him. I open my mouth to say something, but… what do I even say? This is bizarre.

I close the door and walk across the room to sit across the big desk from Heath.

I stare at his cryptic facial expression for several confused seconds, but then I recognize the names from my first manuscript—the one Heath read on this very computer.

That story went through a lot of editing before it was finally published. I had to re-write the beginning because Jeff had somehow gotten ahold of my document and sent the first chapter to a few tabloids. I guess he wasn’t just taking my pictures but also going through my files.

He’s been a creepy asshole to me the whole time. Still, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. After I made that statement and stripped all credibility from his accusations, nobody wanted to hire him. Which employer would take the risk of having him suddenly accuse them of sexual crimes for no reason?

It wasn’t all his fault, though. He was creepy, but he wasn’t evil. It took Melanie, Heath’s ex-wife, a few months to persuade Jeff to use all the information he’d gathered as a weapon against Heath and me. They’d become close friends after all the phone calls from Melanie that Jeff had fielded for Heath.

But maybe, I should thank them both, because I actually prefer the new version of the book better than the original one. The book is a big global hit that has been translated into twelve languages, and I’m sure it owes some of its success to its new, improved first chapter.

Back when all this success was just a dream, I imagined myself becoming a famous author. But what I really wanted was not the fame; just the recognition that I’m good at what I do.

So when my publisher suggested that I use my real name, I declined and said I wanted to use a pen name instead because I wanted people to judge the book on its own merit. I don’t want them to pick it up just because I’m the author.

So I've been going incognito.

I don’t know how well that has worked, though, because there’s speculation on some online forums about the real identity of a certain New York Times best-selling author named Olivia Pearson.

She’s never attended any book signings or romance conferences, so nobody knows what she looks like, aside from her publisher. Oh, and me. I know who she is—very, very well—and she enjoys her mysterious image.

My name has already been mentioned on the Internet as one of the possible authors behind the pen name Olivia Pearson. I’m not going to say anything, though. They can think what they want.

Sure, I won’t see “Katherine York” printed on the cover of a novel any time soon, but I’m okay with that.

The whole reason I wanted to become a famous author in the first place was so my dad would find me. And he did, not long after I’d made that surprise statement at the press conference while heavily pregnant.

I don’t know why I was looking for my dad anyway. He's always been selfish and irresponsible.

I guess when I was growing up, he was the only adult who’d pay attention to me, even if he didn’t do it all the time. It took me finding Heath, who’s always showering both me and our son with plenty of love, for me to realize what a douche my dad has been.

My dad was doing great when I met him. His hair had thinned out and his belly had rounded out, but he didn't have a care in the world. Yet he hadn’t even made any effort to reach out to me before my sudden fame.

I hate to think this of my own father, but he probably has ulterior motives. Now we’re friendly, but I keep my distance. It’s not that hard because he lives in Florida with his new girlfriend of five months.

And that’s why I’m glad we named our son after Heath’s dad, and not mine.

“Heath, can you pick Dave up after work this afternoon? I need to read through my entire manuscript again and meet with my editor to discuss it after that,” I say. “I already asked your mom and dad, but they’re busy today.”

Heath groans as he throws his head back.

“What?” I ask.

Sometimes, Heath doesn’t like it when I treat his parents like free babysitters, although they love doing it. I’m so glad the experimental drug has worked, and now David can bond with his grandson like he's always wanted.

The two of them share something special. I would’ve hated for either one of them to miss out on that experience.

“Come on. I have the music on, the lights dimmed, and the wine poured,” Heath says, looking at me with a mixture of frustration and adoration in his blue eyes. “Got the hint yet, kitten?”

“Heath, I really have to run,” I protest. “Can we do this some other time?”

Heath heaves a deep breath and slowly shakes his head. “When I fell for the hard-working girl with big dreams, I should’ve known she’d be prone to workaholism.”

I scrunch up my nose and narrow my eyes at him. “Workaholism? Is that a real word?”

“No idea,” Heath shrugs. “You’re the writer here.”

“So?” I give him a hopeful look and put my palms together. “Pick Dave up for me?”

“You work too much,” Heath says.

“It’s just because I'm so close to the deadline.”

“There’s always another deadline, kitten. Slow down a little.” Heath smiles. “I know what it feels to be doing well and wanting to slam your foot on the gas. But you can’t go on like this. You’ll burn yourself out.” He pauses and meets my gaze. “And then your books will suffer.”

Damn it. He knows to hit me where it hurts.

“Also, I miss you. You’re always either working or taking care of Dave,” Heath says softly.

Seriously, where did he learn how to talk like that?

Tears sting my eyes. Ever since I had Dave, I’ve been quick to cry, especially when it comes to my family. I know what it feels like to really have a family now, and I can’t go back to the way things were.

And to think I was going to just walk away from Heath and Dave. I shudder to think about how different life would have been if we had stuck to the contract.

“Sometimes, it’s okay to take it easy. It’s okay for things to not be perfect,” Heath says. “Just because you can accomplish more by spending more time on something doesn’t mean that’s the best use of your time.

“A bunch of clients pulled out their investments after the news about us broke out, and it didn’t matter. I was actually pretty happy about that, because I’d been thinking about cutting back on my work hours anyway. I wanted to spend all my time at home.”

“Yeah, because we just had Dave at the time.” My lips curve into a big smile at the memory of those first few months.

We were both so clueless, so scared we were going to do something wrong. This was our baby—literally—and we didn’t want to screw him up.

Luckily, so far Dave has been a perfectly happy, healthy little boy. He has my blond hair and my love of stories; his father’s blue eyes and confidence; and our determination.

I’ve just introduced a sticker reward chart to Dave. The way it works is, he gets a star sticker on a chart we’ve stuck on the fridge for every time he does something good, like picking up his toys or putting on his own clothes. When he collects ten stars, he gets a new book.

But I didn’t anticipate him being this ambitious.

I realized we were in trouble one morning, not long after we started doing the reward chart. As soon as he sat up in bed, he said, “Mommy, can I get an extra star if I brush my own teeth?” So I taught him how to do that himself that day.

And then, the next day, he asked, “Mommy, can I get an extra star if I go potty on my own?” So I taught him that, too.

So far, this sounds like a great way to teach him the value of delayed gratification, right?

Well, soon, like any corrupt crook, he began to offer me gifts to bribe me into giving him more stars. He’s a smooth negotiator like his dad, too. He knows my weaknesses.

He’s actually offered to pose for pictures and create drawings by request—all for those star stickers. It's getting out of hand, mostly because I can’t say “no” to those chicken-scratch drawings.

I know, I’m pathetic. Dave’s book collection is steadily overtaking his bedroom and may start invading other rooms in the apartment like the Lego bricks have. We’ll probably need a dedicated library by next year.

“So you’ll stay?” Heath asks with a small, victorious smile playing on his lips. He knows he’s got me.

I let out a defeated sigh. “Yeah.”

“You know, if you feel like you have too much on your plate, I know where you can cut back.” Heath pauses dramatically. “Just stop talking to Vera.”

“You know I can’t do that,” I say, looking down at my phone to type a message to my editor, asking her to push our meeting back by an hour. “Without my help, that house will fall apart. Bills won’t get paid, perishables won’t get replaced, and it’ll turn into a derelict hut in no time.”

Heath nods. “I can see them, Vera and her son, putting a metal tub in the backyard and using it as both a rainwater tank and a bathtub.”

I burst out laughing. “Yeah. So you see, I can’t just leave them alone,” I say, putting my phone back in my shoulder bag.

“Maybe they’ll learn to manage on their own if you stop helping them out,” Heath says.

“Yeah, I know that sounds like a reasonable solution and everything, but I’d rather wait until Bruce turns eighteen and moves out. I feel bad enough for him as it is. Vera can be… unpleasant.”

“Okay. You decide what to do,” Heath says. “You’re a big girl.”

“Exactly.” I smile.

“So…” Heath gets up from his chair.

I recognize that look on his face as he stalks toward me. It’s the same one he had when I found him reading my manuscript I’d accidentally left behind. It’s hard to believe how much trouble that caused—and how much that moment changed my life.

Standing behind me, he reaches down and cups my breasts with his hands. His lips land on the back of my neck, and I let out a small moan. I’m glad for the jazz in the background; it should help cover any noises we’ll make.

I reach my hand behind me and hook it around Heath’s neck. His skin pulses under my palm. My skin throbs under his lips.

His hand pulls the hem of my skirt up and his fingers eagerly search for my wetness. He finds it, and he drives me to ecstasy.

By the time Heath lifts me up onto his desk and positions himself between my legs, I’m panting and writhing, begging for him to fill me up without any words.

And then, he’s inside me.

This is definitely worth pushing that meeting back.

Unlike Heath, I often work from home, which makes it harder for me to separate my work from my personal life. But if he can manage a multi-billion-dollar company and still have some time for me, I should be able to do the same for him.

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve a man like Heath, but he’s right. Our time is limited, and we need to spend it with family.

I already have everything I’ve ever wanted—a career as a romance author, and a beautiful family. Now there’s nothing left to do but to enjoy it all.

As Heath pumps into me, I wrap my legs around him. My heels are pressed against his ass, pulling him deeper into me. My fingernails drag down his back, and my teeth are on his shoulder.

As we explode together, everything in my world quiets down for a moment, and all that’s left is gratitude. I can’t express just how much joy life brings me. And to think it all started when my boss read my smutty writing.

“I love you,” he says as he leans his hot, sweaty body down and kisses me.

“Love you too,” I respond, just like I always do, every single day.

I’m happy I accepted Heath’s offer four years ago. Even though it should’ve been wrong, it’s turned out to be the right decision.

I may have lost my own challenge to not fall for Heath, but I’ve won everything else because of it. I have no regrets.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed Kat and Heath’s story.

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Preview: My Brother’s Best Friend

Prologue

“So you decided to give me your virginity based on some gossip?”

“Well, no, I thought I was just going to talk to you, but then… Then it turned into something else.” I bite my bottom lip and look up at him from under my eyelashes, hoping we can end this conversation and just get back to fucking.

I don’t need things to get any more intense emotionally. But my body can take anything he gives me.

A smile spreads across Gabe's cheeks. “I see. You just couldn't resist me, huh?”

“Yeah.” I return his smile.

Just as I’d hoped, Gabe pulls me into his arms and gives me a passionate kiss. I fight the urge to melt into his arms and give into his lips.

Instead, I turn around to face the ocean and rub the front of Gabe’s pants with my palm. He’s already hard.

I look back at him over my shoulder, maintaining eye contact as I slide my panties down my legs and step out of them.

I raise my hand behind me, place it behind his neck, and pull him close. I stick my ass out until I feel his hard-on.

As I let out a small moan, Gabe flips up the back of my skirt.

“You're wet, angel,” he says in a hoarse voice as he runs his fingers over my pussy lips.

“Yeah. I’m ready for you.” I grind my ass back against Gabe.

I hear his groan and the sound of his fly being unzipped, and I know I’ve won this round.

“Fuck me,” I whisper as he spears into me. I hold on to the rough stone of the balustrade and look out into the ocean.

I’m glad he can't see my face right now, because a tear has just escaped my right eye. It dries quickly in the cool breeze.

I need Gabe to fuck the pain out of my heart, until all I can feel is the pain he inflicts on my body, and the pleasure that's bound to follow.

“Hurt me,” I whisper, and he does.

He pinches my nipple and bites the back of my neck until I sigh and whimper.

This hurts so good.

Jacqueline

“Come on in,” I hear Mom’s voice filter through my bedroom door, “it’s my son’s birthday.”

Oh, no.

Is Mom roping yet another innocent guy into her weird birthday bit?

This used to be embarrassing, but now it’s just sad and exhausting.

I’d go out and give that guy a helping hand, but I’m kind of busy right now, and I’m running late.

I glare at my hair in the mirror. Why won’t you curl like I want you to?

My arms are already getting tired from holding my hair up, curling it, and sticking one hairpin after another into it. And I still have another section to get through.

But I can’t just stop now. I’d draw too much attention—in the wrong way—if I were to show up with 75% of my hair in an elegant updo and the remaining 25% falling stick straight the way it usually does.

I mean, Karen and I aren’t supposed be there in the first place.

We’re taking her parents’ spots so it’s not like we’re crashing the party, but we have a long day at the hospital tomorrow and we really should be having an early night. We’d get lots of frowns if we’re spotted by one of the residency directors, who will definitely be there.

I really shouldn’t go. If I start partying and staying out late now, in the first month of my medical residency, what’s next? Before I know it, I’ll be missing my shifts, getting fired, and joining the throngs of millennials all over the country who can’t find jobs.

At least one person in the house should have her shit together.

With my hair finally done, I grab my purse and take one last look at myself in the mirror.

Even though my arms are a little sore, I now have a loose bun of blonde hair on the top of my head and soft, wavy tendrils framing my face.

I really didn’t want to put so much work into my hair, but it’s the hairstyle that looks best on me. I’ve tried different options: the big, glamorous, Hollywood waves; the simple French twist; the stern, tight bun. I watched so many YouTube tutorials to get my hair just right.

The bright scarlet of my classy fit-and-flare dress contrasts nicely against my blue eyes. A string of pearls hangs just above my cleavage, and a black satin ribbon bow covers the clasp closure on the back of my neck.

Keeping my eyes on the mirror, I slip my feet into a pair of black velvet pumps.

That completes the look. The look that I’ve been putting together the whole month.

I have to work with what I’ve got, but I think I look pretty good, if I may say so myself. I need all the confidence boosters I can get if I’m going to see him.

Gabriel Kent.

Gabe.

Beautiful, strong, sensitive Gabe.

Sometimes, I call him “babe” in my head, ever since I overheard a couple calling each other by that pet name when I was ten.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the winner of the Award for Excellence in Medicine this year. I didn’t even know Gabe was back in town. But that’s exactly why I’ve chosen to intern at Hill Crest Hospital–so at least I’d be close to his dad and get the latest info on him.

Okay, I realize I’m starting to sound like a crazy stalker here, so I should probably also add that it’s a good hospital and there’s a lot of competition for the handful of internship positions available. So it’s not like I’m sacrificing my career for my Gabe obsession.

“Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday to you…” The song floats up from downstairs.

Oh God, I feel so bad for my mom’s latest victim.

Okay, it’s time to go and save someone now.

I’m as ready as I can be anyway.

I step down the stairs, grabbing the railing for balance. I’m not used to wearing heels.

Damn it.

I forget how dusty the handrail is. Most of the time, I try not to touch it, but I’m just a bundle of nerves tonight. I rub my palms together to remove the dirt particles.

I’ve tried to persuade my mom to sell the house. It’s way too big for the three of us to maintain. If we move to a smaller place, we’d save money and have fewer house chores. But she never listens.

“Oh, you look wonderful, darling,” Mom says when she sees me descending down the stairs. “Did you dress up for Sam’s birthday?”

My mom is wearing a pair of jeans and a plain white shirt. She used to dress up all the time, but not these days.

“No, Mom.”

“That’s a shame.” Mom sticks out her bottom lip. “I got a cake and everything.”

“I had cake last week, Mom. And the week before that.” My words are punctuated by the staccato sounds my shoes make as they hit the hard marble tiles.

“Sit down and have a slice, Jackie,” Mom insists.

“I have somewhere else to go to, and I’m running late.” I shoot an apologetic look at the perplexed guy wearing the UPS uniform and standing awkwardly in our dining room. “In fact, I’m going with—” I read the guy’s name tag “—Bill.”

The UPS guys’s eyes widen with surprise, but he quickly catches on. “Uh, yeah. That’s right, Ma’am, I have to leave, too.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Mom uses a knife to cut through the cake and puts a slice on a small tea plate. “At least Ray is home,” she says before she yells out my brother’s name.

I glare at my brother as he emerges from his bedroom, his hair a mess.

“What?” he asks when he sees my expression.

“You were here the whole time? Couldn’t you have put a stop to this?” I speak softly through gritted teeth so Mom won’t hear.

“Hey, cake is cake.” Ray shrugs.

Jerk.

I have to do everything around here. I hate being the fun police, but without me everything would crumble. It seems unless the house is literally burning down, nothing matters to Ray.

Last year, when Mom bought a huge, 55-gallon aquarium because “Sam likes fish,” I knew it was going to be trouble. And not just because we couldn’t afford it.

I was in the middle of important exams so I decided to let things go for a while. I thought Ray was bound to do something at some point.

But as the water went from cloudy to murky, it became clear that neither Mom nor Ray was going to do anything. By the time I found someone to take the massive tank off our hands, it had become a festering pool of algae.

So even though I don’t like spending my days off fending off crises, someone has to do it.

“Come on, Bill.” I look over my shoulder at the UPS guy.

“Yeah.” As Bill follows me out of the dining room, his eyes are glued to the doll sitting at the dinner table, staring blankly at the birthday cake through its beady eyes.

I open the door and step outside, where the air is nice and fresh. I take a deep breath and apologize to Bill the UPS guy with a simple “sorry.”

“Yeah, no, it’s not a problem.” He looks like he has questions, but he’s too stunned to string together the right sentences to sensitively broach the subject of what the hell has just happened.

I don’t blame him, but I don’t have time to give him an explanation either.

It would take too long to tell him a list of things that are wrong with my family. It would take an entire novel.

And my ride is here.

It’s time for me to see Gabe.

Jacqueline

Oh my God.

Gabe’s even more of a babe now.

I mean, he’s always had good looks. He’s tall, dark, and he’s quiet in a way that makes him seem intriguing—like he’s got a lot of mysterious things buried inside, just waiting to be released.

I’ve always wanted to be the person he shares his hidden thoughts with. That would be such a privilege.

I still yearn for that privilege now.

He’s older now, obviously. He was twenty-four last time I saw him, not long after It happened, so he must be thirty-two now.

I can’t pinpoint exactly which parts of his face have changed because he looks exactly the way he always has, and yet he appears different somehow. More mature. More dignified.

His voice has grown deeper, I realize, as I listen to the list of accomplished doctors Gabe is thanking.

He definitely looks like he belongs under the spotlight, with his solid figure, his strong jaw, and his high cheekbones.

But there’s an unease about him, almost like he doesn’t feel like he belongs. His outer demeanor, gruff and unfriendly, makes him seem far away.

But I can see the old Gabe inside that beautiful man. The kind, sensitive Gabe.

My heart jumps in my chest as he finishes his speech and makes his way down the stage.

Without the spotlight getting in his eyes, is he going to notice me?

Does he remember me? Does he remember how the three of us used to get in trouble together?

Am I old enough for him now?

And most importantly, is he here with someone?

My gaze follows his perfect figure as he threads his way between the tables. When he stops and pulls out a chair, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Just old people on either side of him. He doesn’t have a date.

He doesn’t have a date.

Every cell in my body thrums with excitement. And anxiety, too.

I told myself I’d talk to him if he’s here on his own, and now I know he is.

I raise my glass of champagne and take a gulp. I don’t usually drink, but if I’m going to talk to Gabe tonight, I need all the courage I can get, liquid or otherwise.

“He’s hot.”

“Huh?” I tear my gaze away from Gabe.

“Gabriel Kent. He’s hot.”

“Oh, he is?”

Karen chuckles. “Jacqueline, you stared at him for so long that I was starting to worry you’d start drooling.”

I laugh.

I’ve known Karen for one month, since we started working at the hospital. I only started to hang out with her because she had the invitations to this event, but it turns out she’s pretty cool.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about it.” Karen grins. “Like, half the women in this room had their eyes on him.”

“Really?” I scan the banquet hall and assess my competition.

I know women wouldn’t leave a man like Gabe alone. He’s young, successful, good looking, wealthy, and his family has great connections. Marrying him would be a one-way ticket to a life of leisure and luxuries.

That’s not why I want him, though. I couldn’t care less about all those things. I just miss him.

I know it’s stupid. Every girl has been infatuated by her brother’s friend, but which idiot holds on to that crush for decades?

Me. I’m the idiot.

“Ooh, Brendan Wells is next. He’s really hot, too.” Karen squeals excitedly, running her fingers through her golden brown hair and smoothing out her black sheath dress as if he’s coming to personally see her.

I give Karen a smile.

I’m really only interested in Gabe. I don’t even find this Brendan guy attractive, even though the other women in the room seem to disagree with me.

I can’t tell Karen about my weird obsession with Gabe. She’s the only person I have lunch with. At one month, it’s too early to be letting her know how much of a weirdo I am. I don’t want to have to find someone else to sit with me at the cafeteria.

“Do you think that suit is Armani?” Karen squints at Brendan Wells as he makes his way to the stage.

“You don’t have to make any excuses to stare at his butt.” I grin, hiding my disinterest.

Karen giggles. “Yeah, I don’t actually care what brand that suit is.”

I take another gulp of my champagne just as the waiter comes by and hold up the empty glass. He comes over to top up my booze supply.

I cast my gaze around me. “Hey, did you see where Gabe...riel went?”

“No. Maybe he went home?” Karen asks.

“Oh, no.”

“You're really going to talk to him? That's so awesome of you. I wouldn't have the guts to just go up to some hot guy I don't know.”

“Yeah. That's just how I roll.” I can feel my confidence growing as my alcohol intake goes up.

I would've told Karen he's a childhood friend, but I figured it would be weird to say, “Oh, you have invites to the award show? Gabriel Kent is my childhood friend. Can I go with you?” Because that would lead her to ask me why I’m not getting my tickets from Gabe instead.

So I acted like I was a groupie instead. And I got an invite so, you know, the main thing is I’m getting the result I want.

“Oh, that's him, right?” Karen points to the balcony beyond the row of doors along one wall of the room.

Through the glass, I see him leaning casually against the balustrade with a thin stick between his fingers. He holds it up to his lips and, a few seconds later, a cloud of white smoke floats out of his month.

“Ugh,” Karen exclaims, “I hate men who smoke, especially if they're doctors. What kind of an example is he setting for his patients?”

“Maybe he's not trying to be a role model,” I say before I can stop myself.

Karen laughs. “Okay. Remind me never to talk shit about Gabriel Kent in front of you.”

“Sorry, I’m a little distracted.” My gaze flicks between Karen and Gabe.

I don't want to lose him again. If I let Gabe out of my sight tonight, I don't know how else to find him. What if it takes me another eight years to see him again?

“Yeah, no kidding.” Karen hands me my champagne glass. “Drink up and go outside already.”

With a few big gulps, I finish my drink. Normally, I’m terrified to drink even just a tiny drop because I’ve seen what alcohol can do to people. But I’m making an exception tonight.

“Hope you get laid tonight.” Karen winks.

Oh God.

I'm such an idiot I haven't even considered that possibility.

I mean, of course I’ve thought about Gabe like that. He's the only man in my dirty fantasies.

But that's also the reason why I’m still a virgin. To me, sex is not something that happens in the real world.

But now that Gabe is really back in my life again… I don't know.

Shit. Maybe I shouldn't have drunk so much champagne.

This situation would be hard enough to navigate sober. What hope does drunk-me have?

“Karen.” I pause as I turn to face her on my chair. In despair, I say, “I’m a virgin.”

Karen’s bursts out laughing. “You could’ve fooled me. The way you were acting, I thought you were some experienced, kick-ass seductress.”

Sure, I can fool anyone as long as I don’t have to get into bed with them. But what if…

I mean, if Gabe wants to take me home, I’m not saying no. But then what happens after that, if he wants to…

Well, I do want him to take my virginity—that has been a recurring fantasy—but what if he finds my lack of experience annoying? What if it’s a turn-off?

“Oh boy, you’re really worried, aren’t you?” Karen asks when I remain serious.

I nod.

“Listen, I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” Karen says. “Just… follow your instincts and everything will be okay.

“But…” My sentence just hangs in the air as no more words come out. I just stare at Karen, panicked and unable to choose just one question to ask first.

Shit. My brain doesn’t work.

This is the worst timing in the history of everything.

“There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just talking to a cute guy. It’s not life and death,” Karen says.

She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand why this could be a life-destroying disaster.

Karen puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Look. If there’s anything you really don’t know how to handle, just excuse yourself, say you’re going to the restroom, and find me. I’ll be here.”

It takes a few seconds for my brain to process Karen’s plan through my alcoholic fog, but once I understand what she means, it sounds like a brilliant idea.

Yes. I can do this.

I don’t have to plan for the entire night. I’ll just take it step by step.

I can get through this, with Karen’s help.

Besides, given our history, what are the chances that Gabe would even consider sleeping with me?

I was getting ahead of myself.

I’m only here to say hi because it’s been such a long time since we last saw each other.

I twist in my seat to take another look at Gabe. He’s alone and he’s not doing anything. It’s the perfect time to make an approach.

“Go get him.” Karen pats my shoulder in encouragement.

And I’m off.

Gabriel

I shouldn’t be here.

I knew it was going to take some time for me to adjust to being here, but this fucking sucks.

The spotlight feels hot on my skin, and I have to squint to even see anything. I thank a bunch of names from a list Dad gave me, then grab my shiny award and walk down the stage as strangers clap their hands.

A few doctors and their partners at my table hold out their hands as I take my seat, offering their congratulations.

What do they care, though?

They don’t even know me. All they know is I’m my father’s son, and they want to kiss his ass.

I’d say I don’t deserve this award if I thought it meant anything. These events are just gimmicks made up by people who want to stroke each other’s egos and inflate their own credentials.

I used to like going to these events, but that was back when I was younger. A lot younger. Before The Incident happened and changed everything.

Back then, I treated this annual event like a hunting ground.

I was just a med school student back then, but my dad was already one of the most important people in the business, so that made me look good to the social-climbing types. Some girls had families that would’ve killed to be connected to a name like mine.

As I scan the hall tonight, I couldn’t care less about the women. Sure, some of them are pretty. But they’re also either heartless, high-powered medical professionals or brainless, money-grubbing gold diggers.

I’ve had enough of these people.

I excuse myself from the table and push open the door leading onto the big balcony. As I walk toward the edge, I wonder if I could just keep walking and never come back. But I’ve already told my dad I’m staying, at least for a short while.

I reach the concrete balustrade and turn around. I can see the banquet hall just fine from here, through the glass inserts in the row of French doors lining the wall. I’ll just slip back inside when it’s over.

Some of Dad’s friends probably want to shake hands with me or something. And even though Dad was the one who chose to sit with his important friends at one of the tables at the front, he’ll be annoyed if he couldn’t find me at the end of the event.

I pull out a cigarette and hold it between my lips.

I don’t smoke as much as I used to. But now that I’m back home, I need a little help coping.

I flick open my Zippo and strike down on the wheel.

Let there be light.

I inhale deeply, inviting poison into my lungs and throughout my body.

It tastes strange, this Marlboro Red. It’s the same brand I’ve always smoked, but there’s a subtle difference between this and the ones in Africa.

Have I made the wrong decision?

I’ve gotten used to my life over there. I’ve lived there for eight years. Almost a decade. That’s about a quarter of my life.

Sure, life is easier here, so it’s not like I’m going through torture. And like Dad said, things are only going to get better.

I have a bright future and I’m on track to earn more money than 99% of the American population. Nobody’s going to play a sad tune and cry for me.

But I wonder if it’s going to be enough.

Maybe that sounds ridiculous, considering how much I have. But it’s not about money.

I had enough, back in Africa, even if there was less money. I was helping people, which admittedly is an inherent part of being a physician, but I was helping those who couldn’t get help from anybody else. It meant something.

But maybe I’m too quick to dismiss the rewards of being an American doctor.

I’ve already promised Dad I’d at least try on this life for size, in exchange for his sizeable donation to my preferred charity.

Besides, I’ve been working hard to keep up with the American standards in medicine, going through countless certification examinations, all so I’d be able to come back and work here.

So I might as well give this a good shot.

But as I glance at the sorry faces that have joined me on the balcony… I’m not hopeful.

They look depressing, these pasty, overweight, middle-aged men who are starting to light up their cigarettes and make small talk with one another. I feel like Ebenezer Scrooge, being visited by The Ghost of Christmas Future. If staying here is going to turn into one of these people, I’d rather take off again.

I start to turn around to avoid being pulled into some inane conversation, but the sight of a stunning woman stops me in my tracks.

How did I not see her before?

She’s got hair so fair it’s almost white. It’s glowing under the pale moonlight. She’s like an angel… except an angel wouldn’t look so sinfully tempting.

In her red dress, she stands out like a flower against the backdrop of the white balcony and the black suits of the men who have come out to smoke.

They have noticed her, too. In my peripheral vision, I can see heads turning and eyes staring at that absolute knock-out.

She’s sexy as hell, in a classy, red-carpet way. Her dress shows just enough of her curves to keep me wondering what else is under there.

The fabric wraps beautifully around her narrow waist and lets a hint of her smooth, creamy cleavage peek out. I can almost see the flare of her hips, but the dress also widens at that point, letting my imagination fill in the rest of the picture.

She looks like the perfect forbidden fruit.

I want to drag her into bed, peel that dress off her body, and see if my imagination matches the reality. Then, I’d spread those toned legs and bury myself balls deep inside her.

But getting entangled with someone here, before I decide whether to stay or to go, would be a disaster.

But this girl.

Just one look and I’m almost ready to throw away everything to have a taste. There’s something almost familiar about her, which is strange, because I’d remember meeting someone like her.

Before I can do anything stupid, I turn around and look out into the distance. The view from up here isn’t bad.

We’re on the roof of one of the oldest, most established hotels in San Francisco, and we’re looking out into the open ocean. These old buildings have the best locations.

Waves lap at the sand below and a light breeze cools my lust. With a cold shower out of the question, this is my best bet at keeping myself under control.

But I can still hear those sexy, sexy steps.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click.

I can’t help but visualize those shapely legs and those dainty feet, getting closer and closer. Bolder with every step.

If that temptress gets within my arm’s reach, I don’t know what I’ll do to her. I definitely can’t promise I’ll be a gentleman.

If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay away.

“Excuse me,” a soft, feminine voice says from behind me.

Last time I checked, she was the only woman on the balcony. And I’m the only person in this corner of the big balcony.

I gave her a chance to walk away, but she didn’t take it.

That’s it, angel. You’re mine tonight.

Jacqueline

The chill in the air sends a shudder down my spine as I step onto the big balcony.

A few smokers have gathered here, some of them standing around in small groups.

But he’s alone. He’s always been a loner.

He’s looking in my direction, and my heart skips a beat.

I’ve fantasized about this exact moment so much, but now that it’s actually happening, I have no idea how to handle this.

Hi Gabe, remember me?

Hey, you’re Gabe right? We used to be neighbors. We played together all the time when we were little.

Gabe! Oh my God, it’s really you! How have you been? It’s been so long.

Somehow, as our eyes meet and I stare straight into those brilliant green eyes, none of the greetings I’ve thought up seem to fit the situation.

Yes, our pasts are interconnected. But I don’t know if that gives me an advantage over all the other women eyeing him tonight.

Our history is dark. Inky black. That’s why my light-hearted lines won’t work.

But at least he’s looking at me now. That’s good, right? Maybe he does remember me.

In fact, he’s kind of… staring at me. But I don’t think it’s recognition darkening those eyes right now. It’s something else entirely. Something I can’t identify.

Just when I think he’s about to say something, Gabe turns his back on me.

His suit is pulled snug across his broad back as he leans down and rests his forearms on the stone balustrade. White cigarette smoke floats up and gets carried by the wind, although some lingers around him, floating like it doesn’t want to leave.

I could watch his back all night, but it’s time to make a move. That’s what I’m here for. I can’t chicken out now.

I take a few steps closer, my heels noisily hitting the grey slate tiles underfoot. My heart is hammering almost just as loud, and my legs feel shaky.

But I can do this.

I’m just going to say hi. It’s not a big deal.

“Excuse me,” I say softly.

Gabe turns around, and suddenly those jade-colored eyes are on me again.

I can see his eyes clearly now.

It’s not recognition in those eyes.

It’s desire.

He doesn’t need to say anything to tell me know he wants me. His eyes do all the work for him, appraising me and searing his desire onto my flesh until my whole body heats up under his gaze.

He know what he’s doing. I can tell by the arrogant smirk on his face, the one he used to reserve for the other girls—the one that was never meant for me.

“Can I help you?” Gabe leans back against the balustrade, a cigarette dangling carelessly from his lips.

It’s dark out here, but I can still make out his strong jaw and chiseled features. His golden, sun-kissed skin reminds me of how far away he’s been from me, but his dark chestnut hair is just as it’s always been—tousled into a messy pile that I want to run my fingers through.

I swallow my nervousness and, realizing I need an excuse to be out here in the first place, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Can you spare a cigarette?”

Damn it, Jackie, I curse myself inwardly. You’ve never smoked a day in your life, and now you wanna start? Really? Is this unbelievably tense moment really the right time to try something new?

“Sure.” Gabe pulls out a pack from his suit pocket, flips the top up, and holds it out for me.

Gingerly, I reach out and take out one thin, white cigarette, hoping I look like I’ve done this many times before.

Okay. What do I do next?

Before I can ask for the lighter, Gabe holds up a silver, rectangular Zippo. As it glows under the moonlight, he gives me a wicked smile, like he’s inviting me into his dark world of deadly vices.

He never used to let me join in when he was smoking with my brothers. To be fair, I was sixteen when It happened and Gabe went away.

A dull, metallic sound fills the air between us when Gabe flicks open his Zippo and lights it up. The little flame dances, casting a warm light onto his handsome face.

Alright. Now I just have to put the cigarette between my lips and lean closer…

All of a sudden, Gabe pulls the lighter away and slaps the cigarette out of my mouth.

My jaw hangs open as I watch it fall without a sound, unlit and unsmoked. A new, pristine cigarette on the floor.

“Hey!” I protest. Even through the alcoholic fog in my mind, I know that was strange. “What did you do that for?”

“You don’t smoke,” he says matter-of-factly.

He’s right, of course. But there’s no way he knows that, unless he’s recognized me. And I’m sure he hasn’t.

“I do,” I insist.

“No, you don’t. You had the cigarette backward.” A lopsided smile plays on his lips. He knows he’s won this battle.

Heat creeps across my face. I drop my gaze, afraid he’s going to discover other embarrassing things about me—like the fact that I’ve had a crush on him my whole life.

That’s unlikely, though, seeing as he doesn’t even know who I am.

Hey, maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I can walk away and not have him remember me as this weird klutz who talks a big game but has nothing to back it up. Maybe I can show up another day and pretend none of this ever happened. Maybe I can be someone else tonight.

“There’s always a first time,” I say, emboldened by my realization.

Gabe chuckles. “It’s not gonna be tonight.”

“Can’t you teach me how to smoke?”

“Nope.” As if to mock me, Gabe raises his hand up to his mouth, the one with a lit cigarette between his long, graceful fingers.

“You’re a jerk.”

“I’m a jerk for not wanting you to start smoking?” Gabe huffs a small laugh.

“Why not? Everybody else out here is smoking. Is it just because I’m a woman?”

“It’s not because you’re a woman. I’ll admit you’re persistent, which is a good trait to have for a smoker, because you have to get through the first few bitter cigarettes before it starts to taste good.” Gabe pauses to shoot me a smile, then adds, “But you’re too beautiful to smoke.”

Did he just…?

I didn’t hear wrong. Gabe really did just call me beautiful.

Holy shit.

He never talked to me like this before.

He never looked at me like this either.

It turns out all I need to get Gabe’s attention is a whole new identity. Who’d have thought?

As a round of applause escapes the banquet hall and into the outdoors, I automatically twist to look behind me.

“Maybe you should go back inside. Your date must be looking for you.” Gabe gives me a teasing smile. “Maybe he’ll teach you how to smoke.”

“I didn’t come here with a date.” As soon as I hear my own words, I realize it’s not the best comeback. But I’m tipsy, so whatever.

“Oh, you came here with your Mommy and Daddy?” Gabe taunts me.

“No, I came here with a friend,” I say curtly. “And I’m staying here, on the balcony. You don’t tell me where to go. It’s a free country.”

Gabe laughs. “Suit yourself, angel.”

He just called me beautiful a few minutes ago, and now it’s angel.

He’s flirting with me, right?

And yet he’s telling me to leave at the same time and exasperating me with his taunts.

I’m older and wiser now, but I get the feeling that I’m still way out of my depths with Gabe.

It’s not a surprise, really. It’s not like I’ve been gaining any experience with guys. And it’s all because I’ve had this one guy stuck in my mind all along.

“I’m staying,” I say stubbornly as I take a few steps toward the balustrade and lean forward like Gabe did.

My forearms land a little too hard on the rough stone, but I just bite my lip to stifle my whimper and act like nothing’s wrong.

Maybe Gabe is right after all. Maybe I shouldn’t be emulating him.

“Like you said, it’s a free country.” Gabe appears beside me and leans on the balustrade with complete ease. He takes another puff, and the smell of burned tobacco spreads all around me.

“You know second-hand smoking is just as bad as active smoking, right?” I keep my tone light and easy, acting like I’m just asking a random question.

Gabe laughs. “I’m aware of that. I am a doctor.”

I don’t understand why physicians smoke when they know the dangers of it. I used to think Gabe was a rare exception, but even in medical school, there have always been a handful of my peers who smoke.

“So why won’t you just give me one of your poison sticks, then?” I ask.

“It’s different,” he says with a chuckle.

“How?”

“You can’t develop a habit of second-hand smoking.”

“I can if I hang around long enough.”

Gabe smirks, locks my gaze, and says, “It’s not gonna be from my smoking, angel. I don’t stick around long enough to be anyone’s habit.”

The danger lurking in Gabe’s green eyes sends a chill down my arms.

“Looks like we have a few minutes to kill together, though,” Gabe says. “Tell me your name.”

“Jacqueline.”

“You remind me of someone, Jacqueline.” He studies my face, sending my heart racing with his intense gaze.

Does he know?

“What’s your last name?” Gabe asks.

“Summers. Jacqueline Summers.”

What am I doing?

I’ve taken this case of mistaken identity far enough. I should just tell Gabe what’s really going on. It’s not too late to admit it.

On the other hand, it’s not exactly a lie because after the divorce, Mom changed my last name to match her maiden last name, so Gabe knows me by another name.

But as I watch his expression, I realize lying is the way to go. As he exhales, his lips tug up into a small smile.

“Jacqueline, huh? Beautiful name,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“So, Jacqueline, there’s something I need to ask you.” Gabe smiles as arrogance dances in his eyes. “You obviously didn’t come out here to smoke, or even to learn to smoke. If you were to ask one of these gentlemen—” he gestures at the other guys in suits on the balcony “—I’m sure at least one of them would help you pick up smoking.”

Gabe pauses, letting his words sink in, checking to see that I understand what he’s saying.

He’s telling me that he knows.

I should’ve known he’d see right through me. There’s no way he wouldn’t recognize me. Yes, I was younger then, but we spent a ton of time together.

“Tell me, Jacqueline, why did you really come out here?” Gabe asks.

My heart jumps into my throat. Even my head is throbbing now.

Oh, shit.

He knows who I am. Game’s over.

“Did you come out here for me?” Gabe’s sharp gaze pierces through my mask, probing me inside.

“Yes,” I admit, looking out into the open ocean.

“I like your honesty. But a good girl like you really should stay away from me. I’m not the eligible bachelor your parents probably tell you I am.”

Wait, what?

I twist to see Gabe, and realize he’s still the same guy as before. Dark and dangerous—not easy and brotherly like he used to be.

His gaze roams all over my body, hungry and demanding.

Then it hits me.

He thinks I came out here to seduce him.

That’s why he said the thing about not sticking around. He wanted me to know this is going to be about meaningless sex.

Emboldened by the alcohol in my system, I say, “Maybe I’m not looking for an eligible bachelor.”

“You think you can handle me, angel?” He cocks an eyebrow, challenging me.

My heart flips at the dark promise in his question. Somehow, I manage to come up with a bravado-laden response: “Bring it on.”

* * *

End of preview.

Thank you for reading!

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Bonus: Single Dad’s Fake Bride

A Virgin & Billionaire Romance

Megan

My boss, Ethan Hunter, is a ruthless, heartless monster.

It’s okay, though. Justice will be served.

I’m going to put him in his place. He just doesn’t know it yet.

“Megan, my office, please,” his deep voice suddenly filters through the speaker of the phone on my desk.

I roll my eyes. It’s like he can smell it when I so much as think about him. He’s like a shark that can sense blood in the water.

As usual, his tone is authoritative. His word is law.

I, a lowly servant, must now obey.

“Yes, Mr. Hunter,” I reply through the phone.

I hate that speakerphone thing. It just goes to show how conceited and self-important he is.

We could’ve gone with a normal phone. You know, the kind that rings and lets you decide whether to pick up before the other party gets to say anything.

Instead, we have this thing that leaves me no choice as to whether I answer or not. I have to listen, and I have to listen right away. It doesn’t matter if I’m in the middle of something else.

It has interrupted me many times. I’d be typing, and then a message would come in, and my fingers would just hover over the keyboard of the computer, forgetting where I was before hearing his latest decree.

Mr. Hunter wants me to be at his beck and call, to instantly answer whenever he chooses. He’s always the only one who gets to make all the decisions.

I let out a sigh. I’d better get my ass into his office before I incite his wrath.

I knock on the door.

Even if he’s the one who has summoned me, even though he knows full well that I’m coming, knocking is still mandatory.

I know he’s my boss and I’m being paid to do his bidding. Still, it annoys me that he can demand my time and attention whenever he wants, and I have to get his permission for every little thing.

“Come in,” he says from behind the door.

I grab the handle and push the door open. I never get used to what I see in his office, because it’s so picture perfect, it’s almost unnatural.

This scene belongs on a business magazine. There’s no need for styling of the office or the man; no need for wardrobe tweaks or make-up; no need to even clear any clutter. Even the lighting from the big glass wall behind Mr. Hunter is perfect.

This space is always flooded with light, although somehow that doesn’t help make the space feel any warmer. Mr. Hunter’s office is steel and glass, cold and unyielding, black and gray.

It looks good, but it’s sterile. Soulless. It suits him, I guess.

“How can I help you, Mr. Hunter?” I ask with a smile, standing at the doorway. I can’t step further inside this office without him explicitly ordering me to do so.

Mr. Hunter’s previous assistant, who quit to be a stay-at-home mom, taught me to always address him in this formal, excessively polite way.

It suffocates me, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I just keep reminding myself that I’m not going to be here forever. I’m not really his assistant. This is just a cover—a temporary one.

“Please pick up my daughter, Penny. Her school let out early today, and I have an interview to do,” he says as he flips through the folder in his hands, not even bothering to look up at me. “Normally, I’d ask my driver to get her, but he’s on sick leave today.”

“Yes, Mr. Hunter. Should I take the cab?” I ask, suppressing the urge to yell at him about how rude he’s being.

“Yes. She goes to The Lawrence School and she needs to be picked up half an hour from now. Just bring her here, and please hurry.”

Of course she goes to the most expensive private school in the whole state. Why wouldn’t she? Only the best for little Miss Hunter. I bet she’s an insufferable brat.

Mr. Hunter finally glances at me when he slides a scrap of paper across the glass surface of his big desk. “Here’s her phone number so you can find her.”

My heart races when those steel-blue eyes land on me. They’re so piercing, so perceptive. They scare me. They make me worry he’ll look at me a second too long and figure me out.

I guess it’s a good thing he’s not a big fan of eye contact, or much contact at all.

My heels click-clack on the reflective marble floor as I approach the desk, my heart pounding harder and harder the closer I get.

I avert my gaze, not daring to look directly at him. Maybe that makes me the rude one right now, but it feels too dangerous. I can’t blow my cover.

“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Hunter.” I give him a quick smile as I take the scrap of paper.

As I turn around, I become hyper-aware that Mr. Hunter can see my ass wiggle in my tight pencil skirt as I walk away. The thought makes me quicken my pace, even though I wore it to get his attention in the first place.

But of course he’s not even looking. When I reach the door, I turn around and catch a glimpse of Mr. Hunter, his nose already buried in his folder.

A pang of disappointment ripples in my chest, and I feel stupid.

Of course he wouldn’t be checking me out. The man is a robot. Those angular facial features and sculpted body are wasted on someone like him.

Why would I want him to check my out anyway? He’s my enemy.

Megan

“Please wait here,” I say to the taxi driver as I step out onto the pavement, remembering to swing both my legs over to the side.

After seeing Britney Spears flash the paparazzi her hoo-ha, I could never forget the correct way to enter and exit a vehicle when wearing a skirt.

I wouldn’t be caught dead with such a vulgar picture of me being circulated for men to jerk off to. Not to mention, that particular guy who took the original snap must’ve made a ton of money off it.

Men are going to sexualize women. That’s just a fact. There’s no escaping it.

All I can do is make sure I stay classy. I wear conservative, office-appropriate dresses and blouse-and-skirt combos. Most of my skin is always covered, but that doesn’t mean I’m frumpy.

After all, I need to attract some male attention, just enough for me to get what I want from them.

Which is why I exercise and watch what I eat, so I look good in skin-tight clothes. That’s as much as I’ll ever reveal to people. If men are going to jerk off to me, they’ll have to use their imagination.

I’m not going to put out for any man. I’m not going to let anyone use me and discard me like men do.

That’s why I’m still a virgin, even though most girls my age are changing partners as often as they change their clothes. Their loss, I guess, if they want to trade in their dignity for some male attention.

As I make my way up the stairs into the school, it gets harder to maintain my balance, with how tight my pencil skirt is. I don’t usually have to deal with any stairs at the office. This is unfamiliar terrain.

I have to wonder why I bother at all, if Ethan Hunter—the one man I’m actually targeting—doesn’t even give me a second glance.

“Hi.” I wave and put on a friendly smile as I spot Penny Hunter on the bench where she said she’d be waiting.

She looks exactly like the pictures I Googled on the way here. Despite her youth, she has been featured on some business and gossip magazines. There are pictures of her being out and about with her dad.

She stares at me blankly. She has the same icy blue eyes as his father.

“Penny, right? I’m Megan. Your Dad told me to pick you up.” I keep the same smile plastered on my face. I may hate her dad, but she hasn’t done anything wrong to me.

“Hey,” she says flatly. Seriously, this whole family is horrible at greeting people. Is the lack of emotions a genetic thing or a rich-people thing?

“The cab’s waiting just outside.” I point toward the open double doors that lead outside, through which the yellow car is clearly visible.

“Okay.” Penny slings her bag over her shoulder and gets up.

We make our way into the cab wordlessly, which is fine. But once we’re inside, it gets too awkward to just sit in complete silence. Even the car stereo is turned off.

How do people talk to kids? I don’t get it.

Kids know nothing about anything I’m interested in, and that goes both ways. I have no idea what kids are into. I don’t know much about Pokémon or whatever.

Still, I have to say something.

“Have you been to the office before?” I ask the kid. She must be about ten, or maybe eleven. I don’t know. It’s probably obvious by now that I’m not really an expert on kids.

“Once or twice,” Penny says.

“How do you like it?”

“It’s an office.” She shrugs.

“Sorry your dad can’t pick you up today. That must suck.”

“No, it’s cool. He tries. Sometimes he just has other things to do.” For some reason, her answer surprises me. I was expecting her to be bratty and entitled, but she’s being pretty mature and understanding.

Maybe having a father like Ethan Hunter forces you to accommodate his schedule. Maybe she’s used to being pushed around. I wonder what he’s like at home.

“Yeah,” I say. “There’s a big meeting he has to attend this afternoon.”

“Yeah, he texted me. I don’t know why he acts like it’s the end of the world. He picks me up most days, and he misses one day. It’s okay. I’m not five.”

Ethan Hunter? Getting flustered over not being able to pick up his daughter? I wouldn’t have guessed.

I mean, of course he wouldn’t treat his daughter like he treats other people. Still, I never expected him to be such an involved parent.

“How old are you, Penny?” I ask.

“Almost eleven. My birthday is in two months.”

“I see.” My wild guess was correct after all.

And…that’s it. I’ve run out of topics to talk about. I could never find a common ground with kids. I’m just not a kid person.

“How old are you?” Penny asks, keeping the conversation going, to my relief.

“Twenty-one.”

“You’re almost twice older than me.”

“I’m almost twice your age,” I correct her without thinking about it.

“Yeah. You’re twice my age,” she replies without complaining, admitting her mistake and correcting herself.

“Do you like it when your dad picks you up?”

“Yeah.”

“It must be better riding that fancy car than this cab, huh?” I know Mr. Hunter is really fond of his black convertible Porsche. I stare at it with envy sometimes when I see it at the office.

“It’s okay,” she says in a casual tone that reminds me it’s a mundane, everyday thing for her to ride in a luxury car.

If it wasn’t for her father, maybe I’d have a car of my own. But instead I’m just barely scraping by, even though I take public transport everywhere.

“Sometimes he buys me ice cream after school and that’s nice,” she continues.

“When I was your age, I had to walk to the school and back myself every day.” Damn, I sound like an old grandma, talking about how good kids these days have it, compared to how it was back in my day.

“I used to do that, too,” Penny says.

“Nobody picked you up?” I frown. Surely, even if he’s busy, Ethan Hunter could hire someone to drive his daughter anywhere she wants.

“No.”

“How old were you at that time?”

“Six,” Penny says.

“We’re here,” the taxi driver announces.

I look out and realize he’s right. I’ve been so focused on Penny I haven’t even been paying attention to where we are.

The steel-and-glass skyscraper that belongs to Penny’s dad looms just outside the cab, so high I can’t see the top from this angle.

I give the driver a couple of bills and tell him to keep the change. Ethan Hunter is many things, but he’s not cheap.

As his assistant, I get to use a company credit card and a monthly cash allowance. These things are for work expenses, of course. But there’s not much oversight and I can get away with using some of the money on myself.

I’ve never tried to do that, though. I’ve come too far to jeopardize things for just a few extra dollars. If I pull this mission off, I’m going to get a much better reward—and I’m not just talking about money.

“How far did you have to walk to get to school?” I ask as Penny and I wait for the elevator at the lobby.

“Like, a mile or two, I guess.”

As the elevator arrives to take us up to the eighty-seventh level, I wonder why Ethan Hunter would let a small kid traverse that distance on foot. That’s almost torture, considering how young Penny was, and how short her legs must’ve been.

I walk through the empty office and reach my desk, which is just outside Mr. Hunter’s office door. He likes his privacy, so he has set aside this whole floor for himself. Which is why I work alone and eat alone most days. I don’t really mind it, though. I enjoy solitude.

I take my usual seat at my desk and say, to Penny, “Sit wherever you like.”

I assumed she’d sit down on one of the designer couches in the waiting room. Like other things in this office, they look good but they’re pretty low on the comfort factor.

But instead, Penny tiptoes toward her dad’s office door and presses her ear against the wood.

“Penny!” I whisper loudly. “You’re not supposed to do that.”

If Mr. Hunter finds out I’m letting his daughter eavesdrop on his interview, I’ll get in trouble. And then all my hard work will amount to nothing.

Penny doesn’t budge, even though she’s staring right at me. I watch as her eyes widen and her skin grows pale. She looks alarmed.

“Oh, no,” she says softly, her voice shaking.

“What’s wrong?” I ask with concern.

Maybe she’s just being a brat and doing whatever she wants. Maybe I should just yank her off the door and tell her to behave.

But something tells me there’s more going on. She seems like a kid who has grown up before her time, like someone who’s more mature than her peers.

Maybe I’m just projecting, because that’s the way I used to feel myself, when I was a kid.

Whatever the reason, my heartbeat picks up as I wait for her response. I have a feeling this might be serious.

Penny’s eyes grow dark with conviction. When she opens her mouth, she says, “You have to do something.”

Ethan

I can’t help but stare at my assistant’s ass, her perky globes swaying from side to side, her movements exaggerated by her high heels. The staccato beats of her shoes on the floor echo as she walks away.

She’s a fucking distraction. And I can’t afford to have any distractions.

But she does decent work. She’s good at following instructions. And to be honest, maybe I enjoy that a little too much.

I love her nervous fidgeting when I look at her, the little bite of her bottom lip, the tucking of her blonde hair behind her ear. Not to mention the way she glances away as she loses her composure, or the way her chest rises and falls rapidly.

I love that I’m the one who makes her nervous, that I’m the one whose orders she follows. I wish I could pin her to the wall and have my way with her.

But I can’t do that. That would be irresponsible. And above all, I need to be responsible.

Besides, my reputation is already shot to shit. The last thing I need is a sexual harassment lawsuit from my personal assistant.

And trying to find a replacement would be hell. I can’t deal with the idiots in HR sending me one stupid airhead after another.

No, Megan makes for the perfect personal assistant, and that’s exactly why I need to keep my dirty paws off her, even if my cock is already stirring in my pants.

I tear my gaze off her sexy curves and focus on the document in front of me, a list of talking points prepared by my PR department to help me get ready for the interview.

I fucking hate doing all this publicity stuff. I told Eliza, the head of the PR department, that I wanted her to deal with the media, but she said it would seem insincere and impersonal.

Well, I’m a fucking businessman. Why the fuck do they want to get up close and personal? I’m not a celebrity, and I don’t want to be.

It’s not even just the business media anymore that talks about me, but also the gossip tabloids. My pictures next to the fucking Kardashians—imagine that.

My phone rings. I take a quick glance to check who’s calling.

Ashley.

Of course it’s her. The fucking root and source of all my problems. Of course she’d call me on a bad day, just to make it worse.

I silence the ringtone and let the call go to voicemail.

I try to concentrate on the talking points, but it’s the same old fucking lines.

Create jobs and spread wealth.

Share savings with the local communities.

Overall positive economic impact.

Conversations with elected officials and community leaders.

Co-exist with small and medium businesses.

Review our portfolio.

Constantly looking for new ways to be more helpful to the surrounding areas.

It’s the same corporate speak that has been rehashed to death. No journalist who actually cares about doing a good job would ever buy these answers. But do we even have any real journalists anymore?

Money can buy opinions in this day and age. I don’t even know whether that’s a good thing. I used to think it was, until my enemies started using the same PR tactics against me.

I throw the folder on my desk. It hasn’t helped at all. I just know that whoever’s coming to interview me won’t be interested in these sanitized, sterilized talking points.

I might as well listen to my voicemail. The one from Ashley, the fucking mother of my child.

“Hey, Ethan,” she greets in a sickeningly sweet voice. “How’s Penny doing? I miss her, and I’m sure she wants to see me, too.

“You can’t just keep us apart forever. Sooner or later they’re going to grant me custody. You know that, right? You can’t keep a mother away from her daughter.

“Anyway, Lucas says he’s working on something. So if I were you, I’d be fucking scared right now.” She cackles like the witch she is, then adds, “I was hoping to hear your reaction.

“But, oh well, we don’t always get what we want, right, honey? You’ve been the exception to that rule for too long. Soon, you’ll get what’s coming to you.

“Anyway, I gotta go. Talk soon!”

Fucking Ashley.

I put the phone down on my desk.

Hasn’t that woman done enough? I don’t know what else she wants from me.

When Ashley left me and took Penny with her, she should’ve known there was a possibility that I’d get custody, and taken that into consideration. It’s not my fault she wasn’t prepared for it.

“Mr. Hunter,” says Eliza as she knocks of my office door.

Great. Perfect timing.

I’ve just been terrorized by a nightmare from my past, and now I’m about to face yet another user who wants to take advantage of me.

Sure, this journalist doesn’t personally know me and it’s nothing personal. But she’s still looking to use me to further her career, selling me to her audience like I’m some kind of a product.

I don’t know why I expect anything different from anybody.

I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath.

“Come in,” I say.

The door opens, and Eliza walks in, followed by a woman I don’t recognize.

“Mr. Hunter, this is Melanie Graham. She’s here for the interview,” Eliza says.

“Mr. Hunter, it’s an honor to finally meet you. I’m Melanie Graham from The Times.”

“Please, call me Ethan.” I smile and gesture for her to follow me to the sitting area.

I don’t like being too familiar with strangers, but Eliza tells me this is a trick to make myself seem more personable. I wouldn’t care if people thought I was the devil himself, but apparently that could hurt the bottom line, so I listen to her.

“And please call me Melanie,” she says as she meets me by the coffee table.

We shake hands and give each other a polite smile before we take our seats on the couches. A little showmanship to make her like me so she’ll write good things about me.

None of it means anything, of course. Just a ritualistic dance before any main event in this office.

“How’s your day going so far, Mr. Hunter? I’m sorry, I mean Ethan.” Melanie does a fake laugh intended to bring my defense down. Unfortunately for her, I’m not that naïve.

“It’s business as usual, Melanie. Thanks for asking. How’s your day so far?”

“It’s looking up, now that I’m interviewing someone who made the 40 Under 40 List.” Melanie smiles as she mentions the stupid, arbitrary article that some business magazine writes every year, about the top forty businessmen under the age of forty. She pulls out a little black gadget from her bag. “Mind if I record this interview?”

“Not at all,” I say.

Eliza sits on the sidelines, watching the interview, ready to interrupt or take over when the questions get too intrusive. She must be proud. Here I am, addressing the interviewer with her first name and being polite—friendly, even. I’m doing everything she told me to.

As we expected, Melanie starts with the easy questions. Where our newest shopping centers will be located, how many of our projects are going to be finished this year, and what our plans are for the next five years.

We all know this is just warm-up. None of this is going to make it into whatever article she’ll write. Still, we pretend it actually matters.

Then, Melanie bares her teeth—metaphorically, of course. We’re civilized people. We don’t actually assume aggressive stances to threaten one another with physical violence. We just smile while we secretly stab one another in the back.

“Have you heard any feedback from the local community about your property in Northdeer?”

“Before we start any project, we always have extensive conversations with the local elected officials and community leaders,” I answer, recalling the words from Eliza’s talking points.

“I see. There are allegations that local businesses and property owners have faced intimidation from Hunter Corporation. Are you aware of these allegations?”

“Yes. I try to keep abreast of any new developments related to my business. With the size of our portfolio, you understand that I can’t possibly keep track of every single thing that happens, but Eliza here is great at bringing the more important issues to my attention.” I glance at Eliza, who gives me an approving look that tells me I’m doing great at sticking to the script.

I don’t like having someone tell me what to do, but dealing with the press is not my area of expertise.

A couple of years ago, Hunter Corporation got hit by a ton of bad publicity, and my honest responses weren’t helping. It got so bad that our profits were hurt. At that point, I had to swallow my pride and hire a PR expert.

I can’t jeopardize everything I’ve worked so hard for, just because I can’t control what I say. Control is key. And if it takes a PR expert to take back that control, then so be it.

“How have you responded to these particular allegations in Northdeer?” Melanie asks.

“As I’ve already stated in many other interviews, Hunter Corporation used to subcontract the acquisition of land and construction of structures to another company. We have severed all business relationships with this company.” I don’t need any notes to answer this question. I’ve answered it eighty-three times. It seems to be a favorite among journalists.

“Are you talking about Primaland?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” I answer.

“You’re the CEO, Ethan. Surely, you can say anything you want?”

“I’m sorry, Melanie. This is not something I can discuss with you.” I smile at her. I’m being friendly, but also making it clear that I’m not going to let her push me into a corner.

“Okay, let’s move on to something lighter, then.” Her lips curl up, but the way she stares at me leaves no doubt in my mind: she’s going for blood now. “You’re often photographed with your daughter, Penny. You’re shown picking her up, taking her for ice cream… It’s adorable.”

“Thank you. My daughter is the most important person in the world to me, and I enjoy spending time with her.” This is the most genuine statement I’ve said so far in this interview.

“That’s really sweet, Ethan.”

“I’m sure I’m not the only dad who feels that way about his daughter.” I smile and brace myself for what I know is about to come.

“Not every CEO has the time to pick up his daughter from school every day.”

“I can’t comment on how other people parent. This is the only way I know how to be a dad.” I shrug. I wish she’d just get to the point, rather than act like she cares.

“I have some questions related to the way you parent, actually. I’m sure you know people are talking. They say you’re only pretending for the cameras,” Melanie says, finally getting to the heart of the matter.

“People say all kinds of things.”

“Are you picking up your daughter today?”

“Well, no. But today is an exception. Penny’s school let out early today, and I wouldn’t have been able to make this interview if I picked her up.”

“I see. So sometimes business comes first after all, huh?”

“Well, no. It’s just a minor scheduling issue,” I say with a practiced smile.

Bitch, I curse in my head. You don’t think I’d rather be eating ice cream with my daughter than sitting here getting grilled by you, a stranger and a nobody?

“I’m sure you’re also aware of how your ex-wife, Ashley Hunter, has gone public with her story, saying that you’ve been keeping her away from Penny, her own daughter,” Melanie says.

“Yes. It’s what the court decided. The presiding judge gave me full custody of Penny.”

“Your ex-wife is contesting that decision. In fact, she has teamed up with Primaland to call you a liar and a bully in the media,” she continues.

“And a monster, too. Let’s not forget that.” I chuckle.

“You seem to find it amusing. Aren’t you afraid of losing your daughter?”

“The media may be able to influence public opinion, Melanie. But ultimately the courts make the final decision.”

“Your ex-wife accuses you of using your money and influence to gain the upper hand in court. What do you say to that?”

“I say I haven’t done anything illegal.”

“Not illegal, I agree. But judges are members of the public, too, Ethan. The shift in public opinion may affect your custody arrangement.”

“I’ll let the courts decide,” I reply calmly with a smile as I lean back in my couch, even though my blood is boiling inside.

“Your ex-wife also alleges that you’re keeping Penny away from her out of spite. She claims you’re putting on a show when you’re seen with her in public.”

“That’s just not true, Melanie.” I stick to short answers as she comes up with one infuriating statement after another. I can’t risk saying something out of anger. It will only become fodder for the press.

“I want to believe you, Ethan. But you just told me yourself that you’re not picking up your daughter because of this interview. Is it more important to you to present a certain image to the public, than it is to provide good care for your daughter?”

“Not at all. I don’t think it’s fair to judge my parenting from the little slice of my life that you see.”

I inwardly curse at Eliza. She has been telling me what an important interview this is, and how I can’t miss it. Well, maybe it is. But I really can do without this woman’s attacks and negativity. I should’ve skipped it altogether.

“Unfortunately, Ethan, a slice of your life is all I get to see, and it’s all the material I have for my article,” Melanie says.

Before I can open my mouth to answer, the door opens. No knocking, no warning.

I’m sitting with my back toward the door, so I twist to take a look. This is highly unusual, and I don’t like it. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening.

Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion. All conversation grinds to a halt. The only sounds are the soft tapping of sneakers on the tiles, and the sharp clicking of high heels not far behind.

“Hi, Dad,” Penny says casually, waving as she enters the room.

Megan follows behind her, looking distraught as she shuts the door behind her. Her gaze flicks wildly between Eliza, Melanie, and me.

I frown at the two of them.

What the fuck do they think they’re doing?

Megan

“You have to do something, Megan,” Penny repeats. The blood has drained from her face, and her dilated pupils darken her blue eyes.

“What’s wrong, Penny? Calm down.” I don’t even know what the problem is, so how am I supposed to do anything?

“They’re going to take me away. I can’t…” Her sentence hangs in the air as she hyperventilates, pumping air into her small lungs.

What could be going on inside Mr. Hunter’s office? All I know is there’s an interview right now, but I have no idea what it’s about, or how it affects Penny.

All I know is it’s important enough for Eliza Dahl from PR to join him today.

She’s this talented, hard-working young woman who always seems to know what to say. She always looks professional in her fashionable blazers, and she can smooth out any difficult situation—it’s like a superpower.

Sometimes, Mr. Hunter does smaller interviews that he doesn’t even prepare for. But for this particular one, he’s been emailing back and forth with Eliza for days.

“Penny, just sit down for a minute. Come on.” I get up and put my hands on her shoulders, intending to gently guide her toward the waiting area, where the couches are.

There’s nothing she or I could do. As much as it sucks, we’re powerless, so we might as well just sit back and relax.

“There’s no time!” Penny insists.

“Penny.” I bend down to level my gaze at her. “What is it that I’m supposed to do? What is going on? I need to know if you want me to help you.”

“They’re going to take me away,” she repeats. She looks so desperate it breaks my heart. “You need to do something.”

“I don’t know how to help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on. Tell me, how am I supposed to help you?” I ask, getting worried and frustrated.

Damn it, I think I might like this kid after all. Why do I even care about her? She’s the daughter of my enemy.

“I don’t know,” Penny snaps. “You’re the adult here. You’re supposed to know what to do. You’re almost twice my age.”

She even remembers what I said in the cab, even in her panicked state. She may be a kid, but she’s smart and perceptive. Maybe something really bad is really going on in there.

But what can I do? I may be an adult, but I’m also just a personal assistant.

Penny stares at the floor. Her eyebrows are taut, her gaze focused. She’s thinking. Concentrating.

“Okay. I know what to do. Just follow my lead,” Penny says.

Before I can react, Penny pushes her dad’s office door open.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

I’m supposed to babysit her. Now she’s entering Mr. Hunter’s office—which is already off-limits, even under normal circumstances—during an important interview.

What do I do?

Penny glances back at me, imploring me to back her up with her eyes.

Damn it, I can’t say no to those eyes.

Besides, I’m already in trouble anyway for letting Penny enter Mr. Hunter’s office. I might as well commit to whatever this is.

“Hi, Dad,” Penny says casually as she enters the office, all traces of panic or uncertainty gone from her demeanor.

Jesus. I have to say I’m impressed. She’s good.

I trail behind her, not sure what’s happening or what I should do. I’m completely out of my depth here.

For the few months that I’ve been working here, I’ve been playing it safe. I’m not supposed to be pulling this kind of stunts.

Mr. Hunter glares at Penny, then at me. I avert my gaze and act like I’m busy with the door, like it takes all my concentration just to push it closed.

“Penny!” Mr. Hunter exclaims. To my surprise, he doesn’t sound angry at all. If anything, he sounds happy to see her, even if his eyes are still shooting darts at her.

I wonder if this father-daughter ruse has to do with the woman sitting on the couch right now.

She looks professional in her beige business suit. Her blonde hair is pulled up into a neat bun. She’s smiling, but her expression remains somewhat stern. She’s probably the interviewer.

I smile at her and Eliza, who is staring at me with her eyebrows raised, as if to ask me, what the fuck is going on?

Even if I could speak freely, I’d still have no answers for Eliza.

“How was your day? It’s nice that they let you off early, huh?” Mr. Hunter asks as he welcomes Penny into his arms.

I slowly, awkwardly approach the sitting area, where everyone is, and stand politely off to the side, right by the couch where Mr. Hunter is sitting. I figure it’s probably best to stay close to Penny.

“Yeah, but I missed you, Dad.” To my surprise, Penny slides onto her dad’s lap. For some reason, I never expected Mr. Hunter to get this affectionate with another human being, even if the human in question was small, adorable, and shared his DNA.

“Aww, I missed you, too, honey.” Mr Hunter kisses Penny’s forehead as she leans back in his chest.

“Hi, Penny. My name is Melanie,” the interviewer says as she shoots Penny a smile.

“Hi, Melanie,” Penny says with the sweetest smile on her face.

To me, though, she looks like she has a plan and is feeling smug about it. I may have only spent a little time with her, but I recognize that look from my own reflection in the mirror.

“How was school today?” Melanie asks.

“Good.”

“That’s good. I’m sorry for keeping your dad busy so he couldn’t pick you up.”

“That’s okay. He picks me up most days.”

“And if he can’t make it, I suppose his assistant is happy to do it?” Melanie briefly glances at me before returning her attention to Penny.

“Huh? Who are you talking about?” Penny asks, putting on a clueless face. What is she planning?

“This nice lady, of course.” Melanie turns to me and smiles.

I return her smile, feeling self-conscious about having her attention on me, knowing I’m not even supposed to be here.

“Oh, Megan is not my dad’s assistant.”

“She’s not?” Melanie asks.

Thank you, Melanie. I was just about to ask Penny the same question myself.

“No, Megan is my new mom,” Penny says casually.

My jaw drops, and I can only stare at Penny in shock.

What the hell is happening?

I’m not the only one who’s surprised.

Melanie twists toward me so fast I thought her neck was going to snap. She eyes me up and down, sizing me up. Then, she picks up her pen and scribbles furiously on the notepad in her lap.

Meanwhile, both Mr. Hunter and Eliza can’t seem to decide where to look. They stare at me, then at Penny, then at each other, then at Melanie, who’s still busy taking notes.

“Ethan, I had no idea you’d gotten married. This is huge news,” Melanie says as her hand finally stops moving and she raises her head back up to observe Mr. Hunter. “You seem surprised.”

“Oh, no,” Penny says, feigning innocence. “I’m sorry, Dad. I forgot I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

Eliza is the first one to jump in to save the interview. “I’m sorry, Melanie,” she says with a calm smile. “Mr. Hunter is just surprised because he—well, the whole family—they intended to keep it a secret. Only temporarily, of course.”

“Oh, any reason why the public is to be kept in the dark about this happy news?” Melanie asks. Now that she thinks I’m part of the family, she looks at me, too, when she asks a question.

I finally regain enough composure to return Melanie’s smile, but I still can’t find the right words to say. I’ve never been the focus of a media interview before. I’ve only ever been on the other side.

From what I can tell, even Mr. Hunter gets briefed before an interview. Right now, I’m supposed to come up with answers to a fictional situation that I’m not even aware of. This is like some kind of a weird improv skit.

“Please excuse Miss Jones,” Eliza says. “She’s not used to being in the limelight, as you can probably tell. With the media storm surrounding Hunter Corporation and Mr. Hunter’s family right now, you understand why we’re careful about this.”

“Oh, I understand,” Melanie says. “But, Miss Jones, if I may say something, sooner or later you’re going to be the focus of some huge news articles. I’d try to get used to it if I were you. There’s really no escaping it.”

“Tha—” My voice sounds weird and squeaky, so I pause to clear my throat before I continue. I make a second attempt and say, “Thank you.”

“I notice you just called her Miss Jones, Eliza,” Melanie says. “Is there a reason why? I’d think Mrs. Hunter would be a more appropriate way to address her. Don’t you agree, Ethan?”

Quickly, Eliza answers, “Until we decide how to approach this, we’d like to keep everything exactly the same. We don’t want anybody finding out by accident because of a slip of the tongue, like we just witnessed together,” she says with a small laugh.

“That makes sense. But you understand that, now that I’m aware of this, I can’t just sit on the news,” Melanie says.

“We’d appreciate it if you could omit this part of the conversation for now,” Eliza says. “No other news source is aware of this yet, so you’ll still be the first to break the news. We’ll even give you an exclusive interview if you agree to keep it quiet for as long as you can.”

“An exclusive interview and a photography session with the whole family,” Melanie negotiates.

“Deal.” Eliza smiles. Glancing at her watch, she adds, “Now, I believe we’ve hit the one-hour limit for this interview. Mr. Hunter has another meeting scheduled in a few minutes, so I think we should end this session. We’ll continue on another day, when we’re ready for that exclusive interview and photography session.”

“Oh, I’d like to get a few more details before I go. Like, Miss Jones,” Melanie says as she turns toward me, “What is your first name?”

“Meg—”

“Miss Jones, please, let me.” Eliza cuts me off, her expression friendly but firm. To Melanie, she says, “Miss Jones would like to maintain her anonymity for as long as possible, so I hope you understand if we withhold her full name. Mr. Hunter, Penny, and Miss Jones—they’re just a family like any other family. Privacy is very important to them.”

“Of course. I understand.” Melanie’s face falls, but she forces a smile.

Obviously, the journalist still wants to dig more information. She stares at me, like she’s memorizing the way I look so she can describe my appearance to her readers.

For a second, I consider crouching under Mr. Hunter’s couch, just in case Melanie pulls out her cell phone and starts taking pictures of me. But that would be downright crazy.

In a smooth social maneuver, Eliza gets Melanie to stand up and follow her to the door. She glances back at Mr. Hunter before walking out, seemingly to let him know she’s coming back soon.

I inhale deeply. I realize I’d been holding my breath while Melanie was in here. I still have no idea what’s going on, but at least I don’t have to pretend anymore.

I take a peek at Mr. Hunter and his daughter, who have their backs to me. They have been silent for the past few minutes, letting Eliza handle the interviewer.

I can’t see their expressions from where I’m standing, but the muscles along Mr. Hunter’s neck are tense. Is he angry?

Is he angry…at me?

Shit.

Technically, it was Penny who has put us in this strange and awkward position. But she’s a child and I’m an adult who was supposed to look after her. I was supposed make sure she didn’t pull something like this.

Damn it. I hope I haven’t just ruined my chances of taking revenge on Ethan Hunter.

Ethan

“Megan, please take a seat,” I say calmly, despite the storm brewing inside me. I gesture at the couch where Melanie was sitting, only minutes ago.

I want to have a private discussion with Penny about boundaries, but that will have to wait. I will have to get to the bottom of this first.

I have to make sure Megan isn’t trying to take advantage of me.

She obediently takes her seat. With panic in her pretty blue eyes, she says, “I’m sorry, Mr. Hunter. I swear I had no idea she was going to barge in like that. I should’ve kept a closer eye on her.”

I nod at her, but remain quiet.

I’m sure that look alone is enough to make many men take her at her word, but I’m not that easily fooled. I’ve dealt with enough parasites to know that they come in all shapes and sizes. Although she looks innocent, Megan could very well be just another one of them.

“Penny, take a seat next to Megan, please.”

Without saying a word, Penny obliges. She knows I’m dead serious now, which means she knows that what she did was wrong.

“I’m disappointed, Penny. I thought you were smarter than that,” I say.

Penny looks down. She fidgets, running her own fingers all over her nails, which are painted blue.

Penny has only recently started to pay more attention to her appearance. To be honest, I’m worried I won’t be enough for her when she needs to navigate puberty. I do okay with ice creams and car rides, but I’m lost when it comes to shit like periods, fashion, popularity, and boys.

“I just didn’t want them to take me away again,” she says quietly, in a voice that breaks my heart.

She sounds so small and scared, and it reminds me just how much I’ve failed her. I’m not doing a good job of making her feel safe.

“I told you, I won’t let anyone take you away from me. I promise you,” I say.

“But that’s not what the lady said,” Penny protests.

“The interviewer lady?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you believe her, or do you believe me?” I ask.

“You,” Penny answers in a flat tone, a sign that she’s just saying whatever I want her to say.

“Penny, look at me.” I level my gaze at her. “Did Megan put you up to this?”

“No,” Penny answers quickly. “Megan doesn’t have anything to do with it. I came up with it all on my own.”

“And you must think you’re so smart for having come up with it.” I rub my temple. A vein is popping up and throbbing. Casting a glance at Megan, I say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you. I had to at least ask the question.”

“I understand, Mr. Hunter. Again, I apologize for not handling the situation better. I didn’t expect something like that to happen.”

I nod.

For what it’s worth, Megan genuinely looks shaken. It’s probably unfair to accuse her for being the mastermind of whatever fucking PR disaster just happened.

She wouldn’t have been able to come up with that kind of a plan spontaneously. A stranger like Megan would never be able to coax Penny into doing her bidding. Hell, I have trouble telling her to do the things she’s supposed to do anyway.

My girl is way too stubborn to just follow someone’s crazy plan.

Coming up with her own crazy plan, though? Penny’s perfectly capable of that.

“It’s not your fault, Megan. Don’t worry about it,” I say.

Megan seems to relax a little. Her breathing grows slower and more regular as her muscles loosen up.

Considering what has just happened, she’s handling it relatively calmly. At least she didn’t freak out and deny Penny’s story in front of the interviewer—that would’ve been worse.

I’m glad Eliza was here to help me get through that shit show. I was ready to tell Melanie to leave my office as soon as Penny mentioned the words “new mom.”

But Eliza gave me a look that told me she had it covered, and she managed to send the journalist away without giving her any more information.

To these vultures, it doesn’t matter what the truth is. All that matters is what would sell more copies of their dumb magazines.

In the past, I used to handle media inquiries myself. That didn’t go so well. So now, I’ve learned to stay quiet. Whenever I get too worked up, I step back and let Eliza deal with it.

There’s a reason why I pay her top dollar, and that’s because she’s better at her job than I am. The only reason why I’ve managed to climb to the top is because I hire experts like Eliza and let them work as I continue to focus on the big picture.

I get up and go to my desk to pick up the phone. I press the shortcut button to call the legal department. “Lana, my office, please,” I say.

“Yes, Ethan,” she answers from the other end of the line.

I like having this system in place, where I can immediately reach my employees at a moment’s notice. It’s only a few key people, like the heads of departments and my personal assistant. They know they should come as soon as I need them. Their main concern should be to keep me, their employer, happy.

I take deep breaths and consider the circumstances as I get back to the couch. The news that Penny has a new mom would probably be a good thing if it were true, considering the media likes to attack the fact that I’m a single dad and I’m keeping Penny away from her mother.

Even the courts prefer to give custody to the partnered ex-spouse. It’s only thanks to my team of lawyers that I’ve managed to take Penny back, even though her mom had a husband at the time of the custody battle.

But as soon as it’s revealed that I’m still a single dad and it’s all just a lie, we’re screwed.

I’d be hit with accusations of putting ideas in Penny’s head, introducing a strange woman as her new mom, and generally failing to provide stability for her. All these things would apply, even if we managed to convince them that Megan and I were actually dating at some point.

“What just happened?” Eliza asks as she marches back into the office. “We didn’t plan to do that. I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered your marriage if you had mentioned it, Ethan.”

“Please stop shouting, Eliza. My head already hurts.” massage my temple. “I didn’t plan to do that either. There’s no marriage.”

“Well, as your spokesperson, I should’ve been notified as well if you get into a serious relationship, especially when you know it could affect—”

“Eliza,” I cut her off. “There’s no relationship, engagement, or marriage. There’s nothing between Megan and me. We’re just employer and assistant. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Eliza goes quiet. “Then… Then why did you do that?”

“I didn’t do anything. It was all Penny.” Ridiculously, I feel like a snitch, even though I’m the parent and she’s the child who needs to be disciplined. I feel like I’m betraying her, in a way.

“Penny, honey, why did you do that?” Eliza asks as she approaches Penny, her brown hair tumbling forward as she crouches on the floor.

Penny keeps staring at the floor, fidgeting with her blue nails.

“I’m sorry for not introducing myself. I’m Eliza. I work with your dad. I handle interviews like the one we just had. I was surprised that you did what you did. I think we all were.”

“I’m not going to say sorry,” Penny says stubbornly. “I just don’t want them to take me away.”

Eliza shoots me a questioning look.

“Penny’s worried that her mom might succeed in getting custody,” I explain.

“Honey. Aww…” Eliza scoots closer to Penny on the couch and rubs her arm. “We’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen, okay? Why did you think they were going to take you away?”

“That’s what the lady said. That people might be convinced that dad isn’t taking good care of me.”

“Did anything happen?” Lana asks as soon as she walks through the door and sees a big group, including a child, in the sitting area.

“Oh, boy. You’re in for a treat,” Eliza says with a grin as she starts to give Lana an account of what has just taken place right here. Her calm, professional demeanor helps make me feel better about this whole thing.

Maybe it’s not that bad after all.

“Oh, no. This is bad,” Lana says. “How much time do we have until this shows up on the news?”

“I asked the interviewer to keep it under wraps and she agreed, so… One week, tops.”

“Jesus, the media. You can never trust them,” Lana says.

“Funny thing, many people say the same thing about lawyers,” Eliza quips.

“This is going to undermine your credibility when word gets out that it’s all a lie, Ethan,” Lana says, ignoring Eliza’s gibe at her. “They’re going to attack your parenting, as well. You didn’t pick Penny up like you claim you always do; you missed it because of work; and you made her believe that she has a new mom.”

Lana notices me opening my mouth and quickly adds, “I know Penny came up with it on her own, but people are not going to believe that. Not even if she admitted it herself.”

“Just look at her,” Lana says as she gestures at Penny. “The picture of honesty and innocence. People will think you corrupted her into becoming a liar.”

“Sorry,” Penny says softly.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to say sorry,” I say.

“I didn’t know it was going to get this bad.”

“Well, I know you didn’t mean any harm, Penny,” Lana says, “but it only worsened the—”

“It’s okay, honey,” Eliza says to Penny as she glares at Lana. “It wasn’t the best thing you could’ve done, but we’re going to figure this out.”

The room goes silent for a few seconds as the reality of the situation sinks in.

“There is a way to fix everything,” Lana says. “Okay, Eliza, hear me out and let me know how the media will take the news. But legally, there’s no problem in handling it according to this plan I have in my head. It’s crazy, but hear me out.”

Lana looks around at everyone, making sure she has our attention, before she makes the craziest preposition I’ve ever heard.

“Okay, how about…” Lana pauses dramatically. “How about you get married for real?”

Despite the intensity of the situation, I burst out laughing.

Of course it fucking sucks that everything is spiraling out of control. But sometimes there’s nothing you can do but realize how ridiculous life is and roll with it.

I’ve gone through plenty of real suffering in my life and gained enough perspective to know this is not a big deal.

Even if they hurt my reputation, they’ll never take Penny away from me. And as long as I’m secure in this knowledge, nothing can shake me.

I have a ton of money I can use to hire the best lawyers to represent my case, and I’m willing spend every last cent to keep my daughter if I have to. I’d lose everything before I lose Penny.

And if it takes me marrying my personal assistant to make sure Penny stays with me? I’ll do it, too. There’s literally nothing I wouldn’t do.

“I’m not joking, Ethan,” Lana says. “We can draw everything up so all the terms are clear. There’s going to be a pre-nup, of course. But, Megan, you will be handsomely rewarded.”

“You know, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all,” Eliza says as she stares into the distance. “I can already see the headlines. ’New Mom for Ethan Hunter’s Daughter’ would make a good one.”

I shake my head and sigh. Fucking life, man. You never know where it might take you.

“What do you think, Megan? Will you marry me?” I ask.

To my surprise, her face grows red from my playful proposal. She bites her bottom lip nervously. Her reaction makes me want to taste those pink, full lips.

“Don’t mess with her, Ethan,” Eliza says, ever the diplomatic communicator. “Megan, right? Is it okay if I call you Megan?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Megan, this is a big opportunity for you. You’re going to get rewarded, of course. You’ll get a lot of money—and fame, if that’s what you want. And we’ll take care of every little detail, so you won’t have to worry about anything. There will be an end to this arrangement, of course, and you’ll be able to go back to your old life once it’s over, only you’ll be a lot richer.”

Damn, Eliza knows how to spin it.

“How much money are we talking about?” Megan asks, going directly to the heart of the matter.

Eliza glances at me, asking me to jump in for the negotiating bit, now that the convincing bit has been taken care of.

“How long will we need to stay married?” I ask.

“A year or two, until this whole thing dies down,” Eliza says.

“Two hundred thousand dollars a year,” I bid.

Megan’ eyes widen, which is exactly the effect I was hoping for.

I know she only makes about a quarter that amount as my personal assistant. I could’ve started lower and Megan would probably still take it, but I’m not in the mood to bargain. I just want to wrap this up and give her enough incentive to commit to the plan.

I want her to live with me, come out with me to public events, spend time in public with me and Penny, and forgo all other employment opportunities during the term of the contract. Oh, and she’s not allowed to talk to anyone about this arrangement.

It’ll be a full-time job, and nobody else can do it but her. I don’t think I’d be overpaying her.

“I’ll have to think about it,” she says.

“Okay.” It’s a big decision to make and I understand if she needs time, but it makes me want her even more, knowing she’s not just going to take it right away.

If I’m being honest, Megan is one big incentive for me to agree to this insane plan.

I’ve always wanted her, ever since she came into my office to introduce herself in her tight pencil skirt that accentuated her curves.

I’ve just been staying away because it wouldn’t be professional. I was also worried about whether having a romantic partner would hurt my relationship with Penny or indirectly affect my custody arrangement.

But now that everything’s turned upside down, getting closer to Megan suddenly becomes the key to both saving my reputation and keeping custody of my daughter.

One or two years is a long time for a woman to live under my roof to not end up in my bed a few times, especially if she’s not allowed to see any other man.

I like the idea of keeping her for myself.

Megan

I sit at the small plywood desk in my bedroom and finger the USB stick in my hand, rubbing the smooth, cool metal over and over again. It gives me some comfort, some kind of reassurance. It’s a reminder of my original mission.

I’ve been secretly downloading Mr. Hunter’s files, stealing time here and there while I’m at work. I bring it home every night, combing through the files, looking for something I can use against him.

Then, I send everything in an email to Michelle, my editor at The Goss. Yes, that’s right. It’s one of the three biggest gossip tabloids in the country.

I don’t personally follow celebrity gossip. I’m more interested in writing serious news articles. But The Goss is a big magazine, and having it on my resumé would no doubt open doors for me and expand my network—contacts are essential for a reporter.

So I interned there last summer, and I actually came up with the idea about going undercover at the time. Michelle has promised to run my story if I manage to find anything good.

I want answers.

I want to know why Ethan Hunter does what he does, knowing how it affects people. He’s been denying the allegations for years, even though at this point, it’s public knowledge that Ethan Hunter uses his power and wealth to force people to bend to his will.

It will make a good story. Good enough to get me recognized by some of the biggest news outlets out there.

I may not have the right education and I may not have the right experience. But the right story can give me the big break that I need for my journalism career.

Honestly, I think that Melanie woman was pretty bad-ass, asking such strong questions without backing down, even when faced by two intimidating people—Ethan Hunter and Eliza.

I need to learn to be more like her. But she has a couple of decades on me. I’m sure, given time, I can get there.

But even someone like Melanie faces some limitations, just because she’s standing on the outside. I can dig up more dirt on Mr. Hunter as an insider.

That’s why I took the personal assistant job.

I can get real close to Ethan Hunter, and it pays way more than my waitressing job. As much as I like writing, the jobs in my field that actually pay with money (instead of “exposure”) are few and far between. I could use the money from the personal assistant job to support myself for now. One day, when I finally make it as a (paid) journalist, maybe I’ll be able to support my mom as well.

Maybe I’m using Ethan Hunter, but it’s only fair, after what he’s done to my family.

“Hey, what you up to?” Kira asks as she opens my bedroom door—without knocking, as usual.

She’s wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a skin-tight top stained with sweat. Her honey-brown hair is pulled up into a ponytail, with a few strands along her hairline sticking to her forehead.

Kira’s a bit of a yoga junkie, always doing weird poses in the middle of the living room. It keeps her in great shape, though. And she’s so flexible. Once, I saw her body bent in two, with her lips practically kissing her knees.

“The usual.” I bite my lips as I stare at the screen of my laptop.

“Ah, spying on your boss, I see.”

“He’s not my boss. I’m undercover. So he’s not my real boss.”

“His name is on your pay checks, which you use to pay the rent. So I’m going to keep calling him your boss,” Kira says.

I give her a look, then sigh and remain quiet.

“What’s wrong?” Kira asks. “You don’t usually roll over and take it when I tease you about your boss.”

Kira’s my roommate and my best friend. And she’s the only one who knows what I’m really up to. To everyone else, I’m just another boring personal assistant.

“Something really weird happened today,” I say.

Before I walked out of Mr. Hunter’s office, both Lana and Eliza told me to never tell a soul about what had happened. But I can’t just keep it inside me. I’m already hiding too many secrets as it is.

“Sounds intriguing.” Kira takes a seat on the edge of my bed. “Tell me all about it.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start from the beginning.”

I roll my eyes. I have no idea which moment began the whole train of crazy today.

“Come on. Tell me.” Kira grabs my arm and playfully pull on it.

“Okay. So, you know how my boss is a ruthless, heartless monster?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I start to tell Kira the story, beginning from when Mr. Hunter told me to pick up her daughter, to the six-figure offer that he gave me before the end of the day.

Kira gets more and more interested as the story unfolds. By the end, her eyes have grown as big as saucers.

“Two-hundred thousand dollars? Per year? For two years?” Kira asks, disbelief written all over her face.

“For one or two years,” I correct her.

“Well, I mean, still. Oh my god, Megan. That’s a buttload of money. You’re going to be rich. And famous. Let me visit your mansion sometimes, okay? Remember me, your friend who has always been there for you, even when you were broke.”

“Don’t be silly, Kira. I’m not even supposed to tell people about it. Besides, it’s his mansion. It won’t be my mansion.”

“You’re not supposed to tell people about it now. And you’re not supposed to tell anyone that it’s fake. But as soon as it goes public, you can totally tell everyone you’re married and throw crazy parties at his mansion. It’ll be like the new Playboy Mansion.”

I laugh. “Yeah, well, who knows? It’s a crazy plan. I don’t think they’re actually going to do it.”

“It sounds crazy to you,” Kira says. “But you’re not a billionaire. Mega-rich people are nuts. Let me educate you in the ways of billionaires. They don’t have money problems, right? But everybody who’s alive in this world has problems, right? What kind of problems do you think rich people have, then?”

I stare flatly at Kira. I’m not in the mood for a guessing game. Not when I’m exhausted and stressed out after an unusually long and crazy day.

“Oh, you’re no fun tonight!” Kira exclaims. In a lower voice, she says, “They have problems with lawsuits and bad publicity.”

“You mean, exactly the problems that Mr. Hunter is having?”

“Yeah. And you, my friend, are the answer to all of his problems. It may seem weird to you. But just think about this. If you were able to do something and solve all your problems at once, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Exactly.”

“And how do you know all these things?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at Kira.

“I watch a lot of celebrity news when I’m doing yoga.”

“I thought yoga was supposed to make you zen. Celebrity news doesn’t sound very zen,” I say.

“Just trust me.”

I let Kira’s words sink in. She’s right. I’ve been thinking about this all wrong.

I couldn’t believe they’d spend six figures a year just to have me pretend to be Mr. Hunter’s wife. They even told me I wouldn’t have to work and I could spend most of my time shopping on Mr. Hunter’s credit cards if I wanted to.

I got suspicious. It didn’t make any sense at all, in my mind.

But if it’s not about the money, but rather about problem-solving…

“Kira, you’re a genius,” I say.

“I know. So you’re going to do it, or what?”

“If I do it, I could get inside his house and gain access to his private information. I could find some proof. I haven’t been able to find anything useful at the office. It’s possible he’s hiding everything at home,” I muse to myself.

“Wow. Two-hundred thousand dollars a year, and all you can think of is gathering some stupid intel, which may not even exist. Why do you want to be a journalist so badly anyway? Journalists get paid peanuts. Newspapers are closing down, left and right. The media industry is monopolized by a handful of big corporations. There’s no job security in it, Megan. If I were you, I’d work on becoming the real Mrs. Hunter.”

“Thank you for the pep talk, Kira. Good to know you think I couldn’t do better than be a housewife.”

“Do better than be a housewife to a freaking billionaire? Megan, if you think being overworked and underpaid is better than being rich and famous, I don’t know what to say to you.”

“It’s not just about the money, Kira.” I let out a big sigh. We’ve been through this discussion more times than I can remember.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Your parents lost their business because of Hunter Corporation,” she says. “Look, it’s not personal. It has happened to thousands of other small businesses all over the country. Get over it.”

“See? You said it yourself. It has happened to thousands of other people. Shouldn’t Ethan Hunter pay for that? For taking away the livelihoods of all those families? For breaking those families apart?”

“You know that not everybody takes it as badly as you did, right?” Kira asks.

“Well, maybe they just can’t fight back. It’s up to me to give them a voice.”

“How noble of you,” Kira says, laughing. “Okay, then, whatever the reason, I think we both agree you should do it. Money, fame, and…” Kira pauses to let out a big, dramatic sigh, “…and a career in journalism await you.”

“Yeah. That’s the way to move forward, right?” I ask, even though I’ve already made my decision.

“Exactly. Remember this the next time you can’t make a decision: all you need is one conversation with me to find the answer you’re seeking,” Kira says as she folds her legs up onto the bed and get into a lotus position, pretending to be meditating.

I pull her into a hug and kiss her on the cheek. “Maybe I won’t be able to invite you to the mansion, but I’ll take you to the celebration dinner for the journalistic award I’m going to receive for this story. And I’ll thank you in the speech. I’ll mention your name and everything.”

Ethan

“Do not believe anything that comes out of Ethan Hunter’s mouth. He used to lie to me, his own wife, and he’s now lying to all of you, the American public,” says a pretty blonde on TV.

Don’t ask me why I’m watching a shitty gossip show where my ex-wife is bashing me. Maybe I hate myself a little, or maybe I just can’t look away from the car crash that is Ashley’s life.

I have billions of dollars in assets and this is how I spend my day off. I lean back in my recliner and raise my glass of whiskey. Taking a sip, I let the tawny liquid blaze down my throat.

Sure, I have Penny, and I love her to death.

But I can’t exactly take her to the bars to drink, or to the clubs to dance. And I can’t even hang out with her much anymore, now that she’s almost a teenager.

Right now, she’s spending the entire day at her best friend’s house, braiding each other’s hair and painting each other’s nails, or whatever it is that little girls do.

At the same time, life could be worse, too. Like I said, I have billions of dollars in assets. Sure, life could be better, if I had better company with whom to enjoy my wealth. But really, I have nothing to cry about.

“Assume everything that comes out of that man’s mouth is false,” says the woman on TV.

She’s dressed in a pair of jeans and an ill-fitting black hoodie, probably in an attempt to look like the average viewer of this dumb show, or maybe to gain people’s sympathy.

Back when we were together, she was always put together, even though we never had much money. Full make-up no matter where we went and fashionable clothes from cheap brands like Forever 21 or H&M.

Fucking Ashley.

Aside from Penny, she has never given me anything of worth. She has just been taking and taking, never giving back whatever I have given her.

She’s even keeping my fucking name.

Wait, no. That’s not quite accurate. She changed her last name to match her second husband, then never bothered to change it back, until she heard of my success. Presumably, that’s when she changed her last name back to Hunter.

She tells the media that she does it to feel closer to her daughter, whom I’m keeping from her. Which is bullshit, of course. She never cares about Penny, except when she thinks she might be able to use our daughter to get something out of me.

Marrying Ashley is my one biggest regret in life. There’s no way for me to justify that decision.

I could live with it if it were just me who’s affected by it, but I’ve brought Penny into the world and inflicted her with the fate of having Ashley as her mom.

We got together when we were still in school. High school sweethearts, they used to call us.

Unfortunately, in my experience, the term often refers to couples who started seeing each other when they were too young to understand how relationships work, and then end up staying together out of habit and fear of being alone.

I’m not saying that’s how it is for everyone, but that’s what happened to Ashley and me.

We didn’t plan on having Penny; it just happened. So we improvised. We made a commitment to each other because we both thought it was the right thing to do.

We were naïve, penniless, and inexperienced. But I put everything I had into making it work. I was a father, and I had to put my daughter first.

I spent all of my time working. I always had more than one job at a time, although every single one of them paid me the bare minimum. I had to struggle to get enough shifts so I could make a decent living to support my small family of three.

At twenty, I had to grow up and be responsible. I had to leave my youth behind, even though I still felt like a teenager inside. I wasn’t even old enough to drink alcohol yet.

But I did it. I did it because I had to.

Ashley didn’t see it that way, though.

She criticized me for not making more money. She wasn’t happy being stuck at home with the baby all day. She felt entitled to a better life, even though she hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

So, right when I was at my lowest point, she left me. She didn’t care that I needed her—not emotionally, because her attitude had killed any feelings I’d had for her.

But I needed her in my life because of Penny. My daughter was the only good thing left in my life, and Ashley took her away when she left.

I guess, in a way, both of us were using each other.

But we were young. So young. Way too young.

Our friends were off to various colleges all over the country, having wild keg parties and sleeping around.

Meanwhile, we were parents. We were sleep-deprived and we barely had time for anything remotely fun. Our carefree days were behind us.

I understood why Ashley wanted to leave. Hell, I wanted to leave, too, sometimes. It was hard as hell.

But I couldn’t. Penny was my priority, and I wasn’t going to sacrifice her well-being just to sate my own selfishness.

Still, I was in no condition to take care of Penny at the time. I was a complete mess.

So Ashley took Penny with her and I let her, thinking she’d be better off with her mom.

But then I learned just how incompetent Ashley is as a mother. She had boyfriend after boyfriend, letting them get close to my daughter without thought of how that would emotionally affect her.

So I got my act together. I was determined to get Penny back, and I didn’t care what it would take for me to get there. I was going to be successful, and I was going to have the money I needed to hire the best lawyer I could find.

Surprise, surprise, guess who wanted to get back together once I got filthy rich? That’s right. Ashley. The same woman who had walked away from me without a second thought.

As soon as she heard from my lawyer and Googled me, she was calling me and texting me, telling me we could work things out.

“Let’s do it for Penny,” she told me.

Bullshit.

All she wanted was a chump to give her all the money she needed to support the kind of lifestyle she wanted. She aspired to be one of those idle women on those Rich Housewives reality shows.

After giving up on me, Ashley managed to find another man to rope into marriage. Her second husband was some guy whom she thought had money.

In a hilarious twist of fate, the guy thought Ashley was the one with the money. When they both realized what they had done, the whole thing quickly imploded.

When I learned what had happened, I couldn’t help but laugh at her misfortune. She deserved it. The guy deserved it, too. They both got what was coming to them.

I should thank that guy, really. Him and all the other guys who had fucked Ashley. Because they helped my lawyer build the case that Ashley’s life was too unstable to be a good environment for a child to grow up in.

Once I hired that lawyer, getting Penny back was as easy as taking candy from a kindergartener. He was good, and now I have a whole team of even better lawyers.

I thought Ashley had no chance in hell to even try to win Penny back. Her reputation was in the dumps, after the court had recorded how her life was basically made up of a string of bad decisions.

But now she’s trying to get back at me. She’s attacking my reputation in an attempt to get Penny because she knows that’s the best way to hurt me.

She wouldn’t have been able to do half the damage she’s doing right now if it weren’t for Lucas Murdoch. Fucking asshole screwed me over and still has the gall to blame me for everything. Now, he’s even dragging my ex-wife into it, in his attempt to soil my good name.

I absent-mindedly swirl the glass in my hand. I watch as the whiskey spins inside, the ice cubes clinking against the glass.

“We have to stop men like Ethan Hunter together,” Ashley says passionately on TV. She sounds as confident and convincing as a televangelist. No doubt the women who watch this show would eat up whatever shit she feeds them.

“He ruins small businesses and robs people of their livelihoods. He’s destroying people’s finances, making it even harder for American families to survive in this economy. He’s destroying the very things that make America great.”

Wow. I have to hand it to whoever her media coach is. She’s really painting me as a monster. I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts calling me the anti-Christ at this point.

“Do you know the worst thing Ethan Hunter has ever done, though?” Ashley asks the studio audience as the host looks at her with concerned eyes, leaning forward in her chair.

Yeah, Ashley. Tell them. Tell them whatever false tale you’ve spun about me. You’ve got them wrapped around your finger now.

“It’s destroying his own family. That’s the worst thing he’s ever done,” Ashley says, answering her own question. “Being cruel to strangers is one thing. But when a man tears his own family apart and keeps his own daughter from even seeing her mother? That just speaks volumes about his character. A man like that can never be trusted. In anything.”

Yeah. That’s the mother of my child, ladies and gentlemen.

I raise my glass, nod at the TV, and take another sip.

Congratulations, Ashley. And thank you for the character assassination.

Luckily for me, deliverance is near. And it comes in a pretty little package called Megan Jones.

Megan

I can’t believe what I’m about to do today. I’m actually going to marry the monster who has been haunting my nightmares for eight years.

Ever since that day, when Ethan Hunter threw out my entire family from his office, nothing has been right in my life.

My parents have never even held hands after that day. And the following month, they closed down their business, breaking their lease.

Ironically, the sale that they held to get rid of inventory attracted more people than ever into their toy store. Leeches and parasites, all of them, feeding on our misfortune.

Not long after that, Dad disappeared. Mom never explained where he’d gone, and I was old enough to understand that she didn’t want to talk about it.

Looking back… I don’t know. Is thirteen old enough to understand all the nuances of the breakdown of a marriage, especially one between my own parents?

It wasn’t just a regular divorce either. Dad just up and left us—not just Mom, but me, too. He was never the most caring or attentive dad, but I also never expected him to bail on us like that.

I guess that’s men for you. They saddle you with responsibilities and run away when it all becomes too much.

We had to fend for ourselves. As much as she hated the mall, Mom could only find work there. But as desperate as we got, she never once applied for a job at the Toy Kingdom.

“I may have to see it every day on my way to work and then on my way home, but at least I don’t have to go in there,” she used to say.

Mom was starting to climb back up from rock bottom. Even though she was only earning minimum wage, we had enough to live on. But she never learned her lesson about men. She started dating this loser called Frank, and he’s been dragging her down ever since.

I’ve always thought Mom would be better off without men, but she needs someone so desperately she’s willing to risk everything. She seems to feel like she needs them for survival, even though from my perspective, I could see she could make it on her own.

Sure, Frank used to have more money that Mom did, and he occasionally helped with the bills.

But he soon became unemployed and dead broke, spending his days brewing in his own filth on the couch. Mom would go out to work, only to come home to nag Frank to go out and find work himself. But why would he, when he already has everything they need without working?

It seems like a miserable existence, and I don’t understand why Mom would choose to live like that.

This is why I’ve sworn off all men. I’m not going to let a man use me and take me for granted.

I enter Mr. Hunter’s office, where I’m met by Eliza, Lana, a man I don’t recognize, and the monster himself. A drop of doubt diffuses throughout my chest, but I tell myself I’m doing the right thing.

I’m here on a mission.

I’m not going to let him use me.

Instead, I’m going to use him.

I’m going to use him and discard him.

He’ll get what’s coming to him, what I’ve sworn to do to him, ever since that day.

I never thought I’d have to marry him to exact my revenge, but sometimes plans change.

Getting even closer to my enemy while gaining more of his trust could only be a good thing.

Ethan

“I thought you were going to wear white, at least,” I say when my bride walks through the door into my office.

Megan gives me a polite smile, but she doesn’t look amused.

She’s a strange one, this hot little bride of mine. I can’t figure her out. Sometimes she’s shy and sweet, and other times she’s detached and almost downright resentful. It’s not about the words that she says because she keeps things professional; it’s just a gut feeling.

But what do I know? I haven’t had much luck with women, have I? After Ashley, I’ve just never felt like trying again, even though my wealth attracts plenty of women into my life.

Actually, maybe it’s exactly because these women are attracted by my wealth that I’m not interested. I don’t want any more Ashleys in my life. I had one and I still haven’t managed to fully get rid of her yet, despite my best efforts.

“Take a seat, Megan,” I say, hoping she’d sidle up next to me.

“Thanks, Mr. Hunter,” she says as she sits her sexy ass down on the couch across the table from me.

I can’t deny that I’m attracted to her. She’s smart, beautiful, and hot as hell. Even Penny seems to like Megan enough to want her as her fake new mom.

Sure, none of this is real, and Penny came up with this crazy plan on the spot. But she must be aware that she might be spending much more time with Megan, if her plan were to work.

And now, as five adults convene around a coffee table in my very serious, very grown-up office, I can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

“Anything wrong?” Lana asks with a confused frown.

Obviously, Lana’s under too much pressure to see the humor in the situation. It has only taken her forty-eight hours to get an officiant and gather all the documents needed to unite Megan and me in the sacred bonds of marriage. She has also invited Eliza to this simple ceremony so we’d have the required two witnesses.

“Nothing. Everything’s perfect, Lana. Don't worry,” I say, not wanting to distract her attention from the stack of papers in front of her.

We’re just puppets, all five of us. There’s a puppet master moving the strings behind the scenes, and she’s a ten-year-old girl who still has to turn on her nightlight to sleep.

“Alright, everyone’s here, so we can start now,” Lana announces.

The wedding officiant is young; probably no older than mid-twenties. Lana said she picked him from some website because he was the only one who’s available on such short notice. He casts his gaze all around, regarding the rest of us one by one.

Poor guy seems bewildered by how business-like everything is, and I don’t blame him. We’re even having it done at an actual office. No family, no friends; just a media spokesperson and an attorney—talk about absurd!

I bet he has a thousand questions running through his mind, but I’m sure he’s not going to ask any of them. Knowing Lana, she has probably sworn this guy to secrecy and made him sign a non-disclosure agreement.

He has been paid a lot of money to cancel all his other appointments. If this hadn’t been such an emergency, I would’ve felt bad for all those real lovers who had woken up this morning thinking they were about to get married, only to be stood up by their minister.

Come to think of it, those couples should thank me instead.

Marriage is no fun, and I wouldn’t do it again if it weren’t for a possible PR disaster that could lead to me losing my daughter.

I’ve had Lana prepare a thick stack of pre-nup agreement to make sure that Megan will only walk away with the two-hundred thousand dollars per year that we’ve already agreed to.

How many brides and grooms can honestly tell me they’ve insured themselves against the likely event of divorce?

Everybody should know by now that fifty percent of marriages end in divorce; and yet almost a-hundred percent of couples wouldn’t even think about that likelihood before it’s too late.

“Shall we stand up?” asks the officiant as he gets up from the couch. “Let’s do this over there,” he says, pointing at an empty space where there’s no furniture.

We all get up and stand where he directs us to go.

“Please face each other,” he says as he puts his hands on my shoulder and Megan’s. He gets us to stand face to face, about one foot apart.

This may sound crazy, but I want to grab his wrist and threaten him with violence when I see him touch her.

You know what? It doesn’t just sound crazy. It is crazy. I’m acting crazy.

Megan is not even my wife yet. And even if she is going to be legally my wife, this is just a ruse. A ploy to fool the public into thinking that I have the perfect family—the ideal situation for raising a little girl, because obviously a single man can’t also be a great dad.

The wedding officiant glances around to make sure everybody’s ready. When everyone has finished squaring their shoulders and adjusting their clothes, he says, “Friends and family of Megan Jones and Ethan Hun—”

Jesus, he’s actually going to do the whole thing? How long is he going to drag this out for?

“I like Lana and Eliza just fine, but they’re not my friends or family,” I cut him off.

He seems taken aback, but what’s the use of pretending that we’re having a normal wedding?

“Uh… Okay… Umm…” He stammers as he wildly scans the script written on the piece of paper he’s holding, searching for the relevant bits.

“Just read out the entire thing,” I say, sighing. At this rate, it would take more time to wait for him to decide which parts to leave out, rather than to listen to the whole damn thing.

“Okay,” he says with relief. “Friends and family of Megan Jones and Ethan Hunter, we are gathered here on this important day…”

As he drones on, I let my gaze rest on Megan. She may not be wearing white, but she looks better than many actual brides I’ve seen, even if she doesn’t dress herself any differently than any other work day.

She’s captivating. Her green pencil skirt outlines the curve of her hips and ass clearly, while her light, loose blouse keeps her outfit from being too sexy for the office.

I wish she’d make an exception today and go all out without worrying about being office-appropriate. Technically, she’s not here as my personal assistant today, but as my bride. I don’t know if that makes any difference to her, though, seeing as both count as work to her.

“Please repeat my words, Mr. Hunter,” says the wedding officiant. “I call upon everyone present here…”

“Do we really have to do this?” I ask. I really don’t see why we need to say these words, when nobody here believes that we’re doing this for real anyway.

“The sooner you say it, the sooner we can finish,” Lana says, giving me a look that tells me she has tried reasoning with the guy and failed.

Apparently, this guy, who has canceled all his wedding appointments at the last minute just to make more money, draws the line at officiating a wedding where vows are not said.

Weird.

But, okay.

I concede to the wedding officiant and repeat the words, deliberately not paying attention to the meaning behind them. They remind me too much of the vows I once made to Ashley in another lifetime. I don’t like to think about that moment, when I made one big mistake that would follow me for years to come.

I thought there was no other way at the time because Ashley was already pregnant with Penny. But we were always fighting. On our wedding day, we already hated each other. A blind rat in a house full of cats has better chances of survival than our marriage ever did.

It never occurred to me that we could co-parent without being married to each other.

But what can I say? I was young and stupid. I thought I just had to try my best and we’d be the perfect little family. I thought I had to get married eventually anyway, so why not now?

It was dumb, of course. But it took me too long to realize just how dumb it was.

“Miss Jones, would you please repeat my words?” asks the wedding officiant.

I watch, as if hypnotized, as Megan parts her full lips and say her vows to me. She looks at me from underneath her lush lashes, her blue eyes brilliant under the bright sunlight that’s streaming in through the big glass wall.

“I call upon everyone present here to witness that I, Megan Jones, take you, Ethan Hunter, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward. I vow to love you and care for you for as long as we both shall live.”

Although I know she’s lying, like I just did, I can’t help but feel unfamiliar tingles in my heart. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of her true feelings in those pools of blue on her face. She’s worried—maybe even scared.

Unlike me, she’s young and not yet jaded by the reality of marriage as an institution. Like many other girls her age, she may even have fantasies about her wedding day, with her wearing a white gown and surrounded by her loved ones.

This whole time, I’ve been thinking of this as a mutually beneficial arrangement, seeing as Megan will receive a lot more money than she could ever dream to make as my personal assistant.

But suddenly, I feel bad for her. Maybe I’m taking something important away from her. Maybe I’m robbing her of the opportunity to have a real first wedding with a man she actually loves.

Damn it, there it is again. That pang of jealousy when I imagine another man with Megan.

I really shouldn’t care who she associates with, so why do I?

Maybe it’s been too long since the last time I had a woman in my life, that it makes me abnormally possessive.

Shit.

Do I consider her “a woman in my life” now? She’s supposed to be just another employee of mine, no different from Lana or Eliza.

Yet, I’ve never felt this way about either one of them, or any of my other employees. I’ve always been able to keep things completely professional, not just for appearances, but also inwardly. I’ve never been attracted to the people I work with.

I guess it’s because I’ve always been focused on working hard for Penny. Maybe I’ve been subconsciously ruling out the women at the office as potential partners because I was worried about how it would affect my business.

But now that the line is blurred between the professional and the personal between Megan and me, it’s like my eyes are now opened to the possibilities.

Or maybe it’s because I’ve been worried about how my dating would affect Penny. I’ve been avoiding women so they wouldn’t complicate my life and hurt Penny in the process.

I could deal with some crazy in my life if it were just me, but I could never risk introducing some nutcase to my daughter. But Penny seems to have taken to Megan, even though they’ve just had one short encounter.

It seems like things are going to get interesting, after all.

“Your wedding rings are the outward sign of the inward bond which unites your two hearts in love,” the wedding officiant says, spouting off his cheesy lines with no shame.

Lana steps forward to give me a ring. I hold out my hand and look expectantly at Megan. She puts her small, creamy, dainty hand on mine, and I’m overcome with the urge to pull her into my arms.

I restrain myself and just put the ring on her finger. My heart skips a beat when I see the golden band reflect the sunlight. It looks perfect perfect. It looks like it belongs there.

I tear my gaze away and let go of Megan’s hand. I’ll deal with these strange new feelings later, but this is not the time.

Lana hands Megan a matching ring, which she places on my finger.

I try to remind myself that this is just another contract, no different than the hundreds of legal agreements I’ve already signed in this office. These rings are just like signatures on this contract that we’re making.

I don’t protest when the wedding officiant declares us husband and wife, then tells us to seal our union with a kiss.

Sure, we may not have to do it because no government paperwork actually requires this bit, but I want to. I want to taste those pink, full lips.

I put my hands around Megan’s small waist and pull her closer. Why did I ever complain about the wedding officiant telling us to stand close to each other? It’s such a wonderful thing to be near her.

As Megan looks up into my eyes, her blonde hair catches the sunlight, making it look like there’s a white aura surrounding her. My breath catches. She’s beautiful, and I’m about to kiss her.

I lean in and tilt my head slightly to the side. She closes her eyes. This is happening.

Her lips feel soft and warm. The more I taste it, the more I want. Against my better judgment, I trace her sweet lips with my tongue.

She doesn’t pull away. If anything, her hands on my back urge me to get closer, to sample more of her. I’m not going to refuse her offer.

When we part, her lips look red and swollen, glistening with wetness. Her face is flushed, and her breathing is a quick and shallow. It takes zero imagination to picture her on the bed, looking exactly like that after I’ve worked her up and made her crave my cock inside her.

The entire office stays silent for a few seconds after I pull away, no doubt shocked by that passionate kiss.

Honestly, I’m surprised, too. I didn’t expect this level of chemistry. If I wanted Megan before, then I’m really craving her now.

“I’m pleased to present the newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Hunter,” the wedding officiant finally says.

Maybe it was awkward for Eliza and Lana to have witnessed their boss kissing another employee, but I don’t care.

I’ve had a little taste of Megan, and it has only made me want more.

Luckily for me, she’s going to live under my roof from now on.

Sooner or later, we’re going to end up in the same bed and I’m going to explore every inch of that sinful body.

Oh hey, look, I don’t hate my bride. This is better than my first marriage already.

Megan

I had no idea where Mr. Hunter lived before today. For some reason, I expected a big mansion with a long, winding driveway through a garden so big you could call it a forest.

The guy is so loaded I forget sometimes that he didn’t come from money.

It’s a pretty big achievement that he has managed to get this rich—if he didn’t also destroy a lot of people’s lives to get here, that is. Knowing what I know, I can’t be too impressed.

But that was before I saw his home.

His apartment building looks like any other newer ones in the downtown area. All glass and steel, with a balcony that faces the water, overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

I’ve never lived in any place like that before, of course. But I know a few people who do, and I’ve visited a couple of times.

But I can feel the difference between those places and Mr. Hunter’s as soon as we walk up the stairs leading to the large glass double doors that serve as the main entrance to the building.

Instead of parking the car in a covered, restricted-access basement, Mr. Hunter just drives up the main driveway and stops the car.

One man in a white shirt and a black vest opens the door on my side. Another man wearing the same uniform lets Mr. Hunter out, then takes the wheel himself. He drives away, presumably to park the car. This apartment building has a freaking valet.

Instead of a regular key fob system to open the doors, there’s a fingerprint scanner. It’s not like it’s needed, though, because both the doorman and the concierge recognize Mr. Hunter and address him by name. I guess he’ll never be locked out of the building.

“May I take the luggage, Mr. Hunter?” asks the concierge as he walks around the counter, revealing a portly belly that tests the strength of his shirt buttons. He has prominent cheekbones that don’t match the rest of his body, a pair of friendly brown eyes, and a big smile.

“There’s no need, Paul, thank you. I can do it myself,” Mr. Hunter says as he continues to pull my red hard-case luggage across the marble floors of the apartment lobby.

“Very well, Sir,” Paul replies.

Mr. Hunter stops in his tracks, like he has just suddenly remembered something. He puts one possessive hand around my shoulders, sending a thrill down my spine. Turning around, he says to Paul, “This is my wife, by the way. She’ll be living here from now on.”

I’m taken aback when he calls me his wife.

I mean, we are married, technically—and legally. I also know we have to fool everyone into thinking we’re an actual couple.

Still, this is the first time that I’m introduced as his wife, and it feels strange. Not unpleasant or irritating. I’m simply not used to it, I suppose.

“Oh, Mrs. Hunter, nice to meet you,” Paul says.

“Nice to meet you, too, Paul.”

The fact that Mr. Hunter has just introduced me to the concierge, out of all people, makes it feel even weirder.

I thought my first public appearance would be at some big event. I thought I would’ve been briefed by Eliza on what to say and do. I thought there would be camera flashes and microphones with logos of media outlets on them.

Instead, there’s just this mundane scene. This place is gorgeous and luxurious, but that doesn’t change the fact that Mr. Hunter is just introducing me to the modern, urban equivalent of his house staff.

It’s an everyday thing. And that’s exactly why this introduction feels so strange to me.

This doesn’t feel like acting. This feels like real life.

I fake a smile for the very real concierge in front of me as he politely welcomes me to the building. He presses the elevator button for us and lists all the facilities available to the residents of the building, telling me to come to him with any questions.

Mr. Hunter and I thank him as we enter the elevator. Again, he lets a machine scan his fingerprint. The door closes and the elevator starts to move up.

“Be careful with Paul. I think he’s receiving money from the media in exchange for information,” Mr. Hunter says. “There are some celebrities in the building and many paparazzi are willing to pay top dollar for some intel.”

“Oh, I never would’ve guessed that.”

“Yeah, he may seem friendly, but he has an agenda. Some of the other residents have been burned. They’ve had the details of their private lives leaked to the media.”

“Oh, are there famous people living here?”

“A couple of celebrities whose names I can never remember. The latest one is this guy, the heir to the Holt Bank. His wife just got pregnant and she made the mistake of telling Paul. Now they’ve got people hiding in the bushes to take her pictures.”

“Raphael Holt lives here?” I’ve heard of Raphael Holt. He used to be pretty wild but he has left the party scene, now that he’s married.

Okay, so I sometimes read gossip magazines. I don’t know how I feel about being the one whose personal life is being scrutinized and sold to nosey people like myself, though.

Regardless, it seems like I’ll have to get used to it, seeing as that’s pretty much my job description.

I wonder if celebrities themselves read gossip tabloids, or if they avoid them like the plague.

“That sounds like the right name,” Mr. Hunter says with a shrug. “I thought telling Paul would be a good way to get the gossip going organically. But be careful what you tell him.”

“Yes, Mr. Hunter.”

“And you’ll have to stop calling me Mr. Hunter. Married people—at least those born in this millennium—don’t talk like that to each other, Mrs. Hunter.” He smirks.

He’s only teasing, but the hint of possessiveness in his voice makes my heart skip a beat. It’s like he has branded me with his name, and I belong to him now.

But that can’t be true. This whole thing is just pretend.

“What should I call you, then?” I finally say after a pause that lasts five seconds too long. I’m rendered speechless by the simple act of him calling me by my married name, but I can’t show him how much it affects me.

“Just call me Ethan,” he says casually.

“Okay. Ethan,” I play with the name in my mouth, sounding it out. It feel strange.

Mr. Hunter—Ethan, I mean— looks at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. He seems pleased.

There’s just us in the elevator, but I still need to talk to him like he’s actually my husband. Instead of getting used to putting on an act on some occasions, I’ll have to get used to treating Mr. Hunt—Ethan—like he’s my real husband, so it would seem natural when we’re outside.

This whole thing is starting to feel more and more real.

“We’re here,” Ethan says when the elevator stops and the door opens.

I was expecting a hallway, perhaps a carpeted one, with narrow tables and nice sconces along the walls. You know, a nice hallway like you usually see in hotels and upscale apartments.

Instead, the elevator opens right into the apartment. There’s no hallway; not even a door.

All I see is a wide, open space with Ethan’s and Penny’s coats hanging on the wall hooks along one wall. Their shoes are neatly arranged in cubby-holes below the hangers. Their framed pictures are hung over of the hallway table.

“Is this…” My voice trails off as my mind wanders. This place is such a distraction. It’s hard to talk when my jaw drops open and refuses to close again from all the luxurious things in this apartment—and I’m only at the entrance. I clear my throat. “This is the only apartment on this floor?”

“Yes. We get a 360-degree view of the city and sunlight at all times of the day,” Ethan says as he points to the glass walls enclosing this apartment unit.

With the high ceilings, there's a lot of light flooding in, and I wonder if Ethan and Penny have ever taped pieces of cloth to the glass walls just to make it less intense, because I don’t see any curtains.

Aside from its rectangular shape, the layout of this place is unlike any home I’ve seen.

To avoid blocking the sunlight or the views, all the enclosed spaces are placed away from the outer glass walls. You can walk along the edge of the apartment and eventually return to your original spot.

There are two clusters of enclosed spaces, made up of the elevator we arrived in and, presumably, bedrooms and bathrooms. The rest of the apartment is completely open, with the living room and kitchen located in the middle.

The transparent walls make me feel exposed, although we're so high up it's unlikely anyone can see inside.

“I’d give you a tour, but you can probably see everything just fine from where you’re standing,” Ethan says. “Come here, let me show you your room.”

He pushes open a white door and drags my luggage inside, the wheels turning smoothly over the white marble floor, although one wheel squeaks a little. It looks tattered and out of place in this opulent space.

Like the rest of the apartment, my bedroom walls are white. If it wasn’t for the bed, it would look like a gallery, with the big paintings and black-and-white photographs hanging on the walls.

“Check this out,” Ethan says with a proud grin.

He pushes a button and what I thought was a wall lifts up, revealing a glass wall that lets me look across the hallway and out at the city skyline. My breath catches in my throat at the sight.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah” I say. I should be appalled that he could buy such an obnoxiously flashy apartment with the money that he has stolen from ordinary families like mine, but I have to admit I’m impressed. It is really cool.

“All the glass walls outside can be covered as well. You’ll find buttons like this all over the apartment. I just thought you should know, since you’ll probably be spending some time home alone.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hunt—I mean, Ethan,” I say.

He seems pleased when I correct myself. His smile sends a chill down my arms, I realize with horror.

What’s happening to me? First, the kiss. And now, this?

“I’ll leave you to settle in, then. That door is where your en-suite bathroom is.”

“This whole room… It’s for me?”

“Yes, Megan. Unless you want to move to the marital bed?” Ethan shoots me a teasing smirk.

I can’t help it. Heat sears through my cheeks, and I know he can see the color in my face. Damn it, why do I have to be so pale that every little blush turns me bright red?

“Well?” Ethan cocks one eyebrow, obviously enjoying my embarrassment.

“Uh, I’m good here,” I say awkwardly. I wanted it to come out like a fun, casual comeback, but my cheeks still smolder, which makes it impossible to act cool.

“Okay, just let me know if you change your mind.” Ethan chuckles as he walks out and closes the door behind him.

I let out a big relieved sigh. Stepping toward the huge window, I push the button to close it again. I need some time to myself.

I’ve been plucked from my normal environment and placed here, where my every action is scrutinized. I’m already craving some privacy.

Now that I’m not needed at the office, this apartment is the only place where we don’t have to be husband and wife, and this room is the only private space that solely belongs to me. I don’t need anybody peeking in here.

Ethan has already invaded my family, years ago when he destroyed my parents’ livelihood and relationship. I’m not letting him into the only private space that I have, even if this bedroom technically belongs to him.

I step into the bathroom, which is ritzy in an understated way.

I stare at my own reflection in the mirror, expecting to see a different person.

But no, I look the same as I always have, even though I’m a wife now, and he has branded me with that blazing-hot kiss.

I expected a lot of things this morning when Mr. Hunter’s driver picked me up from my apartment in a black sedan and helped me put my luggage in the trunk. I wondered how many cars he has, and what the driver does all day when he's not driving Mr. Hunter or Penny all over town.

But I never expected that kiss. That damn kiss.

That kiss made me question everything.

I run the tip of my index finger over my lips and wonder, what am I really doing this for?

Do I want revenge for what he’s inflicted on my family? Am I really trying to earn some money to support both my mom and myself?

Or do I actually want this?

This whole time, I’ve been suppressing my thoughts and feelings about him. My anger has been clouding over everything else, to the point where I wouldn’t even allow myself to acknowledge how attractive Ethan Hunter is—how attracted I am to him.

But that kiss…

Could there really be something between us? Something other than a business arrangement and pent-up resentment?

Megan

“I can’t believe you got married and you didn’t invite me,” Penny sulks at the dinner table.

“It wasn’t a real wedding, Penny,” Ethan says with a big, exhausted sigh.

He’s still wearing his work clothes, although he has taken off his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing a pair of strong, muscular forearms. All around us, San Francisco starts to light up as the orange-and-pink sunset gets darker and darker.

For the last ten minutes, Ethan has been trying to explain to his daughter that whatever we did this morning wasn’t a big deal—which it really wasn’t, except for that kiss. But that kiss was at least a PG-13 anyway, and Penny’s only ten.

At the kitchen, a man is throwing the vegetables he has chopped into a pot on the stove. Matt is their personal chef—and mine, too, I suppose—who comes over every night to prepare dinner, as well as an easy breakfast for everyone to reheat in the morning.

Matt’s not supposed to know that we’re only pretending to be married. Luckily, he’s far enough away from us that the audio from the TV should be sufficient to drown out our conversation.

With Ethan’s busy schedule, he doesn’t have any time to do house chores himself. I should bump into a cleaner or two in the next few days. I can’t imagine Ethan mopping the floor in his Armani suit, even if the sleeves are rolled up.

“You’re really married, though, aren’t you?” Penny asks.

Good question, kid. I’ve been asking myself the same question myself. It’s hard to know what’s real anymore.

“Well, legally we are. But you know we’re not actually…” Ethan runs his fingers through his dark hair in frustration and gives me a look, asking for my help.

I may not know much about how to deal with kids, but I remember being a little girl, and getting excited about going to weddings.

“We did get married, Penny, but it wasn’t a wedding,” I try to explain.

“What do you mean?” Penny turns to me, her blue eyes blazing with outrage.

“I mean we just said some words and signed some papers, but we didn’t have a ceremony. It wasn’t a wedding. There was no white dress, there wasn’t any music, there was no dancing…”

“…or cake,” Ethan adds.

“Exactly,” I say. “You would’ve been bored.”

“Was there kissing?” Penny asks, challenging us.

Ethan and I glance at each other. We haven’t even talked about the kiss, even though we both know it wasn’t just a formality. We definitely went above and beyond what was needed there.

“There was, wasn’t there?” Penny insists. “I can tell from the way you’re acting.”

“Well, honey, we had to kiss for the minister to sign the papers and make it official. But that still didn’t make it a wedding,” Ethan says.

“No, Dad, haven’t you ever watched any movies about eloping at all?” Penny asks indignantly. “It’s a wedding when you say the vows, and then kiss.”

The movies. Of course that’s where Penny has been getting her ideas from.

“Well, life is not like the movies, Penny,” I say, although I don’t know if that’s true anymore. I mean, the events of my life so far have been pretty movie-like, especially the part where I freaking married my boss, who also happens to be my nemesis.

“It was a wedding. You got married and you didn’t invite me,” Penny repeats. Great. Now we’ve come full circle.

“You know what? There’s nothing I can do about it, Penny,” Ethan says in defeat. “Whether it was a wedding or not, it’s not like we can repeat it just for you right now.”

“Okay, but you would if you could?”

“Yeah,” Ethan says off-handedly.

“Okay. Then do it.”

“What?” Ethan asks.

“Do it, whatever you did at the office when you ‘didn’t actually have a wedding.’” Penny draws air quotes with her fingers when she says the last part of the sentence.

I cast a worried glance at Ethan. What are we going to do now? Looks like we just got trapped by a ten-year-old. I’d be embarrassed if I weren’t also confused about the feelings swimming in my chest right now.

A part of me feels like it would be wrong to reenact the fake wedding and further insult the institution of marriage—which is already perplexing because I don’t believe in marriage anyway.

A different part of me, the one that has been replaying the kiss again and again all afternoon, kinda wants to do it again.

And yet another part of me is outraged that I’d have to kiss my sworn enemy twice in one day, when even just once in my entire lifetime is bad enough.

I feel divided, to say the least.

I’m also hungry, and it seems like Matt is done with the cooking. The aroma of whatever he’s serving tonight whets my appetite. I’m ready for this little stand-off with Penny to be over.

“Can we just eat, Penny? You’re being unreasonable,” Ethan says, saying out loud what’s on my mind.

“Sure, we can eat, but only after you show me what the wedding was like.”

“I told you what the wedding was like. It was just another boring signing of a contract. We said some words, we kissed, and a man declared us married. That was all.”

“Okay, tell me what the words are.”

“I, uh, take Megan Jones as my wife,” Ethan glances at me, a strange expression on his face, before he continues, “to have and to hold until death do us part.”

“Okay.” Penny grins from ear to ear in triumph. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it, Dad? Your turn now, Megan.”

“Me? Uh… It’s the exact same thing, except for the name part.” I laugh nervously.

“Just say it. Come on, you guys already didn’t invite me to your wedding. This is the least you can do,” Penny says.

When she puts it that way, I guess we have forgotten about her, and we shouldn’t have. It just didn’t occur to either one of us that family should be involved in what’s essentially just a temporary business arrangement.

I take a deep breath. “I, Megan Jones, take Ethan Hunter as my husband, to have and to hold until death do us part.”

“Okay. Now, kiss.”

Ethan and I share another look, then stare at Penny.

“What?” Penny asks innocently, although the intelligent glint in her blue eyes tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing. She adds, “Come on, Matt’s already done with the food. Don’t you want him to think of you as a real married couple?”

Ethan raises one questioning eyebrow at me, but he remains silent. He’s not saying no to Penny’s request. He’s letting me decide what to do.

I should say no. Penny is being unreasonable, after all.

On the other hand, maybe another kiss wouldn’t be a bad idea. Maybe, earlier in the office, the whole wedding thing and the strange atmosphere made the whole thing feel more intense.

Perhaps if we share another kiss, it wouldn’t live up to my memory. And then I’ll be able to get Ethan Hunter out of my system and refocus my energy on my mission to bring him down.

“I don’t mind,” I say as casually as I can.

“See, Dad? Megan doesn’t mind,” Penny quickly comments, not wanting to miss this opportunity.

“Okay,” Ethan says, not looking like he minds it at all.

Without missing a beat, he gets up from his chair on the other side of the square table and steps toward me, his blue eyes dark with impatience—impatience due to how strange his daughter’s request is, or impatience because he can’t wait to kiss me?

I’m eager to have another taste of him, and I wonder if I’m just projecting my own motives onto him. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but for a split second, I think I catch a hint of desire in the way his gaze sears into my flesh.

Ethan rests one hand on the back of my chair and leans down. Putting his other hand on the base of my skull, he tilts my head and pulls me close until our lips touch.

I fully intended for this to be a quick peck, partly because there is a child watching and partly because I need to hate him. But as soon as I feel his hot lips on mine, I know I’m a goner.

I know whatever happened at Ethan’s office today wasn’t a fluke, a coincidence, or a one-off event. There’s definitely something here.

Ethan kisses me softly this time, slow and gentle, although his hand grabs the back of my neck possessively. It makes me feel vulnerable, and at the same time, it makes me crave being taken fully by him.

But this kiss is measured, careful. It’s not passionate or even sensual. It’s chaste and innocent—again, except for his strong hold on my neck.

When Ethan finally lets go of me and pulls away, for a short moment we share a bewildered gaze, like neither one of us understands what’s going on.

As Matt places the dishes on the table, I catch a glimpse of the little smile playing on Penny’s lips.

I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking about.

Maybe she’s just glad to have won the battle of wills and made us put on a show wedding just for her.

Or maybe that’s just what she wants us to think, when in fact, the plan has been to bring us together all along.

Ethan

It has been one week since Megan moved in. One week since our fake wedding that’s also legally real. One week since our lips touched.

She has settled in nicely at the apartment I share with Penny. I’m getting used to the new dynamics.

Penny and I leave early in the morning, so we may not see Megan at the beginning of the day. On the mornings that I do see her in the sweatpants and old T-shirt that she wears to sleep, though, it makes the start of my day so much better.

I have to admit she makes me not want to leave the apartment. I just want to drag her back to bed so I can tear those loose clothes off her tight little body. I want to claim her while Penny’s away at school so she’d be free to scream out my name as I make her come.

It’s so fucking stupid. How desperate can I be, that I’m not even able to separate what’s real and what’s fake anymore?

Despite what legal records may show, we’re nothing more than boss and employee. Which means I need to maintain a good relationship with her—one that doesn’t turn romantic, even if she probably can’t sue me for workplace harassment anymore, seeing as we’re legally a married couple now.

I have to admit, reminding myself of what we are—and what we are not—gets harder by the day.

Every night, when I come home, Megan is waiting.

She was quiet and awkward the first couple of days, but then it’s like a hard outer shell around her is cracking. She starts to smile more, and she asks questions that show she listens when Penny and I tell her about our day.

I know this is only pretend, but it’s fucking hard to remember that sometimes. She just fits into our lives so easily.

And it doesn’t help that she’s so tantalizingly sexy.

I want her. I realized that when we first kissed at our fake wedding.

But despite my desires and my justifications, in the moments when I’m thinking clearly, I know it would be crazy for us to get together for real.

It would hurt our business relationship irreparably, for starters. If—when we inevitably break up, she’ll hate my guts like exes usually do, even though I’ll need her cooperation indefinitely. Even after our staged divorce, I’ll need her to help maintain my public image—that’s the reason we got legally married in the first place.

Sure, Lana has prepared various clauses in the contract to make sure Megan doesn’t screw me over. She also seems like a good person. But there’s always the possibility of her hating me so much she’d ruin everything out of mere spite, with no regard for the consequences.

And don’t get me started on how it would hurt Penny if we got together and then broke up at a later date. It’s already confusing enough for her that Megan is a fake step-mom who actually lives with us.

I don’t want to complicate our situation any further. That said, I don’t know if I can just say no to her, knowing that she wants me, too.

Oh yeah, I may be out of practice, but I can still recognize when a woman wants me in her bed.

I can tell from the way she steals glances at me, only to avert her gaze abruptly when I catch her in the act. Or from the way she fidgets when she knows I’m checking her out—she has a few nervous habits, like biting her bottom lip and tucking her hair behind her right ear. Or, at times when I get close enough to make her breathe a little deeper, she sometimes tenses her thighs, pulling them closer together.

If I had no responsibilities, I wouldn’t even think twice about going full caveman on her and dragging her to my cave so I could give her the bone in my pants.

But I have Hunter Corporation, and I have Penny. I can’t be reckless.

Don’t be reckless. That’s what I’ve been telling myself.

And yet I’ve already gone overboard for our date tonight.

With Penny away at a sleepover, I thought it would be a good idea for us to make our first public appearance. Eliza agreed, and even suggested a place where we would definitely get some attention from the paparazzi.

But Eliza didn’t ask me to do all the other stuff.

Like specifically asking for the most romantic table at the restaurant, for example. Or buying her an expensive black dress, as well as the pearl jewelry that my personal shopper told me would make her feel like Audrey Hepburn.

I didn’t even ask her if she already already had the right outfit for the occasion. I just felt like getting her something—just because.

Ugh, I disgust myself.

But when Megan’s door opens and she steps out in the new black dress, I know I did the right thing. I don’t remember what Audrey Hepburn looks like—I’d have to Google her to jog my memory—but if she’s half as captivating as my fake wife tonight, she must’ve been a stunner.

“How do I look?” Megan asks as she bites her bottom lip—one of the few signs she’s nervous. It makes me wonder if she’s nervous about the public appearance, of if she’s nervous about spending some alone time with me.  

“Wow,” I say when I recover after having the wind knocked out of me from the sight.

“Do I look okay?” Megan asks.

Somehow, she seems oblivious to the fact that she looks like a million dollars. I don’t know how that’s possible.

The structured black dress shows off her curves perfectly and the pearl necklace frames her lovely face. It’s amazing what a good fashion stylist can come up with, even without having met Megan in person. All I did was show the stylist a picture.

Megan herself has a great sense of style and I know she can pick out her own dress. But there’s something appealing about the idea of choosing an article of clothing to wrap her body in a pleasing way for my enjoyment.

“Okay? You’ll turn heads at the restaurant,” I say honestly. I don’t like the idea of other men staring at Megan, but I’ll get to show her off as mine. She’ll be coming as my wife, and nobody will dare put a finger on her.

Her cheeks grow red, which I find to be adorable. I love knowing exactly what she’s feeling. At a time like this, her face is like a forecast program that tells me everything I need to know. But there are times when it seems a mask has descended over her expression, making it impossible for me to read.

I get up from the couch. There’s nobody else in the apartment, and I wish we could stay home so I could peel off that dress she has just put on.

But duty calls. It’s time for us to let photographers catch us together so they could put our pictures all over the gossip magazines. That will trigger Melanie, the journalist from The Times, to reveal our big secret. And then we’ll end up in various other publications that spread the news far and wide.

“Shall we?” I ask as I hold out one arm toward Megan.

She takes it, and I realize her hand is cold.

“Nervous?” I ask as we walk toward the elevator door. I press the button.

“A little bit,” she says. “I’ve never been… I’ve never had people taking my pictures to publish.”

“It’s okay. You won’t even feel a thing, I promise you.”

Megan’s full lips form a smile, but her muscles remain tense. Her hand on my bicep makes me crave skin-on-skin contact.

The elevator opens to show a couple already inside. It’s the heir to Holt Bank and his pretty, blonde wife. They seem to be in the middle of an argument.

“It just doesn’t make any sense, Piper. Seth and Alice have a huge wine cellar in their basement,” he says.

“It’s not about what they already have, Rafe. It’s just what you’re supposed to do when you go to a dinner party,” she says. She’s holding a bottle of wine, which I assume is the thing they’re arguing about.

I glance sideways at Megan. I remember how excited she got when I told her he lived in the building.

Sure enough, her jaw has slackened. She has apparently forgotten about her anxiety.

“You know they're going to appreciate the gesture, which is all that matters,” the blonde says, seemingly unable to hold her tongue anymore as the elevator takes us down.

“Or they'll hate it and it’ll collect dust in the corner. You know they're very particular about their food and drinks,” he says.

The couple stops their heated conversation when they realize we’re joining them in this small, enclosed space. We nod at each other. I know who they are, and they probably know who I am. But like most neighbors in the city, we don’t actually know one another.

The wife shoots us an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, my husband is annoyed that I went to the liquor store even though I’m pregnant. I wasn't planning on drinking, but after his lecture, I might need it.”

He looks horrified. He opens his mouth to say, “You—”

“Just kidding, Rafe,” she says in a flat, annoyed tone. Laughing, she tells us, “He’s been weird since he found out I’m pregnant.”

“I understand that,” I say, who else she’s been telling about her pregnancy. Maybe I shouldn’t be too quick to blame Paul for leaking the information to the media. “But it’s hard being a father-to-be as well. I wouldn't be too hard on him if I were you.”

“Oh, you guys have kids?” she asks.

“Well, uh, I do. And she does, too, now,” I say awkwardly.

I don't know why I said it like that, except that I’m caught off guard. I know we’re supposed to put on a show tonight, but I wasn’t ready to be questioned in the fucking elevator of my own apartment building.

It's not like they care if who’s biologically related to my daughter. Hell, they don’t even know my daughter. They're just making small talk.

I glance at Megan, who has just been quietly watching from the sidelines without joining the conversation, despite her obvious excitement at having met “a celebrity couple.” She doesn’t seem to realize that we’re not too different from them.

“Oh, that’s great. Mixed families are awesome,” the pregnant woman says with a polite smile. Her husband gives her an I-told-you-to-not-to-talk-to-strangers look.

Luckily, before the mood becomes more awkward, we arrive at the ground floor, where we can finally extricate ourselves from the situation.

But as soon as we walk out the elevator and into the lobby, we’re met by Paul’s worried face.

Something’s wrong.

He briskly approaches us, while occasionally glancing back at the sitting area of the lobby, where guests often wait to see residents of the building.

“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Hunter, the concierge from the previous shift let her in because he has seen her with your daughter a few times. I asked her if she has an appointment with you, and she told me she does. I just got here and I was just about to call you to confirm.”

“Who are you talking about?” I ask, Paul’s concern making me uneasy.

“Uh…” Paul pauses, like he’s trying to find the right words to say something sensitive. “Your… Uh, Ashley Hunter, sir. I’ve seen her on TV speaking badly about you, which is why I was worried.”

“Ashley? She’s here?” I ask, stopping in my tracks and looking at the couch a few yards behind Paul. Sure enough, there’s a blonde sitting there. She has her head down, playing with her phone.

Fucking hell. As if I needed another problem tonight.

I don’t need Ashley to be telling Megan stuff that she doesn’t need to know. Things have been going really well between the two of us and I really don’t need Ashley ruining everything.

Megan

First Raphael Holt and his beautiful pregnant wife, and now Ashley Hunter?

I feel like I’m getting the inside scoop on the private lives of some high-profile public figures. If Paul is really selling these stories, he could be making bank.

Maybe I should be his friend, so he can continue to supply me with the dirty deets once I’m done with this fake marriage thing.

We can start with the soap opera that is the lives of the rich. And after that, who knows? Maybe I’ll actually get to break an important story, like the secret meetings between Senators, or the expensive gifts that government officials get from various lobby groups.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry, Megan. She won’t hurt you. Just ignore her,” Ethan says, although he’s the one who seems to be losing his cool.

Given the way Ashley has spoken out about Ethan’s cruelty toward her, I don’t blame him for being nervous about bumping into her with his supposed new wife.

“Ethan!” Ashley yells out from the lobby in front of us. I recognize her voice from the TV. Her heels click-clack on the marble floor as she marches toward us.

“Ashley,” Ethan says tersely as he nods in her direction, acknowledging her while dismissing her at the same time. Masterful move.

Ashley walks past Paul and notices me for the first time. She jolts, almost imperceptibly, obviously not expecting my presence.

“What do you want?” Ethan asks.

“What do I want? I came here to warn you. You should be thanking me.”

Ethan snorts.

“Something funny?” Ashley asks aggressively. “You won’t think it’s so funny when you hear from our lawyer.”

“Oh, it’s ‘our’ now, huh? I’m glad you found yourself an ally.”

“Lucas simply noticed that I’m in dire straits and he recognized that you’re the one responsible, so he’s helping me get what I deserve,” Ashley retorts.

“What you deserve,” Ethan snorts again. “You don’t know what you’re getting into with Lucas. You have no idea what he’s capable of. You’re way out of your depth. You’ll get what you deserve, all right, but it won’t be what you think.”

“I came here to help you, so don’t antagonize me. I want to tell you that you’ll get something from our lawyer soon, and you’d better comply. Otherwise, Lucas will be after you. From the speech you just made, obviously you know what he’s capable of.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself just fine. Thank you for your concern, though. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a dinner reservation.” Ethan turns to me and says, “Let’s go, Megan.”

My hand is still on Ethan’s arm this whole time, so I follow when he starts to walk away from Ashley, even though I feel bad about being rude to her. Ethan didn’t even introduce me, and he’s just walking away even though Ashley hasn’t finished talking.

“And who’s this?” Ashley asks as she match our pace.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Hey, girlie,” Ashley addresses me. “Who are you, and what are you doing with this asshole?”

“Don’t mind her. Just ignore her and she’ll go away on her own,” Ethan tells me before I can even think about how to answer her question.

“So the rumors are true. You are seeing someone.” Ashley laughs mockingly. “And here I thought you were Super-Dad, whose life only revolves around Penny.”

“That’s amazing, coming from you,” Ethan says, unable to resist responding. He’s defying his own advice to ignore her.

“I see you traded me in for a younger model. Well done.” Ashley follows as we approach the double doors leading outside. Looking straight at me, she says, “He’s not who you think he is.”

The doorman lets us out. Ethan’s black convertible is already waiting at the driveway. A teenager wearing a white shirt and a black vest is holding the passenger door open with his gloved hand.

As Ethan leads me to the car, Ashley continues her tirade. “He seems nice, but he’s not on your side. He’ll use you and then spit you out when he doesn’t need you anymore. You can’t trust a man like Ethan Hunter. You’ll—”

The teenager shuts the car door. With the top of the convertible Porsche down, I can’t hear anything Ashley is saying. But she’s still staring at me, and her lips are still moving furiously.

“Sorry about that,” Ethan says as he gets in the driver’s seat. A disjointed slice of Ashley’s sentence enters the car, only to end when Ethan closes the door again.

“Is that your ex-wife?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

A few days ago, I wouldn’t have dared ask him such a personal question. Yet, slowly, I’m starting to feel like I’m part of his inner circle, rather than just his employee.

“Yeah.” Ethan keeps his eyes on the road as he drives. “Don’t take anything she says seriously. She’s a liar.”

“That seems like a harsh thing to say about the mother of your child.”

“That’s because I don’t think of her as the mother of my child anymore. And my child doesn’t even see Ashley as her mother anymore either.”

“You don’t allow them to have any sort of a relationship?” I’ve heard what Ashley has been saying on TV, about how Ethan is keeping Penny away from her and how she doesn’t have a chance against Ethan’s expensive attorneys. This is a chance for me to get his side of the story.

“Oh, no, Ashley is the one who has chosen not to have a relationship with Penny.”

That’s definitely not what I’ve heard. From my research, Ashley has been fighting to get custody over Penny. She’s been all over TV, talking about how a mother deserves to be with her daughter.

Why would she go through all that, if she doesn’t want to have a relationship with Penny?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ethan says. “I know what Ashley has been telling people. But like I said, she’s a liar. She has visitation rights, but she has probably only seen Penny once or twice a year since the divorce.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say.

“It used to bother Penny so much.” Ethan tenses his jaw in anger, gritting his teeth. “She’d wait and wait for Ashley to show up, only to get disappointed again.

“It took Penny a few years to learn not to expect anything from her mom,” Ethan says, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are turning white.

“That must’ve been hard,” I say, remembering the prompts I learned in journalism school, the questions and phrases to say to keep the interviewee talking. Ethan may be my enemy, but as an objective reporter of facts, I have to listen to his side of the story, too.

“It was. And I was working even harder than I do today, building my business without knowing if it was ever going to pay off. I’d work my ass off at the office, and then I’d pick up Penny from daycare at the end of the day and watch her all night.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah, I never got much sleep.” Ethan chuckles. Evidently, even those dark days have their happy moments, too.

* * *

We’re sitting in the hottest restaurant in town, a swanky place called Fable.

The walls are covered with a realistic wallpaper that visually transports us to the woods. The dim, warm lighting makes it feel like we’re camping outdoors, except everyone is dressed to impress. It’s like a secret party in an enchanted forest.

Despite the whimsical décor, the restaurant takes food seriously. They only source fresh, local ingredients, and the menu changes depending on what’s in season.

As far as I know, eating here costs as much as I used to make in a week. And even if I could afford it, they’re usually booked solid for months in advance.

“How did you get a reservation at such short notice?” I ask.

“I know the owner. We’ve been talking about him opening a branch at the new mall we’re building downtown.”

Aside from a few tense minutes at the beginning of the night, we’ve been talking about light, unimportant things. I still can’t quite believe that Ashley could do the things that Ethan has accused her of doing, but Ethan doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about it either.

Ethan seems distracted. Maybe he finds me boring. I don’t know, but he’s been staring off into the distance a lot. He doesn’t even realize that women are looking at him, stealing glances when they think their men aren’t looking.

If nothing else, Ethan Hunter is an excellent date to have if you’re trying to impress your girlfriends. He always looks so put together.

Tonight, he’s dapper in a tailored navy-blue suit with a thin, black satin lapel. He wears a crisp white shirt underneath and a black bow tie. The light of the candle on the table dances and flickers, makes his eyes look dark and shining at the same time.

“I hope…” Ethan’s sentence hangs in the air. He’s taking a deep breath, like he’s weighing the pros and cons of finishing it.

“Yeah?” I ask. When he remains pensive, I add, “You can’t start to say something and then not say it.”

“It’s nothing. I just hope that you don’t take what Ashley said seriously. You can trust me. I want you to know that.”

“Okay.”

As is I’m just going to take your word for it, I think to myself. He may be my husband legally, but I’ve never trusted him from the beginning because I know what he’s done.

And the worst part? Technically, Ethan has never done anything illegal, so nobody could get some kind of compensation from him. Also, nobody dares to challenge him in court because he can hire the dream team of legal professionals.

When your enemy is someone like Ethan Hunter, you can’t have too many allies. He’s too powerful. I understand why Ashley has chosen to team up with someone else.

“I know it’s a weird thing to say, but I’m not… I mean, I’m sorry she called you ‘the younger model.’ I just want you to know that it’s not like that at all,” Ethan says.

“I know. I was there when the idea for whole thing was hatched in Penny’s mind. I know you didn’t even have anything to do with it.” I cut into my cake and give him a smile.

It’s so sweet of him to worry about how I feel, I almost forget we’re not on an actual date.

It’s remarkable that the other diners don’t realize that we’re not a real couple, that we’re only here so people can snap pictures of us sharing a meal together.

I realize it’s illogical, but I feel like they should be able to tell. Apparently, a business suit and a dress are enough to camouflage ourselves as one of them.

“Ashley was the one who left me,” Ethan says without my prompting. Ethan’s muscles tense from remembering painful memories. He takes a sip of his wine and says, “Ashley took Penny with her when she left. Penny never liked living with her, but I never had any reason to suspect Ashley of any wrongdoing.

“Then I looked into it, and found Ashley had been basically fucking her way down the list of the country club members, trying to find herself a sugar daddy. She never managed to catch any big fish, though,” Ethan chuckles bitterly.

“I didn’t really care who she slept with, but she frequently left Penny alone at home while she went out to party. And she often invited these men home, where my daughter was. That was unacceptable.”

“Why did you let Ashley take Penny with her?” I have to admit that even though Ethan’s story is wildly different from Ashley’s version, it’s not any more far-fetched than anything she has said. I wonder who’s telling the truth.

“Let’s just say I wasn’t in any condition to take care of a child.” Ethan’s lips form a small smile, while his eyes cloud over with regret. “So I cleaned up my act and started to work hard so I could get Penny back.

“In the process, I got involved with some bad guys. I managed to keep them at bay, but now they’re using Ashley to get to me.

“Bad guys?” I need some clarification on that. To be honest, this whole time, Ethan has been the bad guy in my mind. So who could be worse than him?

“Yeah, well, I was young and I had no clue how to do this whole business thing yet, so I tried a lot of things and failed at a lot of things.” Ethan says vaguely.

“My biggest mistake, though, was to work with a man called Lucas Murdoch. He was—is—a developer who took care of buying the land, clearing it, and building a mall on it. His company is called Primaland; it’s pretty big so you may have heard of it.”

I shake my head. I’ve never heard of Primaland in my whole life, even though I’ve been researching Ethan’s past for months.

“I was under a lot of pressure from my investors to keep costs down. And Lucas was known for his low prices in both acquisition and construction. So I decided to work with him. I didn’t realize until it was too late that he didn’t only use persuasion when he was trying to get people to sell their land.”

“What did you do?” I’ve put my fork on the table. Sitting on the edge of my seat, I listen intently to Ethan’s story. I’m finally getting the information I need to make sense of it all. The gears in my brain turn rapidly, trying to piece together a new narrative based on his side of the story.

“I fired him, of course. It wouldn’t have been right to keep him on board after he did something like that. What kind of a message would I be sending to my other employees?” Ethan asks rhetorically. “Sure, I needed money to get Penny back, but I knew I could do that even without Lucas Murdoch, and without compromising my brand.”

To my surprise, Ethan’s paints himself as a pretty decent person in his stories. It sounds like he handles his problems calmly and fairly, doing his best despite the challenges life throws at him.

Is he just viewing his own actions through rose-tinted glasses? Or have I been wrong about Ethan this whole time?

Have I spent eight years believing a lie?

Ethan

“I’m sorry. I got carried away. I must be boring you with these old stories.” I realize I’ve been babbling on my own, while Megan has just been listening to me. At least she looks like she’s listening to me, but maybe she’s just being polite.

“No, not at all.” She smiles sweetly, making me want to grab her, lean her down on my arm, and claim those lips with my mouth. I still can’t get over how fucking beautiful she looks tonight.

“I don’t know why I went on and on like that. I don’t usually talk that much.” It’s true; I surprise myself by how comfortable I feel around Megan. Without even realizing it, I put my guard down and start telling her stuff.

There’s something about this girl, although I can’t quite put a finger on it. I can’t come up with the words to explain it. It’s just something I feel in my guts.

“Tell me something about yourself, Megan.” I’m done talking now; it’s her turn.

“Uh, what do you want to know?” Megan asks, obviously uncomfortable with the spotlight on her.

How could she not be used to being the center of attention, though, when she’s been turning heads since we stepped out of the car? Everyone from the valet to the diner across the restaurant wants another glimpse of my girl—my wife. Well, sorry everyone, she’s all mine.

This marriage may have started out as just a ploy to get the media off my back, but I don’t know how to feel anymore now.

It makes me happy when I think about how, even if she’s not my real wife, she won’t date other men while we’re still legally married.

That’s a part of the agreement, because obviously we can’t risk her getting caught having a rendezvous with some guy. That could lead to a scandal bigger than what we’re avoiding right now.

But that’s not the only reason I’m glad that clause exists anymore.

“Tell me about your family. Are you close with your parents?” I ask.

“Me and my mom, we’re okay. My dad…” Megan’s voice trails off. She inhales deeply and says, “I haven’t seen my dad in eight years.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I say. She looks so sad and fragile that I want to pull her into my arms and cover her in bubble wrap so she doesn’t get scratched or broken. I smile at her and say, “I know you signed a non-disclosure agreement, but did you tell your mom about the fake marriage?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t tell her about this,” she says, a little too quickly.

Realizing she might not want to tell me she’s leaking my secret, I add, “I promise it’s fine, as long as she doesn’t tell anyone else. I get that you might want to tell the people close to you. Penny knows all about it, so it’s only fair that your family knows, too.”

“No, it’s not that,” she says, not meeting my gaze.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, really. I just didn’t tell her about it. That’s it,” she insists. She thinks she’s being sly, but it’s obvious she’s keeping a secret.

She fidgets with her hair and bites her bottom lip—nervous tells that I haven’t seen much at the dinner table over the past week. Somehow, this topic is making her uneasy.

It’s okay if she doesn’t want to talk. It only makes her seem more mysterious and more desirable to me.

At least I know she’s not desperate to be with any man who flashes her some money. Just that fact alone already makes her a better potential partner than most women I’ve met.

I’m a patient man. I can wait. But I also always get what I want.

I wanted lots of money and I got it.

I wanted my daughter back and I got her.

Now I want Megan and I’ll get her, too, sooner or later.

* * *

“I had a wonderful time,” I say when the elevator door opens to my apartment—or our apartment, I should say.

“Yeah, I bet those photographers managed to take lots of pictures, huh?” Megan giggles as we step into the living room.

“I don’t give a fuck about the photographers.”

Megan widens her big blue eyes and stares at me.

I don’t know if she’s surprised by my cursing or by my lack of concern about the photos, considering they’re the main reason we went out in the first place. But sometimes, things take on a life of their own and you can only improvise and see how they turn out.

“All I care about is you right now,” I say. Trapping Megan’s gaze, I take one step closer. I’m invading her personal space now. I’ll leave her alone if she wants me to, but she’s not telling me to go away.

It’s dark in the living room, with only one small table lamp turned on. Outside, the city still buzzes with activity, the bright lights overpowering the darkness of the night. It’s quiet here, though, thirty floors above the ground.

With nobody else in the house, there’s no one to see us, or to hear us. We can do anything we want. Nobody’s going to stop us.

Hell, Megan is my wife. The things that I want to do to her, all the dirty images in my mind—not even society or religion would object to me turning them into reality.

So it’s all down to this beautiful, mysterious creature standing in front of me. What does she want?

I put one hand on the side of her smooth, creamy neck. It looks so long and graceful with her hair put up. I’ve stared at it—and the rest of her—all night, and I can’t take it anymore.

Megan just looks up at me, her lips parted, as if ready to take me. She doesn’t say anything, but her breathing gets quicker and shallower. The veins on her neck throb rapidly, along with the beating of her heart. I like knowing I have this kind of an effect on her.

As I lean in, she tilts her head to the side and her eyelids flutter close. I don’t need any more encouragement. Running my own business has taught me that opportunities need to be seized when they arise, because they don’t always come twice.

Her lips are soft, full, and delicate. I let out a sigh, releasing the pressure in my chest that has been building up all night.

She tastes good—sweet and sensual and feminine. My cock stirs in my pants, reacting to the raw sexual energy swirling around us, taking us both for a wild ride.

I run my hand down her back and press on the small of her back, pulling her to me. I trace her lips with my tongue and she opens up for me, eager and pliant. She’s asking for more.

That’s it; I’m not going to hold back anymore.

I cup the back of her head and tug her close, grabbing her hair with my hand, messing up her updo. I sweep inside, plundering her mouth, taking possession of her body.

I nibble on her lips, and she lets out an adorable little gasp. She whimpers as she gives herself to me. Arching her back, she pushes her lips back against mine and presses her tits against my chest.

Her chest is heaving from the heavy, irregular breathing. Her hands clamp onto my arms, holding on tight. She wants more. I do, too.

I move my hand to the top of her back, where I find the zipper of her dress. I start to pull it down, eager to see the delicious figure she’s hiding underneath.

Suddenly, Megan jerks away. Putting both her palms on my chest, she pushes away.

“Sorry, I can’t. We shouldn’t.” Without further explanation, she slinks into her room, her high heels click-clacking sharply and rapidly on the floor.

And here I thought I was about to get lucky tonight. I’m already stretching the fabric of my pants with my raging hard-on, which is starting to throb with excitement.

I’ll have to take a cold shower. Or I’ll jerk myself off while fantasizing about things going differently than it just did.

It’s okay, though. I can tell she wants me, too. It’s just a matter of time now.

She’s already my wife. Now it’s time to make her my girlfriend, as well.

Megan

“Do you want me to read you a story tonight?” Ethan asks as Penny gets up from the couch and makes her way to her bedroom.

“I’m not five, Dad.” Penny rolls her eyes.

“Okay, just thought I’d ask.” Ethan gives me a look. “Can you believe this? The attitude on her. She’s not even a teenager yet.”

I can’t help but laugh. It’s adorable how Ethan and Penny interact. I’m seeing a very different side of Ethan. He’s not at all like how he is at the office.

“She’s a good kid,” I say.

I like Penny’s sass, and there’s another big reason why I’m glad she’s around.

After the kiss last night, I don’t know how to act around Ethan. But she removes the awkwardness and breaks the tension.

Even when she’s not around, like right now, I find it easier to talk to Ethan because we can focus on her, rather than whatever this is that’s going on between us.

“To be honest, I don’t even know what she reads these days,” Ethan says.

“If she’s anything like I was at that age, she’s probably more into pictures of boys in magazines than storybooks anyway.”

Ethan grimaces, and I laugh at his expression. We’re still sitting in the living room with the TV on, but neither one of us is paying attention to the sitcom rerun anymore.

I hear laugh tracks occasionally, but I can’t pay attention to the TV and Ethan at the same time. It takes everything in me to have something resembling a normal interaction with him.

It feels like there’s a big distance between us, even though we’re only a few feet apart, sitting on couches arranged around the same coffee table. Maybe I just want him closer, like he was last night.

I don’t know. I have no idea what I want.

He’s the one who destroyed my family. And I’m here to get some intel on him, as well as make some money off him in the process.

But seeing him like this, just relaxing at home after a long day at work, doting on his daughter…

It kinda makes it hard to keep thinking of him as some heartless monster, especially when his ex-wife could have been lying the whole time. If Ethan was honest when he told me about Ashley last night, then he’s a kind, patient man for not exposing her true colors.

“Penny used to love detective books,” Ethan says, gazing into the distance at the skyscrapers beyond the glass walls. “I used to read them to her at bedtime. I’d flip to the back to read the ending when she fell asleep and threaten her with spoilers whenever she was misbehaving,”

“That’s adorable,” I say, laughing as I imagine Ethan telling Penny to stop whining or he’d tell her who killed Mrs. Peacock.

Jesus, Ethan, stop being so damn adorable. You’re making it hard for me to keep hating you.

“Yeah.” Ethan lets out a heavy sigh as sadness descends over his eyes. “It was less adorable when she started coming up with stories about where her mom had gone. She used to tell people her mom was secretly working on some case, trying to catch a jewel thief.”

“That’s really creative of her,” I say, trying to make him feel better. “It’s still adorable, actually. Just in a rather sad way.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Ethan gives me a sad smile.

He grows quiet in a way that leaves no doubt in my mind that he has been telling me the truth about Penny the whole time. He seems to be replaying bad memories in his head, thinking about how he could’ve done better. I’ve seen that same look on my mom’s face.

“She knows the truth now, of course. Which is that Ashley doesn’t care about her.” He pauses like his next words are too hard to say out loud without some emotional preparation. “It’s hard for her, you know? She’s mature for her age, but she’s still just a kid. I feel bad for that sometimes. Maybe she’s had to grow up more quickly because of how badly Ashley and I have fucked things up for her.”

“I’m not a parent, so I’m not going to pretend I know how you feel. But as someone’s daughter, I can tell you that Penny probably knows how hard you’re trying.” I remember the first time I met her and add, “She even told me that herself. I asked her about you not picking her up from school and you know what she said? ‘He tries.’”

“She said that?” Ethan looks at me with surprise in his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for telling me that. That means a lot to me.” Ethan smiles as he exhales loudly. “It’s just that, sometimes I feel like I have no clue how to be a dad, you know? And I’m worried that I’m ruining her childhood, which will ruin her whole life.”

“That’s a little dramatic.” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “She’ll recover from whatever trauma you inflict on her. Maybe she’ll need lots of therapy, but you have the money, so she’ll get there.”

“That’s dark.” Ethan laughs. “You have a dark sense of humor.”

“So people tell me. Sorry if that was too much.”

“Not at all. I like that.” Ethan sets his gaze on me, looking at me with a mixture of amusement and wonder in his blue eyes. “That’s honest. You live here now. I wouldn’t want you to pretend to be something you’re not, just to avoid hurting my delicate sensibilities.”

I laugh nervously, uncomfortable now that he’s shifting the focus onto me. I’m worried about him finding out the truth about me—why I’m here, and how I’ve been snooping to get some juicy information on him.

Despite me warming up to Ethan, I continue to send updates to Michelle. I feel more and more guilty with each successive email,

Previously, I just didn’t want to jeopardize my mission. Now, I feel bad about doing these things behind his back when he and Penny have been nothing but wonderful to me.

But I can’t stop now. Not when I’m already so close.

Yet I don’t want him to stop looking at me like he’s doing right now.

I realize I’m being greedy. I want to have my cake and eat it, too, but obviously I can’t have it both ways.

“So, uh, Penny also told me how she had to walk a long way to school a few years ago,” I say, changing the topic.

“Yeah, that was back when she was living with Ashley. She never took very good care of Penny, which is why the judge gave me sole custody.” With a voice full of regret, he adds, “I shouldn’t have let her take Penny away.”

“But you probably didn’t know Ashley was going to do that.”

“I should’ve known. Ashley was never a good mother. We didn’t plan on having Penny, but life has a way of changing your plans sometimes. I chose to be a dad, while Ashley… Well, she was always wishing Penny weren’t around to cramp her style.”

“How did Penny end up with Ashley in the first place, if that’s the case?”

“I was not in any condition to take care of a child at the time. I was sick. Really sick. I couldn’t even leave the hospital. Honestly, I didn’t think I was going to make it. Both my parents had died in an accident a couple of years before that, so Ashley was all Penny had left, for better or worse.”

“You were sick?” This has never come up in any of the research I’ve done on Ethan. And I’ve done a lot of research.

“Yeah. It’s not something I talk about, usually. But you… I feel like I can tell you stuff,” he says with a smile. “I had some money that my parents had left me, and I spent it all on my treatments. I felt guilty about using all that money on myself.”

“You needed that money to live. There was no reason to feel guilty.” This hits home because my mom has also sacrificed a lot for me, and being the beneficiary of that sacrifice can feel like too much sometimes.

“I know that now. It seems crazy to feel that way, looking back. But at the time, I’d been spending nothing on myself and everything on Penny. It seemed wrong to suddenly dump so much money on myself, you know? Especially when there was no guarantee I was going to make it.”

“Yeah.” I remember the nights when Mom would come home after work, burning up and sweating from a fever, but refusing to see a doctor or to even miss work. “But you need to take care of yourself to be a good dad for Penny.”

“That’s what I told myself,” Ethan says. “When I finally got my health back, I wanted Penny to come live with me. But for someone who never wanted to be a mom, you’d be surprised how much Ashley fought me when I made my intentions clear.”

“She wouldn’t let you take Penny, even though she didn’t want her?”

“Yeah. She just wanted to hurt me. She didn’t care how it affected Penny.”

“That’s diabolical.”

“It motivated me to get ahead. I decided that I had to be successful. It was the only way for me to take Penny back and protect her from Ashley. I worked really hard. I did everything I could. Finally, I found an attorney who was confident he could get me sole custody. He was expensive, but I worked my ass off to afford him.”

“When was this?” I ask as my heart begins to pound in my chest. Could this be why he did what he did?

“I don’t know. It didn’t happen at some particular point in time. It was a process that took years.” Ethan pauses to think. “Penny finally started living with me about six, seven years ago. I recovered from my illness about ten years ago. So between those two events, my whole life was all about working and scrimping so I could pay the lawyer.”

I think about the timeline. Everything fits.

My jaw slackens, but I try not to show my surprise in front of Ethan.

“I did some things I’m not proud of during those years. Made a lot of money, and made some enemies, too.” Ethan chuckles wryly. “I don’t blame people for still hating me. That’s probably why Ashley’s stories are so popular anyway. Maybe I brought it upon myself.”

I can’t find the words to say. Hell, I can’t even organize my thoughts right now. So I remain silent.

“I’m sorry. These are such depressing stories. You must be bored,” Ethan says.

“No, not at all.”

That’s not why I’m quiet at all. I’m just rethinking everything I’ve always thought about Ethan Hunter.

I need to be alone right now. There are too many contradictory things swirling around in my head right now.

“I’m just sleepy,” I lie, faking a yawn and a stretch. “I should get back to my room now. Good night, Ethan.”

“Good night,” he says as I walk away.

Maybe I’ve been wrong all along. Maybe he’s not a monster. Maybe he’s just another guy who’s doing his best when life throws him a curve ball.

Maybe he’s not so different from me after all.

Megan

Eight Years Ago

Mom and Dad walk ahead of me, their hands linked, holding on so tightly to each other that their knuckles are turning white.

It’s rare to see them this close lately. They’ve been fighting a lot.

Not just the heated discussions I used to hear coming from their room when I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

No, they’re fighting right in front of me now, like they can’t stand to hold it in even for a few minutes longer. Really, it only takes a few steps to take the argument into their bedroom, but they don’t even bother with that anymore.  

They fight in the kitchen while I have breakfast before going to school; they fight as soon as they get home from work; they fight in the living room while I do my homework upstairs. I have to wear headphones to concentrate on anything.

I put my hand inside the pocket of my coat to play with my iPod, running my thumb over the smooth surface of the scroll wheel. I leave it off, though.

I choose to listen to my parents talking in normal voices to each other. Each night, I find myself raising the volume of the iPod to drown out my parents’ voices. This is a nice change of pace.

Besides, the speakers inside the mall are playing Coldplay’s Viva La Vida, which I’ve been playing on repeat. The music sounds different when Chris Martin isn’t practically screaming in my ears. It’s better.

All around us are other families. Parents and children. Couples on dates.

We probably look just like them, but we’re different.

While they stroll leisurely, we’re marching with purpose. While they chat casually with one another, I’m silently watching my parents speak in hushed, tense tones. While they browse the stores for things to purchase, we’ve only paid attention to one store in particular.

Toy Kingdom.

It’s heaven for most children, with their endless shelves stacked high with all kinds of colorful plastic things.

It’s hell for us, though. We can trace all our problems to that store. When Toy Kingdom first opened, that was the beginning of our downfall. It changed everything almost overnight.

There used to be kids running all over my parents’ store all the time. I had to watch my step so I wouldn’t run into them, or let them run into me. But now, I can close my eyes to navigate the store.

The shelves used to be packed so tightly with too many boxes that I sometimes had no idea how to fit everything. But now there’s plenty of empty spaces between the toys.

Also, I hardly get to paste the “New!” stickers on the shelves anymore, because my parents can’t afford to broaden the range of their inventory anymore, now that the store isn’t making enough money.

Judging from what my parents say during their arguments, they can barely afford to pay our bills, much less stock the store with new, shiny, expensive toys.

My parents stop talking as we walk past the window display of Toy Kingdom, filled with Barbie dolls in pink boxes, a big, life-sized dog made of Lego bricks, and Peppa Pig doll houses. Bright light spills out of the store, along with the screams and laughter of kids. The store is so big it takes us forever to reach the other side.

Past Toy Kingdom, there’s an innocuous door that leads to a narrow hallway. We wait here for an elevator that takes us up to another hallway that looks identical to the one downstairs, except for what’s waiting for us behind the door.

Mom and Dad share a look before they push the door open and walk through the doorway together. There’s a big wooden counter right in front of us. And behind it, about ten desks where people sit in front of their computers.

My parents are still holding hands as they reach the counter, where they’re greeted by a pretty brunette in her twenties.

“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” she asks chirpily.

“We have an appointment with Ethan Hunter,” Dad says.

“Right. Please give me a second.” She holds a pencil in her hand and drags it down the page of a big book in front of her. She stops halfway down the page and looks up. Giving my parents a friendly smile, she asks, “The Joneses, right?”

“Yes,” Mom answers, a little too quickly, revealing her nervousness.

Mom looks exhausted—I don't usually notice when we're at home. But here, when she's standing right in front of a woman who obviously takes good care of herself, I see it.

Mom wears make-up today, and a nice, color-coordinated pantsuit. But the redness in her eyes, the bags underneath, and the dullness of her hair show the cracks not just in her appearance, but also in her psyche.

“Please follow me,” the receptionist says. She leads us across the office until we reach some couches grouped around a coffee table. “Please wait here. I’ll check if Mr. Hunter is able to see you now.”

The brunette knocks on a door. I hear a faint voice from inside, deep and authoritative. She turns on her heels, her floral skirt swishing gracefully as she does, and invites us to go in.

“Wait here, sweetie,” Mom says as I get up to follow them.

“But, Mom, I—”

“Listen to me just this once. Please,” Mom says impatiently as she walks away, only briefly glancing my way as she does. She and Dad disappear into the enclosed office that belongs to the guy called Mr. Hunter, who I can assume is the one in charge of the whole mall.

I sit back down, feeling guilty for bothering my mom when she's obviously distraught. At the same time, I hate being treated like a child. I'm already thirteen, damn it.

I put on some music on my iPod and look around. Dull grey carpet, plywood desks, fluorescent lighting—this part of the mall looks nowhere close to how nice and shiny everything is downstairs, where the shops are.

As I absent-mindedly rub my iPod and pass it from one hand to another, guilt burrows itself deep within me, constricting my lungs. My parents bought the music player for me back before this mall opened, back before there was a Toy Kingdom in our neighborhood, back before we ever had any money problems.

Sometimes, despite its small size and light weight compared to my old portable CD player, the iPod feels heavy in my pocket. Guilt adds a lot of weight to it.

It feels like forever until my parents finally emerge from the door in front of me. I turn off the music as soon as the door opens, and realize I would've been able to hear the tail end of their secret adult conversation had I not played any songs. They are speaking at pretty loud volumes now.

“Please!” Mom says, desperation in her voice. “You have to give us a chance. We have no idea what we're going to do without our store.”

“I’m sorry,” says a man with the same deep voice who told the receptionist to let them in earlier.

He doesn't sound very apologetic; if anything, he seems rushed. He’s barely focusing on my parents anymore. Instead, he’s looking past both of them, his gaze flicking around like he's looking for someone.

“Please,” Mom repeats, even as she backs out of the office, her palms together like she’s saying a prayer to her new, human god. She’s no longer holding Dad’s hand.

“We shouldn't even have had this meeting,” the man-god says.

“But Mr. Hunter, like we said, we’ll make sure it will meet your requirements.” Dad tries to wedge himself in the door, even as Mr. Hunter’s hand on his shoulder clearly indicates that he wants my parents out of his office.

“Again, it's not personal. I just don't see how I could help you. I’m sorry. I hope you’ll find a way out of your problems.” Mr. Hunter raises his eyebrows at someone behind my parents’ backs. I follow his gaze and find a burly man wearing the mall security uniform rushing toward the office doorway where the commotion is.

Oh, no. This is not going to go well.

I sling my schoolbag over my shoulder and get up, compelled by adrenaline. But what do I do now? What can I do?

Dad snaps his head around when the security guard touches his shoulder, alarm etched in his face. His eyes are wild and his mouth is open. His expression reminds me of a baby raccoon we once cornered in our backyard.

“Please follow me, Sir, Ma’am,” the guard says, his face stern and his voice demanding. He’s not just another mall worker putting on his fake customer-service smile. This guy’s job is to be aggressive.

And my parents know it, too. They can’t bargain or argue with this guy. They’ve lost the battle. No—worse than that, they’ve lost the war.

Again, I follow behind my parents. This time, though, there’s a security guard trailing us, making sure we leave the premises.

Also, my parents are no longer holding hands. They’re not talking either. We’re just looking ahead, not meeting the eyes of the office workers but fully aware they’re staring at us regardless.

As we walk past the receptionist’s counter, she catches me gazing at her and pretends to look down at her book of appointments. I wonder why someone so pretty, someone who looks so much like an angel, could stand to work for the devil and ignore his misdeeds.

The security guard insists on “escorting” us down the elevator and out of the mall. I hold my precious iPod in my pocket as we walk across the parking lot, disappointed and ashamed.

I have no idea what actually happened inside that office, but I know it wasn’t good. I know we’re in even deeper trouble than we already were.

Once we’re all seated inside the car and all the doors are closed, Mom sobs into her palms. Dad just sits there with his hands on the steering wheel, staring into the distance, not even bothering to turn on the ignition.

“Mom, Dad,” I say softly as I lean forward and pop my head between the two front seats. “I can sell my iPod on Craigslist and get a part-time job.”

“No!” Mom cries out, her voice shaking. “You’re a child. Be a child.”

“But Mom—”

“I said no,” she repeats. Despite the obvious tremor in her voice, her words are firm. “I may not be able to get that…man to listen to me. But my own daughter will listen to me.”

I lean back in my seat and keep my mouth shut. We sit there, the silence only occasionally broken when Mom catches her breath in between her quiet weeping.

The air, already somber from the mood, gets more and more suffocating as the oxygen gets replaced by the carbon dioxide we breathe out.

Finally, Dad turns on the engine. As we drive home, the air gradually gets lighter, but the atmosphere remains grave.

We bring that same mood into the house, where it remains, hanging in the air. It feels like that one summer when there was a dead rat slowly decomposing in the vent, spreading the smell of death throughout our living space.

Too bad we can’t just call someone to get rid of this dark, heavy atmosphere.

Megan

“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” Ethan says in the darkness, making me jump in shock. When I twist around to look at him, he’s smiling. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s just… I didn’t hear you.” I widen my eyes to make out his silhouette in the dark.

There’s some light from outside that filters in through the glass walls, but not much. The neon signs on the skyscrapers around us are bright. But beyond the buildings, the ocean looms, dark and terrifying, reaching up to drag the night sky into its depths.

Suddenly, I get self-conscious about the clothes I’m wearing. Normally, when I see Ethan at the office, I’m in a nice blouse, tight pencil skirt, and heels. Tonight, I’m dressed for bed in a pair of hot-pink shorts and a black oversized shirt that I got for free from some writing competition at college.

I’m not the only one who looks different tonight. Ethan is wearing a white T-shirt with faded stains and a pair of grey sweatpants that leave little to the imagination.

My gaze travels to the bulge that’s clearly outlined by the fabric. Heat sears across my cheeks. Luckily, he can’t see the color of my face in this darkness.

“If you’re wondering about what the hell I’m wearing, I can explain.” Ethan pulls the bottom of his shirt away from his muscular body, stretching the fabric. He walks down the hallway, approaching me. “I got these stains from watching Penny draw with some watercolors. I guess I wasn’t staying far enough from her. But this shirt is so comfortable I can’t bring myself to throw it away.”

As Ethan stops just a few inches from me, my heart pounds in my chest, so hard I can almost hear the beats.

This feels intimate, to see each other in the dark at two in the morning, when most of the city is asleep.

It evokes the kind of magic I used to feel whenever I was having sleepovers as a teenager. I’m very aware of the fact that I’m not at home, which makes it hard for me to fully relax. At the same time, this is better than home, in other ways.

“Can’t sleep?” Ethan asks.

“Yeah.” I can’t tell him I’ve been tossing and turning, thinking about him for the last three hours. Specifically, thinking about something he did eight years ago, something he probably doesn’t even remember.

I realize I saw the incident through the lens of a girl whose parents were desperate and were turned away by an unsympathetic man.

But I hadn’t heard the story from that man’s side. And I hadn’t ever revisited or revised my position on the matter, despite how long it had been.

If I’m going to be an objective reporter of facts, I’d have to give equal weight to all sides.

At the time, Ethan must’ve been dealing with difficult problems of his own. Penny was living with Ashley, being neglected and used as a weapon against her own dad. Ethan had just recovered from a deadly illness.

He needed to earn a lot of money, so he could hire someone to get Penny back. He would’ve done anything to get there.

So he listened to his business sense when considering proposals like the one my parents had put forward, instead of choosing to work with people with the saddest sob stories.

There’s nothing wrong with maximizing profits. That’s the whole premise of capitalism. Arguably, there’s nothing more American than that.

But what does that mean for my mission? What have I even been doing this whole time, if Ethan hasn’t even done anything wrong?

“It’s nice to just stand here and look out there when you can’t sleep,” Ethan says, breaking the silence again.

“Yeah.” I pretend like I’m busy staring out at the city, but from the corners of my eyes I can see Ethan gazing at me with desire in his darkened eyes.

I want him, but at the same time, he scares the hell out of me—not because I think he would deliberately hurt me, but because of how he makes me feel.

I may be a virgin, but I’ve kissed enough boys to know that what we have isn’t normal. I feel like I could get burned if he gets any closer, even if he doesn’t mean me any harm, even if he’s careful.

At the same time, I want him to consume me.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” Ethan lets his words hang in the air, filling the silence with thick tension. He knows I know what he wants to talk about. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

Ethan chuckles. “That’s the third time you’ve responded with ‘yeah.’ Only your inflection is different.”

“Sorry.” I turn to face him. As our eyes meet, I realize I shouldn’t have looked directly at him.

“It’s okay. I don’t usually like to talk much when it’s this late, too. But like I said, it’s different with you, and I can’t understand why,” he says. His stare is too intense. He doesn’t hide the fact that he wants me at all.

With great difficulty, I tear my gaze off him and focus my vision outside instead, where the city lights are shining so bright they block out the stars.

“So, this question…” Ethan takes a couple of steps in the dark until he’s standing right behind me. “Last night. I’ve been wondering why you left.”

“I just… I didn’t think it was a good idea.” I bit my lip as I listen to Ethan’s regular breathing. His presence, his nearness, makes my heart race.

“Why not?” He gathers my hair and sweeps it to the front, over my right shoulder. I hold my breath as my hair tumbles down my chest. The tips of Ethan’s fingers graze lightly against the base of my neck, making my hairs stand on end.

“I… Uh… This… We’re supposed to be… This is just pretend,” I say, stumbling all over my words. It’s a difficult thing to discuss, for sure, but his breath on the back of my neck isn’t helping me focus.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Ethan leans closer until his mouth is almost touching my neck.

I keep expecting to feel him on my skin, but there’s only the heat emanating from his body.

When he brushes his lips lightly against my exposed neck, my breath catches in my throat.

“What do you mean?” I ask when I finally find my voice. I sound breathless and a little hoarse. It’s kinda sexy, if I may say so myself. But I feel vulnerable, knowing Ethan can manipulate my body into unfamiliar responses.

“I mean, we can turn this into anything we like.” Ethan wraps his arms around my waist, and I realize he’s got me trapped. Not because I can’t leave, but because I don’t want to.

“Anything?” It feels too good here. It’s warm and safe. At the same time, my nerve endings are wide awake, waiting for Ethan to light them up with pleasure.

“Anything.” Ethan puts one hand in my hair and makes a fist, pulling my head to the side. He leans in and claims my neck with his mouth, kissing my skin and biting my flesh.

“Ethan,” I sigh, surprising myself with the lust in my voice. My breath fogs up the glass in front of me. There’s more I want to say, but the words won’t come out.

“I love it when you call my name like that,” he says between kisses.

“Ethan, we shouldn’t be doing this,” I finish my sentence.

“I don’t know. It feels to me like this is exactly what we should be doing.” He raises his free hand up to squeeze my breast through the thin fabric of my shirt. Without a bra in the way, he can freely roam all over my tits and the valley between them. Lightly pinching my nipple, he says, “Look how hard your nipples already are.”

I look down to find out he’s right. They’re like little pebbles poking through my shirt. I never sleep with a bra, and now I’m regretting it. But I have to admit I’m also enjoying this.

“Penny might wake up,” I say.

“It’s nice of you to think about her,” he says teasingly. “Don’t worry, she’s a heavy sleeper. She has never woken up to wander in the middle of the night.”

“What if she needs to go to the bathroom?”

“She has her own en-suite,” Ethan says. Of course she does.

I shiver as Ethan’s lips ravage my neck and his hand plays with my tits. When his other hand travels down my belly, I realize I’ve been tilting my head on my own, giving him access to do as he likes with a vulnerable part of my body.

“If you tell me to leave, I will,” Ethan whispers in my ear. He pulls the crotch of my shorts to the side and puts his hot palm over my panties. He starts rubbing lightly and I moan in response. He says, “But I think you want me to stay. Don’t you, wifey?”

“I…” My voice trails off, turning into gasping hitches as Ethan puts more pressure on my pussy. I can feel the heat of his hand and the ridges of his fingers. Nobody has ever touched me like that before, and I want more, even though I have no idea what “more” is.

“Why don’t you just give in to your own desire? You know you want it.” Ethan continues to deliver dose after dose of pleasure straight to my center.

I gasp when Ethan’s fingers find my clit. He zeroes in on it, lightly running over it, making me shiver and whimper.

“Tell me,” he says.

“I don’t… I just… I don’t do that.” My head feels light as happy hormones flood my brain. I’m getting giddy from Ethan’s skillful ministrations.

“Don’t do what?” Ethan asks more insistently. “Don’t fuck?”

I bite my lower lip, afraid I’m going to tell him more, afraid to show him my cards. I don’t want him to judge me for my inexperience. I want—no, I need him to continue seeing me as an object of desire.

“Don’t you ever fuck, Megan?” Ethan asks as he eases up on the pressure on my clit. When he still doesn’t hear a response, he takes his hand off me and repeats the same question with different words. “Are you a virgin?”

I whimper. Without even thinking, I thrust my hips forward into his hand, begging for more. I need his touch. I was just starting to get addicted to it.

“Tell me, and I’ll make it worth your while.” Ethan rests his hand over my pussy, letting me feel the heat of his skin while also cruelly reminding me: that’s all I’m getting.

I shamelessly rock my hips back and forth, grinding myself against his palm, but he keeps pulling his hand further and further away.

“All you have to do is say yes or no, Megan. Are you a virgin?” Ethan asks again, making it clear that he’s not taking my silence as an answer.

I hesitate. But with release just out of reach, I can’t simply walk away now. Bracing myself for any reaction from him, I admit, “Yes.”

“That’s a good girl,” Ethan says, and for some reason those little words make me want to please him even more.

To my disappointment, he takes his hand away. Has he just been teasing me? Is he about to abandon me when I’m high and dry, just because I’m inexperienced?

Ethan removes all doubt about his intentions when he takes the hem of my shirt and pulls it up from behind me, yanking it off. He grabs my breasts and pulls on my nipples as he nibbles on my earlobes. I let out a big sigh.

But soon his hands pull away. He gets down on the floor and pushes my legs apart. I have no idea what he has in mind, but I know now that it's useless to resist. I'm already betrayed by my own body.

Ethan sits between my legs and trail kisses up my inner thighs. I squirm. It kinda tickles, but it's also tantalizing. I can't help but want more of whatever he’s doing.

When his lips reach the top of my thighs, he stares straight into my eyes as he puts his mouth over my pussy. He watches me as he lets me feel his heat through my shorts and panties.

I’m going crazy with desire. And even though he's the one down on the floor, I feel exposed and vulnerable, like he's the one who's holding all the cards. I look away, unable to maintain the intense eye contact as my hips begin to move of their own accord, pushing forward into his mouth.

My face grows hot, but so does my whole body. I stare straight ahead, letting the city skyline fill my vision as I avoid Ethan’s penetrating gaze.

We’re so high up I can’t see any one person clearly, although I could just make out little dark figures, walking on the streets thirty floors below us, or pacing the offices a couple of blocks away.

To the people outside, Ethan and I are probably just dark specks against the slightly darker background of this apartment, where none of the lights are turned on.

Still, I can’t help but think there might be someone watching. Perhaps someone just happens to look this way by accident and catch a glimpse of my bare breasts. With a powerful zoom lens, someone could be watching us.

The thought fills me with shame and apprehension. But at the same time, a thrill runs down my spine, amplifying the tingles in my core.

I glance down as Ethan pulls away. He gives me a smirk and leans back on the glass as he yanks down my shorts and panties, stripping me naked for the whole city of San Francisco to see.

It’s not likely that anyone’s watching, of course, but I feel more naked than I ever have, and not just because this is the first time a man sees me without a thread covering my body.

Ethan’s a high-profile public figure. If someone were to get some pictures of us being intimate against the glass wall, they could end up on the gossip magazines. Worse still, they could end up on the Internet, where they would stay forever; anybody would be able to find them with just a quick Google search.

But I don’t have the brain power to think about those things. Right now, I’m just an animal running on instincts.

“You’re so wet. I can’t wait to taste you,” Ethan says.

I whimper, begging him to do it.

Ethan grabs my ass with both hands and tugs me close. I fall forward with my palms and my nipples against the cold, hard glass. It’s such a contrast with Ethan’s breaths, falling soft and hot on my pussy. He grazes his lips against my lower lips, and my whole body shudders.

I’m not in charge anymore; lust has taken full control of my body.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he demands.

My mind swirls. He wants me to say it out loud? What do I even say? What words do I use?

“If you don’t say it, that’s okay. I’m pretty comfortable sitting here all night,” he threatens.

I can feel every little graze, every little vibration of his lips. But I want more. I need more. “Ethan, please.”

“Please what?” Ethan asks, a sly smile in his voice.

“Please. Do it.”

“Do what? Tell me.” He reaches his hand up to pinch my nipple, making me gasp and thrust my hips forward.

“What you said you were going to do,” I say between heavy breaths.

“Which is…?”

“You said… You said you were going to…taste me.”

“Yeah. You want that?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to kiss you,” he says as his lips land on my pussy, “and lick you?” he runs his tongue from my opening up to the top of my folds, making me shudder once again. The glass wall feels warmer now from my body heat, and my breath makes it hard for me to look outside—not that I care anymore.

“Yeah,” I respond breathlessly.

“You want me to suck your pussy,” he says as he takes my folds into his wet, warm mouth, “and eat you out?” Ethan pulls away. Pushing my hips back and leaning back on the glass, he raises his gaze to watch me.

“Yeah,” I say, not quite meeting his darkened eyes.

“Say it.”

“I want you…to eat me out.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely… Okay,” Ethan says.

Without any more warning, he starts to devour me like his life depends on it. He envelops my pussy lips with his mouth, running his tongue along my slit and into my opening.

“You’re sweet as honey,” he says as he pulls me close with his strong arms on the back of my thighs and his hands on my ass.

I can only rest my weight on the glass wall. I know it should be strong enough to support me, but it’s terrifying to look out when you’re thirty stories above the ground. I close my eyes to avoid looking down.

My knees grow weak as everything within me focuses on the throbbing in my pussy. Ethan holds me up as his limbs keep me prisoner—a willing one.

This feels better than anything I’ve ever felt. No wonder people would do almost anything for sex. Everyone tells me it’s overrated, especially when it’s the first time, but there’s no way to overstate how good this feels.

Still, I need more, although I don’t understand what exactly would get me there, not until Ethan’s tongue slides up and circles the little knot of extra-sensitive nerve endings just under the hood of my pussy. I moan desperately, but still he continues to torture me by deliberately missing the spot.

“Ethan, please,” I beg, forgetting my shame, my mission—my everything. I don’t care about anything other than Ethan’s tongue. In a raspy voice, I repeat, “Please…”

He obliges. He slips his tongue just a fraction of an inch up, and I start to shiver from sheer pleasure.

“Oh my god…” I whisper under my breath. I bite my lower lip to stop myself from making any loud noises.

Ethan circles my clit expertly, giving me just the right amount of pressure to keep me climbing up steadily.

My breathing grows more and more ragged. My whole body, from my scalp to the tip of my toes, tingles with excitement. Then, all my muscles tense up at once, locking up my body, while at the same time sending random body parts into uncontrollable, involuntary quivers.

Through the fog in my mind, I realize I’ve reached the peak and now I’m free-falling—figuratively and literally. My legs give out under me. My eyes snap open, and for a moment, I feel like I’m in one of those dreams where I fall from a tall building.

But Ethan is there to catch me. He grabs me and gently lays me down on the cold marble floor.

“I got you,” he says as he runs his tongue over my pussy once again, squeezing every little shiver I have left in my body. He climbs up my body, hovering over me, and gazes at me with wonder and affection. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re coming.”

I realize he’s still fully clothed. It makes me feel even more naked, if that’s even possible anymore. I just let this man put his mouth on a part of me that nobody else has ever seen, and he made me come like I’ve never come before.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Ethan kisses me lightly on the temple and gets up.

Curiosity forces my gaze down to where his hard-on is clearly outlined by his sweatpants. I wonder if we’re going to have sex tonight. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

Ethan chuckles when he sees me checking out his bulge. He easily picks me up with his strong arms. As he carries me into his bedroom, he says, “It’s late. Let’s get to sleep.”

I rest my head on his hard chest. So this is what bliss feels like. We get into a dark room, where he puts me down on his bed before he climbs in himself. He takes me into his arms and stays there the whole night.

Ethan

“Dad,” Penny yells out as she knocks on my bedroom door.

Shit. What time is it?

I roll over and reach for my phone on the nightstand.

It’s 9 a.m. on a Saturday.

Okay, there’s no work at least, so I’m not late for anything.

I do have one appointment, though. An important one.

I can feel the warmth of a body next to me and the slight dip in the mattress, but I still can’t quite believe that last night wasn’t just a dream. I glance to the other side of the bed and stare for a few seconds until I make sure she’s real.

“Dad.” Penny knocks again.

Usually, I’d yell back from bed that I’m up and I’m getting ready, but I don’t want to wake up the beauty sleeping next to me.

With urgency, I jump out of bed and twist the doorknob before Penny makes any more noise.

“I’m up, I’m up,” I say, cracking the door open just enough to let Penny see me, blocking her view of my bedroom with my body.

She looks up at me, frowning. With the sun in her hair, she looks almost angelic, but I know the gears in that devious brain are already turning.

She tries to look past me, those intelligent eyes searching for gaps between my body, the door, and the wooden door frame. She stares at me with suspicion, but a pleased smile forms on her lips.

“Weird. You don’t usually get up just to tell me that,” she says, in a tone that sounds an awful lot like the detectives she watches on TV.

“What, is that a crime now?”

“No, but it’s suspicious.”

I shrug. “I was already awake when you knocked on the door.”

“Liar,” she accuses. “I was already knocking for a whole minute when you finally responded.”

At this point in my life, I’m convinced that if I were to commit a crime, Penny would be able to figure it out. Perhaps my shoes would be dry even though it’s raining outside, or maybe I’d blurt out some detail I’m not supposed to know—you know, some typical mistake that fictional criminals make.

I’m glad she’s still small and short, at least. It’s easy to block her view or physically stop her from getting into my shit. But this is not going to last long. I just know that I’ll be in trouble when Penny becomes a full-fledged teenager.

“Do you want to go to breakfast or not?” I ask, changing the subject. Jesus, I’m losing this battle so badly I have to resort to bribery.

“Sure I do,” Penny says. “I’ll go get ready.”

“Wait for me in the living room when you’re done.”

“Okay.” She shoots me a sly smile and pauses dramatically before saying, “I tried to wake Megan up, but she’s not responding. Maybe she’s not in her room.”

“Maybe,” I say as casually as I can.

“I also wanted to tell her about her clothes in the hallway,” Penny says. “I guess she doesn’t know that Mrs. Williams does our laundry. Maybe Megan washed her own clothes and dropped them on the way to her bedroom.”

“Maybe,” I repeat like a broken record.

“Mystery solved,” she says as she gives me a knowing look.

“Mystery solved,” I say, giving her my most normal smile.

Damn it, how do I usually act on Saturday mornings? I don’t even know anymore. She’s really making me sweat.

“Great,” she says.

“Great,” I say.

As Penny walks away, she says, “You should ask Megan to join us for breakfast…if you see her.”

“I’ll let her know if I see her,” I say to her back as she disappears into her own bedroom.

Yep. Bribery and lies. I’ve lost this battle.

As I turn around and close the door, I see Megan stirring in bed. She pulls the sheets up to cover herself and looks around.

“Hey, you’re up,” I say softly as I take a seat on the edge of my bed.

“Yeah.” She gives me an awkward smile, like she’s not sure what to say or do.

I decide to talk about something safe. “Hungry? We’re going out for breakfast.”

“Okay,” she says.

“Do you want to use my shower?” I ask, knowing she can’t just walk out with a bedsheets wrapped around her naked body.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Great. I’ll grab your clothes and put them on the bed for you.”

“Okay,” Megan says with obvious relief.

This way, she won’t have to make the short, awkward walk from the bed into the bathroom.

I’ve already taken a good look at that beautiful body last night, even in the dim light. Just thinking about it right now makes me cock start to stir in my pants.

But Megan obviously needs a little space right now. Maybe she’s not ready to let me see her in the light of day, although I’m sure she’d look just as breathtaking.

I tell myself to chill. There will be other mornings. Besides, if I looked at her naked body right now, I might be tempted to just have her as breakfast. And then what would I tell Penny?

“Just let me know when you’re done so I can come in and take a shower, too.” I get up to give Megan some privacy, intending to be a gentleman about this. But as I stop at the door, I can’t help but add, “If you want to shower together, though, we could do that, too. It could save some time. And water.”

Megan just stares at me with a flat expression that tells me she doesn’t appreciate my offer. “Let’s just stick to the original plan.”

“Okay. Just thought I’d ask.” I give her a grin, then step out of my bedroom and close the door behind me.

I wait until I hear the water running from the shower before I grab her clothes that we left on the floor last night and slip back into the bedroom to leave them on the bed.

I’ve never had a woman shower here before. And it’s been so long since I last flirted with a woman, much less made her come with my mouth.

Megan is reminding me of a version of me I was starting to forget, and I like that.

I just hope she likes it, too, because I don’t intend to let her go now.

I want her to stay here so we can have more nights like last night, and more Saturday mornings just like this.

The only difference is I want us both in the shower together.

Megan

Ethan’s bathroom is considerably bigger than my own, which is already quite large. Like the rest of the apartment, the bathroom has a marble floor and a white stone countertop on the vanity.

The shower head is big, rectangular, and mounted to the ceiling. There’s a panel with too many buttons in front of me. I don’t know what most of them do, and I don’t care. Somehow I managed to turn the water on, it’s hot, and it has enough pressure, so I’m perfectly happy with it.

The hot water pelts my face, my breasts, and my stomach. As it runs down my body, I touch the tops of my thighs and gently rub my skin to remove all traces of my arousal from last night.

I’m surprised to find that everything feels the same. My body hasn’t changed.

For some reason, I thought having had my first sexual experience would change me in some way, but my body is the same as it always has been.

I don’t know how I feel about what happened last night, which I guess means that it wasn’t a bad thing, so…yay?

Or maybe it just hasn’t quite registered yet in my mind.

This could irreparably change things between Ethan and me. Hell, things probably have changed between us. I mean, last week, when I’d just moved in, he wouldn’t have made a joke about us showering together.

It wasn’t like I had time to list out the pros and cons before letting Ethan strip me naked last night. I can’t believe I’m repeating this lame line that millions of people have used throughout the centuries, but it just happened.

I dry myself off, glancing at the big bathtub. There are round metal things on the sides—probably jets, I realize. Those would feel great after a long day at work, maybe with some wine and bubbles.

Without any prompting, my brain comes up with an image of Ethan in the tub, naked as the day he was born, pouring chilled champagne for me. I chase that thought away, although the way things are going now, that could very well happen any day now, and I wouldn’t object to it.

I crack open the door, peeking to see if there’s anybody in Ethan’s bedroom. It’s empty, like he said it would be. Despite the flirting earlier, he’s actually giving me some space.

God knows I need it. And maybe Ethan knows it, too.

I told him I’m a virgin last night, after all. I wonder if I can still call myself that. Oral sex counts as sex, right? So even if I still have a hymen, I’m no longer a virgin, I guess?

I don’t know. I feel like soon that won’t be relevant anyway. Judging by the bulge in Ethan’s pants last night, he’s eager to take things further.

I put on the clothes Ethan has laid out on the bed for me. They’re the ones I’d shed on the floor last night as he was eating me out, I realize. The thought of his face between my legs sends blood rushing through my veins, making my cheeks blush and my pussy pulse.

I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down and get rid of all the dirty thoughts in my head before I walk out to the living room.

“Hey,” I call out to Ethan, who’s sitting on the couch, watching some cartoon show.

“Oh, you’re done,” he says as he gets the remote control and turns off the TV.

“Um, where are we going?” If we’re going somewhere fancy, I need to wear the right outfit for it.

I wonder what kind of a breakfast place Ethan and Penny go to. Considering all the gourmet meals that their private chef cooks up all week, they must spring for something special on the weekend if they’re willing to leave the house for it.

“McDonalds’,” Ethan answers with a grin.

“Oh. I…didn’t expect that.”

He chuckles. “We’re not allergic to fast food. Matt prepares healthy food all week, so we indulge on the weekend.”

“That makes sense.”

Okay. So my logic of them springing for something different on the weekend is correct, but they’re taking it in a completely opposite direction than I thought they would.

“Back when we lived with my aunt, Penny used to tell her she wasn’t hungry when she didn’t like the cooking. And then in the middle of the night she’d come to my room, saying she was craving a Filet O-Fish or some chicken nuggets,” Ethan explains as he gets up from the couch. “Over time, it’s just become a thing for us. It’s like a little tradition, but I limit it to just one fast-food meal a week. Penny usually chooses to go for the breakfast.”

“Oh. Are you sure you want me to come with you? It sounds like some father-daughter bonding thing.”

“Yeah. Come with us. Penny wanted me to ask you.” In a low, conspiratorial tone, he adds, “I think she likes you.”

“She does?” I ask, surprised. I’m not a kid person, and I’m so awkward around kids that I don’t blame them if they don’t like me back. But for some reason, my fake step-kid likes me, apparently.

“Yeah.” Ethan steps closer and stops in front of me. He gives me a panty-melting smile and says, “Don’t worry. You’re part of the family now.”

Taken aback, I struggle to find the words to say. Guilt stabs through me like a sharp knife.

I came here thinking I’d dig up some dirt on Ethan and expose his true colors to the media.

Instead, all I find is a doting father who’s doing his best for his daughter. And he accepts me into the family, just like that.

I feel like the heartless monster I used to accuse Ethan of being. But instead of a confession, I just say, in the most ineloquent way possible, “Oh. Thank you.”

Ethan’s smile widens as his eyes dance with amusement. “You’re welcome. We love having you here.” He grins. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should take a shower. It’s time for some McMuffins.”

Megan

“I wish Mom would stop telling people bad stuff about you,” Penny exhales loudly. “Maybe then we wouldn’t have stalkers.”

A man sitting a few tables away from us is pretending to be just another diner, trying to hide a camera with a giant zoom lens behind small boxes of food. I can't believe he thinks that trick is working.

“Some things are just out of our control,” Ethan says. “We can't make your mom do something...or stop doing something.”

Again, Penny sighs.

“You know what? It doesn't matter. Who cares?” Ethan asks, even though it's obvious Penny does. “Let's get you to Sarah's house, okay? No paparazzi would follow you there.”

“Okay,” Penny says, smiling when Ethan mentions visiting her best friend. Following Ethan’s lead, she gets up from her chair and grabs her plastic tray.

As we make our way out of the restaurant, Penny keeps her annoyed stare on the guy with the massive zoom lens. Unbothered, he snaps away while we dump the paper placemats and boxes into the trash.

I imagine these pictures will show up on the gossip magazines with headlines like “Billionaires are People, Too! They Eat Fast Food Like You Do!” Maybe they’ll get extra advertising dollars from McDonald’s for that particular edition.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to be a journalist. There’s so much misinformation going on in the world, I thought someone should step up and tell the truth. I wanted to be that someone.

And now, I’m not so sure it’s such a noble thing anymore.

Sure, there’s a difference between gossip tabloids and actual broadsheet newspapers. And then there’s a whole range of different stuff in between, like fishing magazines, photography magazines, and other niche publications.

I’ve always aimed to eventually work at a serious newspaper. I want a regular column, writing exposés on dirty politicians and dishonest businesspeople. But I’ve never discounted the possibility of writing something less serious, like a gossip column, instead.

The article I wanted to write about Ethan would fall somewhere in between, I suppose.

He’s a serious businessman with a billion-dollar company that he built himself. He has been featured on the covers of business magazines.

But then, he’s also a handsome, eligible bachelor with a very public family life, thanks to his ex-wife’s many appearances on various TV shows and in magazine articles.

Add to that the personal history between him and my family, and I couldn’t resist making him the subject of my first-ever undercover infiltration. I wanted the whole world to know how rotten Ethan Hunter really was.

But what happens when the reality doesn’t match my expectations?

I’m starting to see things from Ethan’s perspective now, and it confuses me.

I used to think public figures didn’t deserve to whine about privacy, when they’ve put their lives out there for public consumption and profit from it. No doubt, Ethan’s fame has benefited him in business, even if the news about him isn’t always favorable.

But now I see he has never asked for any of that attention, and neither has Penny.

During the entire ride to Penny’s friend’s house, I get lost in my thoughts, not paying attention to the banter between Ethan and Penny. Mainly, they’re talking about her schoolwork, her friends, and what they’re going to have for next week’s fast food meal.

Does the world really need to know all these intimate details about their lives? What for? So people can feel like they’re just as special as rich, famous, public figures?

I guess it would’ve been different had I really found some dirt on Ethan, but I haven’t—and not for lack of trying.

I’ve continued to download his files into my USB stick, checking the contents every night on my laptop. But there’s nothing fishy going on. He’s clean as a whistle.

Maybe there’s no story here. I don’t know how I feel about that.

On one hand, I’m disappointed that my hard work hasn’t produced any results. On the other hand, I’m relieved that I have no reason to turn against Ethan and Penny.

Damn it, this has turned even more personal now, in a completely different way.

I don’t know what to do next, except for going along with the fake marriage plan for the next year or two, and collecting my six-figure pay checks.

I guess I have time to decide. A lot of time.

Right now, I’m enjoying Ethan’s company, and I guess that’s the most important thing at the moment. It has been so long since the last time I felt like I had a family, and I have to admit I’m liking being a part of this one.

“Have fun, honey,” Ethan says as Penny opens the car door and steps outside.

Without me realizing it, we’ve arrived at Penny’s destination, a tall luxury apartment building. Waking up from my daze, I say, “Have fun, Penny. See you later.”

A woman and a girl Penny’s age are waiting outside, the girl almost vibrating in place from excitement, and the woman squinting at the car windows, probably trying to catch a glimpse of Ethan. Even in a private school, not all parents regularly appear in the media, I suppose.

“See you,” Penny says with a big grin, all traces of annoyance gone. It’s nice to be a little girl sometimes; it only takes a play date with your BFF to make all your worries vanish.

As Penny closes the door and leaves, Ethan turns to me. “Is there somewhere you want to go?”

“Why? Are you going to drive me around?” I ask with a smile. I can’t believe Ethan freaking Hunter is my driver for the day.

“Maybe,” he says. “If you don’t have anywhere to go, there’s a place I want to show you.”

“What place?”

“It’s a secret,” he says, raising one eyebrow.

“It’s hard to say no to something like that.”

Ethan chuckles. “You like surprises?”

“Yeah, the good ones.”

“I’ll remember that for future reference.” The promise in his eyes of a “future,” no matter how flimsy, makes my heart dance.

“I can’t help it. I’m too curious for my own good.”

“Be careful. I might use that against you,” Ethan threatens with a mischievous smile. I can’t get over how playful he is now, how different he is from the way he acts in the office.

“How?” I challenge.

“I don’t know, but I’d be careful if I were you. Curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” I add automatically.

“Huh?”

“Uh, the saying ‘curiosity killed the cat’ is not complete. It’s supposed to go, ‘curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back,’”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Most people don’t. It means that when the cat finds out the truth, he’s satisfied and comes back to life.”

“Oh, because a cat has nine lives,” Ethan says.

“Exactly. I like the complete saying because the first part used to always bum me out, thinking about that poor cat.”

Ethan bursts out into laughter. His blue eyes twinkle as he fixes his gaze on me.

“So… Where are we going?” I ask, feeling self-conscious from being stared at.

“We’re going to satisfy your curiosity, kitty cat,” Ethan says.

* * *

“The office? This is your secret place?” I ask incredulously. “Do I have to remind you that I used to come here every day?”

“I know. I see you in the building sometimes,” Ethan says as we step out of the car.

I have to laugh. Sitting right in front of his office from nine to five every single day isn’t “sometimes.”

But today’s definitely different, and not just because it’s quieter on a Saturday.

The security guard and the receptionist treat me differently, now that I’ve just come out of Ethan’s shiny luxury car. They’re almost too polite, holding the door open and giving us big smiles as they greet us.

Back when I was still working here as Ethan’s personal assistant, they never even acknowledged my presence. Life sure is different for the rich. It’s like they live in the same world, but an alternate reality.

I can’t blame the security guard and the receptionist too much, though. I could see myself doing the same thing if I were in their position. You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do to move up from your station in life.

We take the elevator, but the button that Ethan presses is not the one for the office floor.

“Where are we going?” I ask, my curiosity coming back.

I can’t believe there’s a secret place in this office, where thousands of people come every day—including me.

“Just watch, kitty cat,” Ethan says with a grin. “So curious.”

As we shoot up to the top floor, I watch the ground fall outside the elevator. Whoever planned this building must be some kind of an adrenaline junkie, because it’s terrifying to go so high with only a panel of glass separating me from a thousand-foot drop.

Come to think of it, maybe it was Ethan’s idea. The whole building belongs to him, after all. And his own apartment has views just like this.

“What is it with you and heights?” I ask, turning toward him to avoid looking down to the ground. He’s standing right beside me, leaning against the same railing I’m holding, so close I can almost feel the heat emanating from his body.

For the first time, I notice how strange he seems right now, how out of place.

I’ve only ever seen him wearing business suits at the office. Today being his day off, Ethan’s in something a lot more casual: a pair of jeans and a dark T-shirt that hints at the lines and ridges of his sculpted chest and abs.

“There’s just something about it that makes me feel…invincible,” he exhales. He smiles as he gazes at me. “It’s like I can see everything and that makes me feel more like I’m in control. Looking at all the tiny little buildings and the tiny little people all the way down there makes my problems seem insignificant.”

When the elevator finally comes to a stop, Ethan takes my hand, making my heart jump in my chest. His hand feels warm and safe.

It’s just an innocent touch, but the way my body reacts to it is far from innocent. I get chills from where our hands touch, going up through my arm and my whole body. My core clenches at the memory of how his big, graceful, masculine hand touched me last night.

My jaw drops when I see we’re outside. My hair flies everywhere from how strong the wind is, this high up.

“This is…the rooftop?”

“Yeah,” Ethan says proudly.

“Wow, I had no idea something like this is on the rooftop.”

“That’s the whole idea. Nobody knows. Well, you do now, and the maintenance crew, but nobody else does.” Ethan grins as he watches my shock and awe. “Keep it a secret.”

This is like a little oasis in the middle of the city. Pots of shrubs and flowers line both sides of the wooden path. The rest of the ground—if you can call the top of a skyscraper that—is covered with green grass. Real grass; none of that fake bright-green stuff.

There’s a little fountain in the middle, as well as some benches along the edges of the roof. A concrete wall, about the height of my waist, runs along the edges of the rooftop.

“You… This is… You’re the only one who comes here?” I ask again, not quite believing a place like this could remain a secret.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you,” Ethan says with a proud grin as he excitedly pulls me closer toward the edge. “You know how sometimes I leave the office without telling you where I’m going?”

“That’s when you come here?”

“Yeah.”

“This is amazing.” I touch the top of the concrete wall as we reach the edge. I can see the entire city from up here. I can even see where buildings become more sparse, eaten up by vegetation.

“I know. It’s a pretty good secret, huh?” Ethan teases me.

“Yeah,” I admit with a giggle. It’s hard not to be happy with the sun warming up my skin, the wind flirting with my hair, and Ethan’s hand holding mine.

“Satisfied your curiosity?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. We brought the cat back to life.” He smiles contentedly.

“Why?” I ask.

“Why what?”

“Why are you showing this to me?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. You’ve kept this a secret so far.”

“I just feel like sharing this place with someone.” Ethan shrugs. “Somehow, I don’t think Penny would appreciate it.”

“Well, thank you. It’s beautiful,” I say with sincerity as I look up into his eyes, which appear light blue under the bright sunlight.

“You’re beautiful,” he says as he gazes back into my eyes. He lifts up one hand to caress my cheek, and I close my eyes, savoring the feel of his skin on mine.

I feel him lean closer before his lips graze mine. I sigh against his mouth and move closer. I want this so badly.

Ethan seems to feel my need, as he yanks me flush against his chest. He traces my lips with his tongue and nibbles on my bottom lip. When I part my lips for him, he wastes no time sweeping inside.

My senses go wild. This kiss…it’s overwhelming. It’s like a wild fire has started in my core and spread all over. I kiss him back, even as I fight to catch my breath. When he pulls away, we’re both panting, holding on tight like we’d fall if we let go of each other.

My mind spins out of control. I haven’t even decided what we are yet. And I keep letting this lust take over. My feelings and emotions are trying desperately to catch up with what’s happening, and failing.

He’s my employer, but he’s also legally my husband. So this can’t be wrong, right? At the same time, the marriage isn’t real. But what if we become a real couple? Would that make us husband and wife for real?

Does Ethan even want to take this—whatever this is that we have—that far? Or is this just a game to him? Is he kissing me because I’m close and available, or could he actually want me?

I have too many questions, but I can’t just ask him.

What if he starts asking me questions about myself? What if he finds out who I really am and why I’m really here? What if he hates me after the big reveal?

I squeeze my eyes shut and let go of all my thoughts. I can put them off until later. For now, I just want more of whatever this is. I’m hooked on Ethan, to the point where I’m losing my mind.

His hand starts to roam all over my body, and I don’t mind it. Even worse, I like it.

I thought being with a man would make me feel used. Maybe that’s because I’ve seen my mom get hurt too many times. But with Ethan, even if technically he’s using me to ward off the media, it’s not a deliberate decision on his part. Again, it just happened.

Besides, it’s not like I’m not benefiting from this arrangement myself. To be perfectly honest, I want him to touch me and kiss me and, yes, use my body for his pleasure. But so far, he has only been giving, without asking for any sexual favors in return.

I gasp as Ethan’s fingers travel up my inner thighs, raising the hem of my floral sundress. We’re out in the open, and I feel like anyone could see us.

“Ethan.” My voice comes out hoarse and needy. It doesn’t sound at all like the order to stop that I meant to issue.

“Yeah, kitten? Fuck, I love it when you say my name like that, with that sexy voice.”

“We shouldn’t,” I say between heavy breaths as he finds my pussy and rubs me over my panties. “Someone could see us.”

“I told you, this is a secret place,” he says confidently as he pulls the crotch of my panties aside and touches my folds. “Besides, I can tell you want this. You’re too damn wet to go home like this.”

“Ethan, I…” The rest of my sentence hangs in the air, forgotten as Ethan rests his finger over the hood of my clit and puts a little pressure on it. I whimper and involuntarily push my hips down and forward against his hand.

“Let me satisfy more than your curiosity, kitten,” he whispers in my ear. His finger slides smoothly over my pussy, aided by my wetness. He flicks my clit, making me cry out against his strong, muscular shoulder.

With the wind teasing my entire body, heat spreads through my limbs, making me shiver with need. I can only hold on, clamping my fingers onto Ethan’s arms, as my orgasm starts roaring to the surface.

He rubs me more insistently and says, “Come for me, kitten. Come on my fingers.” He drops his head and bites my neck without any warning.

That does it.

I hold on tight as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me. I explode and gush all over his fingers. My body shakes on its own, making it hard for me to keep standing. Ethan holds me up, even as he continues to skillfully manipulate my body, squeezing the last shiver out of me.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispers in a low, guttural voice that sends a thrill down my spine. He takes my hand and puts it on the bulge in his pants, leaving no doubt as to what he wants.

Ethan

I’ve always preferred my home to the office, even though I work a lot.

The whole reason I work so much in the first place is to give Penny a good life, so she has always been my priority. It wouldn’t make sense for me to then spend all my time at the office while neglecting her.

But right now, I have a completely different reason to rush home, and that reason is straining against the zipper of my jeans right now. My cock is so damn hard it’s throbbing.

I would’ve taken Megan up there on the rooftop if she weren’t a virgin. It can be painful for her, so the least I can do is make sure she’s comfortable. While it’s nice on the rooftop, it’s not the coziest place I could think of.

The whole way down, I have my hands on Megan’s tight little body. Now I know what it means for a girl to have all the right curves in all the right places.

I push her against the wall in the elevator, in the corner that I know isn’t covered by the security cameras.

“Fuck, Megan, what are you doing to me?” I ask as I claim her hot lips. Of course she can’t respond, with me doing all I can to turn her lips red and puffy, just like I did to her pussy last night.

It used to bug me that the cameras don’t cover the entire elevator, but right now that’s a good thing. I’m glad for the little bit of privacy.

I don’t really care if people are going to talk about me acting like a perv in public. But I know Megan does, and it would affect Penny, too, indirectly, if and when the vulgar details emerge in the gossip tabloids.

When we reach the ground floor, I walk briskly toward the car park, keeping my pace just slow enough so Megan can keep up.

I know something’s wrong when I see the security guard’s face. He looks apologetic, which is never a good thing.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says, as I expect him to. “I tried to tell them they need an appointment to see you, but they wouldn’t listen.”

I glance at a couple marching across the lobby toward me. They look like they’re in their forties, and they’re furious.

I take a deep breath, readying myself for what’s to come. I don’t know what exactly their problem is with me, but I’ve made enough enemies to recognize that look of pure hatred when I see it.

“Hunter!” the man yells out. “My wife and I have been trying to call you for months. Why are you avoiding us?”

Holy hell, I don’t even know these people.

“I’m sorry, what is this about?” I ask politely.

This being Saturday, there’s only one security guard on the ground floor. I’d rather not have this turn physical, especially with Megan by my side.

I glance at her. She looks scared, trying to hide behind me. I let go of her hand. “It’s okay. Just don’t stand too close to me.”

“You forced us to sell our land a few years ago. We had to let it go, even though the price was way too low for the market and we wanted to keep it.”

Ah, two more of Lucas’ victims. Of course they’d direct all their anger at me.

He has always been sly enough to disassociate his name from all of our projects, whereas I’ve always appeared all over the news as the face of the company. I realize now that was a dumb move, but at the time I didn’t know any better.

“I assure you, Hunter Corporation has never done anything by coercion,” I say.

“Yeah, then what do you call sending thugs to our home in the middle of the night?”

“I don’t know, and I’m sorry you had to go through that. But I guarantee that Hunter Corporation has never done anything like that.”

“Fuck you, Hunter!” The man lunges at me with his fist pulled back.

Luckily, the security guard has succeeded in getting another guy to come down from his station upstairs. The two men hold back the angry guy by his chest and shoulders.

“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to leave the premises,” one guard says.

“No! Stop treating me like a fucking criminal! I’m not the criminal here! He is!” He points at me with his index finger while screaming.

The woman, who I assume is his wife, frantically tries to get the two burly guards off him, to no avail.

“I’m sorry, sir, ma’am,” I repeat. “But Hunter Corporation has never hired any thugs or used force to acquire land. If you—”

“Bullshit!” he cuts me off.

“Please listen. I want to help you, but I can’t do that if you don’t listen.”

“Why do I have to listen to your bullshit?”

“Because I’m not the person you should be angry at. You should direct your grievance to Lucas Murdoch, the CEO of Primaland.”

“No! Your people always pass me around whenever I call, transferring me from one department to another. Now that I’ve got you here, you’re not going to tell me to just talk to yet another guy.”

“I understand your frustration, but—”

“Do you?” the woman asks. “Do you know what it’s like to lose sleep because you’re afraid some men are going to come in the night and assault your family? Do you know what it’s like to have to let go of land that has been in the family for generations, just because those same men have been threatening you for weeks?”

I take a deep breath. This is fucking frustrating, that these people are coming for me, when I’m also another victim of Lucas Murdoch’s dirty tricks.

“That’s not what I mean,” I say in as calm a voice as I can, even as my fists ball up in anger. “I’m just saying, I understand you’re frustrated, but you’re not directing it at the right person.”

“Yeah? Explain why all the paperwork has your company’s name on it, then,” the man challenges.

“Like I said, then man you want is called Lucas Murdoch of Primaland. I don’t—”

“So you’re not going to at least give us fair compensation for what you took from us?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to explain. That compensation is not mine to give, as Lucas Mur—”

“Fuck you, Hunter!” the man repeats, his face red with anger.

“I told you, John, we should’ve joined the others. He’s not going to pay up,” his wife says to him, even as she continues to glare at me.

“You’ll be hearing from the lawyer, motherfucker,” the man shouts. Then—and I wouldn’t believe someone would actually do this in real life if I didn’t see it with my own eyes—he spits. He ejects saliva from his mouth and it lands wetly on the tiled floor.

I see now that I can’t talk to these people. I don’t know what lawyer they’re talking about, but I’m sure my legal team can take care of that.

“Please escort the lady and the gentleman outside,” I say to the security guards—something I should’ve done from the beginning.

Talking hasn’t accomplished anything. It has only drained me of energy.

The two guards herd the couple out, as they continue to scream obscenities at me.

I scan the lobby for Megan, and find her standing a few feet away, near where the elevators are. I sprint toward her, worried she might be terrified.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says, putting on a smile and a brave face.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s okay.”

“Sometimes… Well, it’s business. I try to be in control, but sometimes things happen without me knowing, things that affect people in a bad way.”

“Can we just go home?” Megan asks softly.

“Of course.” I understand why she wouldn’t want to be here, after the spectacle she just saw.

I put my hand around her waist and lead her out to the car park, the security guard following behind us in case the couple from before tries something again.

She looks fine and she says she’s fine, but I can feel her body shaking.

Damn it. Fuck Lucas. He doesn’t even have to lift a finger to mess with my family.

Megan

“Who's Lucas Murdoch?” I ask when we're home, sitting on the couch.

I’ve been quiet since the incident at the lobby, too busy with my own thoughts to talk. I keep coming back to the same question, and I need to know the truth now.

Despite the extensive research I’ve done on Ethan, that was the first time I’d ever heard that name.

“Lucas Murdoch,” Ethan says with a heavy sigh, “is the thorn in my side. I used to think he was a friend, and that was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

“What happened?”

Ethan takes a deep breath. Looks like this is going to be a long story.

“It's a long story,” he says. No kidding.

“We have time.”

“Yeah. I'm just trying to think about where to begin.”

“At the beginning?”

“Good suggestion.” Ethan chuckles and pauses to think. “I got to know Lucas at some networking event—I don't even remember which one. I used to go to a lot of networking events when I was getting started, trying to find people to do business with.”

“And you partnered with Lucas?”

“Something like that. Before I got sick, I worked as management at a mall. I knew there was a lot of money to be made in running shopping centers in certain areas. I’d done my research and I knew exactly what to do. I had the experience and the skills, but not the money.”

“Let me guess, Lucas had the money?” I ask.

“Close,” Ethan says. “He didn't personally have the money himself, but he knew people who did. After listening to my ideas, he told me he’d introduce me to some people. Investors. People with money but no time—or skills.” Ethan snorts in a way that makes it obvious he’s aware of how good he is.

“Long story short, I presented my ideas to some rich people and some of them agreed to work with me. I built a team and we, well, made it happen. Lucas was the person responsible for acquiring land and erecting the actual building.”

“From what those people said at the office, it seems like he didn't really follow the rules, did he?”

“You’re right. He didn't.” Ethan heaves a big sigh. “He definitely didn't. He was harassing landowners who didn’t want to sell, and pushing their prices down.”

“Didn't you know he was doing this?”

“No, and that's…” Ethan trails off, looking like it's a real struggle to get the next words out. “I trusted him. He was there from the beginning, you know? He was the first person who believed in me. I thought he was my friend.”

So he got burned by someone close to him. That explains why he always prefers to work on his own, and why he keeps a distance from the staff.

“When I found out, I kicked him out of the project. I told him I was going to tell the investors what he’d done if he didn't leave. So he did. He left.”

“And you never told anyone about it?” I ask incredulously.

“It's… I want to say it's more complicated, but that's not an excuse. I didn't tell anyone. I regret that now, but at the time, I…had other things on my mind.”

“Like what?” I can't believe he’d turn a blind eye to something like that, happening right under his nose. What excuse could he have?

“Well, that was when I was just beginning to earn some money and talking to lawyers about getting Penny back. It became apparent that I needed to spend a lot in legal fees. I was worried that if I’d told the investors about what that fucker was doing, they’d pull their funding and we’d have to end the whole project. And then I might never get another chance to try again. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Can't you get him now?” I ask.

“I’ve asked my attorney about it, but I don't have anything on the guy. I was eager to just get rid of him without alerting the investors, and I was relieved when he said he’d leave voluntarily. The only thing he wanted was to comb through the documents and get rid of anything I could use against him. I said yes.”

“Why?”

And how could you? I want to ask. But I feel like Ethan would have a good reason behind his actions, even if he’d made questionable decisions.

“I was worried he’d call my bluff and tell me to go ahead and report him to the investors. I wouldn't know what to do had he done that. I could lose everything, all my hard work, all my effort to get Penny back, up until that point.

“And Penny, she hated living with Ashley. Penny used to call me in the middle of the night when Ashley hadn't come home yet, scared shitless because it was dark and she was home alone.

“It was so hard not to just go there and take her with me. You should've heard her voice. She was always trying to be strong, trying not to worry me. She’d tell me she was just calling because she was missing me, but I could hear the fear in her voice, and it was…” Ethan’s voice trails off as he rubs his palms over his face, his sentence unfinished.

Taking a deep breath, he continues, “It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, just listening to her and not being able to do anything about it. They would've arrested me for kidnapping, had I just driven over there and taken her home.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” I scoot over on the couch and rub his back, hoping to give him some comfort.

“I know it was wrong that I let Lucas go like that. He wronged all those people. I should've done more to help them.”

“You had your own problems. I understand why you made the decisions that you did. You had to put Penny first.”

“Yeah. That's what I tell myself. But it doesn't make me feel good when I have people coming to my office, screaming about how I’ve ruined their lives.”

“They just don't know the whole story. I’m sure people would understand if they knew where you were coming from.”

“I could've done more,” Ethan says with a regretful expression that breaks my heart.

“No, you couldn't have. Not without sacrificing your goal of getting Penny back.”

He goes silent, then he turns to me. Looking at me with a pair of vulnerable blue eyes, he says, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saying that. I never told anyone that story before. I didn't think anyone would understand. But you…” Ethan’s sentence hangs in the air as the corners of his lips curl up. He repeats, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” I return Ethan’s smile.

I don't mind him unloading on me at all. If anything, it feels like a privilege to be the first one he trusts with his side of the story.

Now I know why he had to put his work first, above anything. It was all for Penny.

Despite the vast wealth that he has today, he was struggling all those years ago. Like many other people, he was just doing his best for his family.

Ethan gazes deep into my soul. And in this moment, I feel like we’re bound together—not just by the legal contract of marriage, but by this secret that he has just shared with me. He has just invited me into his inner circle, showing me that he trusts me.

I forget all the anger I feel toward him. It’s like all those ugly emotions have just evaporated, replaced by overwhelming affection.

I lean closer and touch my forehead against his, closing my eyes. I’m not surprised when he kisses me, light and refreshing like a drizzle on a sunny day, washing away any negative feelings I’ve ever had against him.

I know him now, and he’s a good man.

He’s not flawless—nobody is. He’s right, in a way; he could’ve done more for the victims of his former business partner.

But he didn’t actively do anything bad. He just found himself in a shitty situation and made the best decisions he could. Nobody could please everybody all the time.

He brushes his lips against mine and swipes his tongue between my lips. Every part of my body pulsates, yearning for more. I open for him and release a sigh against his lips. Putting my hand on his face, I run my fingers over his jaw, smooth from a fresh shave.

The kiss grows more and more intense, making me dizzy and breathless. Ethan puts one hand on my back and leans me back, laying me down on the couch.

Even though neither one of us says it, we both know what’s coming next. Our bodies tell of our desires without words.

Ethan hovers over me, our legs tangled as our tongues continue to twist together. The muscles in my pussy clench around air, and I yearn to be filled up.

I don’t understand these new sensations, but I know I need Ethan more than air right now. I feel more alive than I ever have. Whatever he’s doing, I never want it to stop.  

Ethan slips his hand under my back, and I arch my body to give him access. He pulls the zipper down my back, while I reach up and tug at his shirt.

He pulls back just enough from the kiss to quickly yank it off, showing off his sculpted chest and abs. He has a beautiful body. Whoever said that women don’t get aroused by visual stimulation has never seen someone like Ethan.

Under the sunlight that’s pouring in through the big glass panels, he looks majestic. Powerful. And all I want is for him to unleash all that power on me.  

“Take off your dress,” Ethan says in a hoarse voice.

“Only if you take off your jeans,” I respond.

“Deal.”

Again, I arch my back and pull my dress off.

I may have been happy enough to let him lavish his attentions on me so far, but it’s time for me to explore his body as well.

I want to see all of him, like he has seen all of me. I want to make him sigh and gasp, like he has made me. I want to make him come—or at least try. I’ve never done this before, after all, and I have no idea how to do anything.

“Your panties. Off. Now,” Ethan demands, resorting to short sentences, now that lust has overtaken him. I can see the primal desire in his eyes, and it only makes me want to be taken by him.

His voice reminds me of those days in the office, when I used to follow his orders without even asking, and even back then, it used to send chills throughout my body. Now I know what those were about. I’ve always wanted this man, even when I thought he was a heartless monster.

I obey him, slipping my panties down my legs as he throws his pants down on the floor. I can’t help but stare at Ethan’s cock. It looks big, hard, and frightening.

Of course I’ve seen cocks before in pictures and videos—this is 2017 and you can find anything on the Internet. But seeing one in real life is completely different, especially when I know it’s about to go inside me,.

“You can touch it if you want,” Ethan says when he notices my curiosity.

I gingerly raise my finger to his cock. As soon as I graze the velvety skin, it jumps. I hear Ethan gasp, and my gaze flicks toward his face. His jaw is slack, his mouth open.

I haven’t even done anything, but he’s already reacting. I don’t know what I’m doing, but he doesn’t seem to mind; he just wants my hand on him. I know now why he always wears an intense expression when he makes me come; this is a trip.

I get bolder and touch him again, with my whole hand this time, wrapping my palm around his cock like I’ve seen people do online. It seems I’m doing something right because Ethan groans, a sound that gets right under my skin.

The thick shaft of his cock is hard, but the head is kind of spongy. A drop of clear liquid has gathered at the tip, and I’m overcome by the urge to taste him, just like he has tasted me. I brush the tip of my index finger over it and stick it into my mouth. It's thick, salty and musky.

“That's the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Ethan says, his voice low and dangerous. He’s been staring at me, I realize, while I’ve been preoccupied with his cock.

I give him a smile and reach back down to grab him again, but he takes my wrist and pins it against the couch, over the top of my head.

“Stop, or you’ll make me come,” he says.

“Maybe that's what I want to do.”

“Oh, you’ll get to do that, don't worry. But if I’m going to come,  I’ll going to come inside you.” He gathers my other wrist and holds them both with one hand, while his other hand travels south to find my folds.

I’m still slick from the orgasm he gave me at the rooftop, and from the raw sexual energy crackling between us right now. Running his fingers over my pussy, he stares into my eyes and says, “You're ready for me, aren't you, kitten?”

I bite my lower lip and nod.

“This might hurt, but you don't care anymore, do you?”

I softly shake my head while looking up at him in surrender.

“That's what I thought.” Ethan puts the tip of his cock right at my opening and locks his gaze on me, watching me as he takes my virginity.

He pushes inside. It just feels strange at first, and then it gets painful as his thickness stretches me. I wince.

“You okay?” He stops and waits until I’ve collected my breath and nodded. Then, he slides a tiny bit deeper.

It hurts and I can't help but wince again, even though I want this really badly.

The next time Ethan stops, he gets up. I worry he might be getting fed up and want to end this. I'm just about to beg him to continue. But instead of leaving, he just gets on his knees and pulls me up until my thighs are over his.

He puts his finger on my clit, reminding my body of its arousal. I moan. It feels exquisite, this mixture of pleasure and pain. Gradually, the pleasure trumps the pain, and it doesn't bother me as much anymore.

With his cock still halfway inside me, Ethan rubs my clit with circular motions. As my arousal builds up, my muscles grab onto his cock and I feel myself grow wet.

“Come for me, kitten,” Ethan commands.

Like a good pet obeying her master, my body starts to shake on its own, and soon I can only throw my head back as an orgasm tears through me. Through the fog of pleasure, I’m vaguely aware of Ethan moving inside me. When I open my eyes to look at him again, he’s staring where our bodies are joined together.

“You just creamed all over my cock,” he says. “I love how wet you get.” Smirking, he adds, “I’m all the way inside you now.”

“I know,” I say. I can feel his balls pressing against my ass. He feels strange and foreign, but I have to admit, it feels good when my muscles have something to grab onto as I come.

Ethan slides his cock out, then he pushes himself back inside me. With the added lubrication, it doesn't feel painful anymore. It's actually starting to feel good.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he says as he leans down to hover over me, slowly sliding in and out of me to a steady rhythm.

I moan when he kisses my neck and pinches my nipples. All the pleasurable sensations—on my neck, my nipples, all over my skin—shoot straight to my pussy, which is still sensitive from the orgasm. My muscles grab on tight to the thick cock inside me.

Ethan growls in my ear as he picks up his pace, although I can feel him holding himself back. Maybe he's afraid he might hurt me. I feel precious, being treated with such care by a man who doesn't waste his affections on most people.

I put my hand on his ass and pull him close, urging him on. I feel his muscles tense and relax, as he pumps into me harder and faster, taking my invitation. His fingers seek out my clit and effortlessly find it. Rubbing my pleasure button, he continues to fuck me. When I come for the third time at his hands today, he swells bigger inside me.

“You’re mine,” he says as he stares right into my eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Say it,” he groans.

“I’m yours,” I gasp.

I feel his cock twitch inside me as we both explode together. I can only hold on, my fingers digging into his ass cheeks, when he grinds into me and stills.

“Say it again. Say that you're mine.” Ethan gazes at me with tenderness and possessiveness. He wants to own me, and I want to belong to him.

“I’m all yours.” I have no idea if he’s my husband or my lover. Somehow, we’ve skipped the boyfriend-girlfriend phase and jumped straight into this strange, intense live-in relationship.

But as Ethan kisses my temple softly and strokes my hair, I know I’m right where I belong.

“I’m yours, too,” he says.

Ethan

I smile to myself as the clients leave my office.

This has been a really good day, and a lot of it has to do with my fake wife.

I woke up this morning smelling her hair, which put me in a good mood instantly. The big meeting has gone well, ending in a deal that will bring in hundreds of millions of dollars over the next few years.

Now, I can’t wait to go home to see Megan again.

Ah, fuck it. I’ve worked hard enough for long enough. Maybe it’s time to slow down and smell the roses.

Now that the big meeting is done, I can leave the office and be confident that no disaster will happen for the rest of the day.

Maybe I should go home. If I hurry, I might be able to squeeze in some time for a little sexy fun with Megan before we pick Penny up from school.

My cock stirs in my pants as I imagine myself buried balls deep inside her. In my mind, she’s lying spread-eagled underneath me, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth gaping open as I fuck her hard. Her face grows red and she fights for air as her muscles grab onto my cock like they’re never letting go…

Ah, fuck it. I’m going home.

I get up and grab my car key. I should leave before my imagination goes so wild, the whole office can see me walking around with an obvious hard-on.

Just as I take my first steps toward the door, I hear knocking.

I check the watch on my wrist. Strange. I’m not supposed to have any appointment at this time.

One of the executive assistants in the office has agreed to help out with my schedule. But without a dedicated assistant, some things have been slipping through the cracks. And I’ve been too busy with Megan to mind the little imperfections.

“Come in,” I say as I lean on the side of my desk, hoping this is nothing important so I can still go home early.

When Eliza enters the room, she’s wearing a solemn expression that immediately tells me something big has happened. Something bad.

“You may want to sit down for this,” Eliza says as she marches across the office with purpose. She’s holding something in her hand. A magazine.

“What hateful bullshit did Ashley spew this time?” I ask, drawing a deep breath.

“That’s not the wife you should be concerned with today.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

Did they print something bad about Megan?

This is what I’ve been afraid of. The last thing I want is to drag her into the media storm I’m currently trapped in. But given the situation, there’s no way for her to stay out of it.

Eliza says nothing. Instead, she sits on the guest chair at my desk and hands me the magazine in her hand.

As I study the cover, my blood runs cold.

What the fuck?

Megan

“Thank you.” I smile at the barista as I grab the two cups of iced beverages: a caramel macchiato for me and a black coffee for Ethan.

This is nostalgic. I used to get these same drinks when I was his personal assistant. Now that I’m his fake-wife-slash-real-live-in-girlfriend, it feels similar but different.

I actually look forward to giving him the drink now. I used to dread going into his office because I was so consumed by my blind hatred.

I imagine Ethan’s face when he takes it with his hand, and the thought makes me smile instead of scowl.

When I decided to become his fake wife, I never would've imagined that it would lead me to this place. I never thought I’d ever fall for him.

Well, maybe that's a little too soon to say. This is all too new for me to say I’m falling for him. But nobody has ever made me feel like this before, and I can’t help but crave more closeness with the source of all these wonderful, new feelings.

Before Ethan, I thought I was frigid or even asexual. Most of my friends had already paired off and had sex, and I hadn't. I also didn't want to. It didn't appeal to me. I was too afraid of men because I thought they were all evil users.

But Ethan's different. And that's why I trust him enough to let my sexual side come out to play.

Of course, it helps that he happens to have the body that belongs on the cover of Men’s Fitness magazine, along with the face and the dress sense of a GQ cover model.

But I’ve always known that; I’m not blind. I just refused to see him for what he is. I used to hold on tight to my preconceived ideas about him.

“Hello, Mrs. Hunter,” Paul says as I enter the apartment lobby.

“Hi, Paul.” I feel weird being addressed so formally, but I am here to be Ethan’s pretend-wife, so it's probably good to let him call me that. Besides, “Mrs. Hunter” has a nice ring to it.

“Special night? Mr. Hunter is home early, and now you’ve bought him some drinks.”

“Maybe.” I give Paul a polite smile as I walk past his counter, remembering Ethan's words about not trusting the guy completely.

I’m glad to hear he's home, though. What a nice surprise. I was planning to hide the drinks in the fridge until he comes home, but now I can just give him his iced coffee while it's fresh.

I walk faster, eager to see Ethan. I enter the elevator with a drink in each hand, sticking a digit out for the fingerprint scanner so it will take me to the correct floor.

It’s funny how I get used to the little things. Yesterday, when we were at the office, it seemed strange to me that someone had to press a button for it to start moving. If I’m not careful, soon I’m going to end up just like those stuck-up celebrities I hate so much.

“Ethan?” I shout as soon as the elevator stops and the door opens. I make my way toward the living room, my heels click-clacking against the white marble floor, which looks golden as it’s bathed by the afternoon sun. I say again, “Ethan? Paul told me you’re already home.”

Strange. There’s no response. This place is big for an apartment, but it’s still small enough for my voice to be heard throughout. Maybe he’s in the shower?

As the living room comes into view, the corners of my lips pull up on their own.

I can see Ethan’s back. He’s sitting on the couch with his back to me. His dark hair traps the golden sunlight, making it appear light brown. He’s looking down, probably doing some work on his tablet or phone. He’s always so focused when he’s working.

““There you are,” I say. “Is Penny home, too?”

I step onto the rug, which muffles my steps. I’m glad I got dressed, even if I was only planning to buy coffee. I like looking pretty for Ethan.

“No, I told the driver to pick her up,” Ethan says in a serious voice.

“Oh, I could’ve done that if you couldn’t make it.” As I get closer, I raise the transparent plastic cup that contains Ethan’s black coffee, the dark liquid swishing inside with my every step.

“That wouldn’t do. Because I got home early to talk to you.” Ethan still doesn’t turn around to look at me.

Is this some kind of a game? Does he have a surprise for me? Is this some kind of a role play scenario, something I’ve only ever heard of in all of my twenty-one years?

When I finally see Ethan’s face, it becomes clear that something is wrong. Terribly wrong.

His face is in the shadows, but it’s easy to make out the lowered dark eyebrows, the pinched bridge of his nose, and the horizontal lines across his forehead.

He’s worried, or angry, or concentrating hard on some complex problem. Or all three.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I lean down to place both cold cups on the coffee table. The wet condensation from the outside of those cups has stuck to my fingers, so I wipe it off on my skinny jeans before I take a seat.

“I don’t know. You should be the one doing the explaining here.” Ethan stares into the distance, even as he speaks to me. This feels impersonal, like how he used to treat me, back when we were just boss and assistant.

My chest pangs with pain at the lack of acknowledgement. He had been so sweet to me up until this morning. He kissed the back of my neck before getting ready for work.

Like the elevator fingerprint scanner, sweet Ethan hadn’t taken long for me to get used to. I was starting to forget what he used to be like, and now the old, distant Ethan is back.

“What’s going on?” My heart pounds in my chest as my mind races, trying to come up with all the things that could’ve gone wrong.

Did I forget to make up his bed this morning?

No, that can’t be it. He wouldn’t come home early just because of that. Besides, even if I forgot to make the bed, how could he have found out before getting home?

No, it has to be something more serious than that. Way more serious.

Did I leave any trace when I downloaded his files off his gadgets?

Was I recorded on any security cameras?

Did Ethan somehow find out about my mission to bring him down with an exposé? If so, that would be ironic, because I just ended it last night with a quick email to Michelle.

I stare at Ethan for some indication of what’s really happening, but he continues to ignore me. When he finally looks at me, he simply gestures at the stack of thick photography books on the coffee table.

At the top of the stack is a magazine that I haven’t noticed.

It’s thin.

It’s pink and yellow.

The headlines are written in big letters meant to grab attention at check-out lines across the country.

Oh my god. It’s the latest edition of The Goss.

And my face is on the cover, a little off to the side. There’s a small photo of me, Ethan, and Penny.

This can’t be good.

With a trembling hand, I lean forward and take the magazine. It won’t stop shaking, so I put it on my lap. But my legs can’t stay still either.

“Ethan Hunter’s Fake Family” is the title written right below our picture in bright yellow letters. Underneath that, between quotation marks, are the words: “Our marriage is a farce.”

Shit.

“Have you read this?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“Yeah.”

“What does it say?”

“Read it yourself.”

I want to tell him that it’s all a lie, that writers at gossip tabloids make up their own stories all the time.

But that means I’d have to tell him I used to work for one such publication—which also happens to be the one with my face on the cover.

My trembling hands don’t move as quickly as I want them to.

I curse the graphic designers who planned the layout of this magazine. I know those jerks have deliberately made it so there are distracting elements all over the place.

The whole magazine is a trap. It’s designed so the average shopper at the average grocery store would be intrigued by the cover, flip the pages to search for one specific story, and not be able to find it by the time she gets to the front of the line, forcing her to buy a copy.

Finally, I’m on the right page.

Jesus, the first two pages of the article look even worse than the cover.

“EXCLUSIVE” is printed across the top of the two pages in large, capital letters.

There’s a picture of us grabbing breakfast together as a family, and another one of just Ethan and me having dinner at that fancy place.

And there are screenshots. Too many screenshots.

They look familiar.

These are the emails that Michelle and I have been sending back and forth as we discussed the details of my proposed article on Ethan.

In this article, I say that I was “forced” into the marriage—in reality, what I wrote was “forced by unforeseen circumstances,” but of course that doesn’t sound as shocking, so the inconvenient bits have been censored.

I also complain about how much it sucks to work for Ethan. I talk about how he often wouldn’t even look at me, about how he has isolated himself on a separate floor, and about how he keeps a big distance from his staff.

In short, all the things that most of Ethan’s employees already know.

And then, just to make it incriminating, there’s one part where I tell Michelle about how Ethan’s ex-wife showed up at the apartment lobby and how Ethan ignored her. She left out the part of the email about how Ashley never sees Penny and only came here to threaten Ethan.

The only people who witnessed that exchange between Ethan and Ashley were Paul and me. But Paul wouldn’t know anything about Ethan’s habits at the office.

So the only suspect is me.

I realize Ethan has probably worked that out as well.

I slowly raise my gaze from the magazine. I’m afraid to look at Ethan, but I know I have to.

He deserves an explanation.

That’s what he’s waiting for now, as he looks out the glass walls at the city.

I hope the view helps him feel invincible. I hope it makes his problems seem small. I hope he doesn’t see this as an insurmountable obstacle. I even dare to hope that we could get back to the way we were this morning.

But is it fair to ask that of him?

If I were him, would I forgive this level of betrayal?

No, and no. The answers come from inside my own head, but I know they’re true.

I’ve crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed.

Ethan

I’m sitting in my living room, looking out into the city.

I don’t know how I got here. I must’ve driven home, but I have no recollection of it. I remember telling the driver to pick up Penny from school, but that’s it.

Now, Megan is flipping through the magazine. The blood has drained from her face, and her fingers are shaking. In fact, her whole fucking body is trembling.

Had I seen her in that state a few hours ago, I’d be jumping to her side, trying to soothe her. I’d be wishing I were making that sexy little body tremble for a completely different reason.

But right now, with the evidence of her betrayal right in front of me, I can't muster up much sympathy. As far as I can tell, she has brought this upon herself.

Sure, tabloids lie all the time. I’ve been a victim of that old tradition more than once.

But this is different. There are things only my dear wife would know, written on those glossy pages. As much as I want to believe the whole thing is a lie, I can't.

Eliza has looked into it, using her vast network of media contacts. She has discovered that Megan had interned at this particular tabloid and kept in touch with the editor—who, coincidentally, also happens to be the writer of the “EXCLUSIVE” piece.

To add insult to injury, Megan has even used her Hunter Corporation email address to contact this Michelle person.

I should really set up some kind of automated virtual surveillance to monitor what my staff discuss online. Any one of them could be talking to the media. I just never expected it to be her.

I don't know why Megan’s friend at the magazine would blow her cover before she could secure the money I’d promised her, but I guess I should fucking thank her for that.

She’s saving me so much time. If it weren't for this article, we would've kept up this “farce” for another year or two.

I was even thinking about turning this fake marriage into the real thing, considering how I felt about Megan and how well she got along with Penny.

Of course that's not going to happen now. Not unless she has a very good explanation for why she did it.

But I don't see how she could possibly have a valid reason to do it.

Megan is probably just another over-ambitious recent graduate, trying to differentiate herself from her peers, who have similar qualifications.

My heart bleeds for this generation, really, but this could hurt Penny. I don't tend to be kind or charitable to people who hurt her, however indirectly or unintentionally.

From the corner of my eye, I watch as Megan gradually slouches more and more as she makes her way through that painful article. I also notice when she's done. She raises her gaze to look at me, her mouth open but not saying anything.

“So? Is it true?” I ask, breaking the silence. I don't feel like saying anything, nor do I feel like listening to her bullshit explanation. All I need is for her to confirm one thing. “Were you undercover the whole time?”

“Well, not the whole time. Last night, I—”

“Did you or did you not start working as my assistant specifically to spy on me?” I cut her off impatiently. What's the use of listening to her drivel when it’s all made up anyway?

I need facts. And I need her to say yes or no. I realize she could still lie about that. I know it's fucking stupid, but I just need to hear it from her.

“Yes,” she says, telling me all I need to hear. Why does it still stab like a blade to the fucking heart, when I knew she was probably going to say yes?

“Okay,” I say flatly. I get up and walk toward the bar cart in the corner, where I store bottles of alcohol. I stand there, mulling over what to drink. What combination of these alcoholic beverages goes with betrayal? Maybe I should hire a fucking sommelier.

“I’m sorry, Ethan,” Megan says. How could she still sound like such an angel when she's done something this destructive? She continues, “It began as an undercover assignment, but somewhere along the way it turned into something more. I swear.”

I remain silent. I can't even look at her right now. There's nothing I hate more than backstabbers. I prefer someone who openly hates me, like those people who come to my office just to scream at me, rather than someone who pretends to be on my side.

“I know it sounds like a shameless lie right now, but everything that has happened between the two of us is real.” Megan’s voice gets more frantic. She's beginning to realize that her source of both money and story is slipping away, and she's panicking. She admits, “Yes, I used to send Michelle progress reports, but I stopped that last night. I cut her off. That's why she's lashing out by writing this article. It's because she knows she won't get anything from me anymore.”

“Save your breath,” I say. Instead of pouring something into a glass, I grab a random bottle.

“Ethan, I’ve never faked anything with you. The person you've been talking to, the person you liked up until this morning, I’m still that person. I’ve been nothing but real with you.”

“How am I supposed to believe you, when you’ve been doing something dishonest since the first time we met?”

“Ethan, please.” Megan’s voice starts to shake as she approaches—I can hear her footsteps getting closer. “Please listen to me. I'm so sorry about how we began. But you have to admit that what we have is real. I know you feel it, too.”

“I don't know what's real anymore.” I chuckle wryly. “Maybe you weren't even a real virgin. Maybe you just said that to gain my trust. I heard virginity restoration surgery is a thing now.”

Megan stops in her tracks. Her eyes grow red and start to water. God, she's good. So fucking good. Maybe she's an actress, too, in another one of her secret lives.

I unscrew the cap of a bottle of whiskey and raise the bottle as I stare her down. “Congrats, you fooled me real good.”

I take a swig of the whiskey straight from the bottle, and make my way toward my bedroom. This time, though, nobody's invited, especially not the fake virgin.

I should've known not to trust anybody who’d agree to a fake marriage. I should've kept her at arm’s length, instead of holding her tight against my chest.

I close my bedroom door and lock it. This is what I should've been doing the whole time. She has to live in my apartment as my fake wife, but she has no business burrowing herself any deeper into my personal life.

I put the bottle of whiskey on the nightstand and sit on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

Damn it, the whole fucking bed smells like her. How am I supposed to drown my sorrows when I’m surrounded by her, even in my own home?

If it weren't for Penny, I would've left. Maybe I’d spend the night at some hotel.

On second thought, though, that's probably not a good idea. Megan might decide to  invite a whole crew of photographers and writers into the apartment while I’m gone.

One thing’s for sure, I have the worst luck when it comes to marriage. I sure can pick them.

I swear, for as long as I live, I will never get married again. There’s no wedding in my future—whether it’s real or fake.

Megan

Ethan,

Or Mr. Hunter, if that's what you want me to call you, now that you know who I am. Or maybe you don't want me to even utter your name ever again. That's okay, too. I understand completely.

I’m sorry for what I put you through. I will never stop being sorry over that. Every time I hear your name, I will always be gripped by guilt, and I will always yearn for your forgiveness, even if I know it will never come.

I should apologize for not saying goodbye in person, but I don't think you want to see me or hear my voice. I think I’m doing you a favor by leaving, and that makes me sad.

I’m sorry I have to leave. I can't face Eliza or Lana, and I especially can't face Penny.

There's an address on the back of this letter. If you need me to sign anything, just send it over.

In the divorce paperwork, please add that I won’t receive any payment for the fake marriage. On top of that, I’ll pay you back all the money that you have ever paid me. Consider it financial restitution for the hurt I’ve caused you.

Going forward, I’ll make it my new mission to clear your name. Seeing as I’ve failed my previous mission in spectacular fashion, I might not manage to accomplish it. But I’ll try. I’ll do my best.

My pen hovers over the notepad as I think about how to sign off. Best? Regards? Thanks? XOXO? Or…

I draw as much air into my lungs as I can. Maybe there's courage floating in the air that I can absorb. God knows I need it.

It’s dark outside, but there’s just enough light from the neon signs on the skyscrapers for me to make out the letters on the page. I lower my pen and strengthen my resolve.

Love,

Megan

I bite my bottom lip and read the letter again, from beginning to end.

I’ve been stopping to re-read it every time I write a new sentence. At every new paragraph, I decide the whole thing sucks, crumple up the paper, and throw it onto the marble floor of this bedroom.

I won’t call it my bedroom because it’s not my bedroom anymore—not now. I’m not wanted here, so I’m neither family member nor guest.

Ethan doesn't want me in his life, much less in his home. So I need to go.

I keep circling back to this line of thought. It's like there's a debate going on inside me, and both sides keep throwing argument after argument, telling me to stay or go.

I keep coming back to my decision to go, only to question it again after five minutes. As much as I want to believe this can be fixed, in the back of my mind I know that won't happen.

This short letter has taken me two hours to write, so far, and I'm not even done yet.

There's more I need to say to him. Since I’ll never see him or talk to him again, I want to say everything that needs to be said.

I bite the top of my pen as the words start to form in my mind. I repeat them a few times in my head before I write them on the letter.

P.S. When I was living with you, I was real and honest most of the time, except for a few minutes at night when I was sending those incriminating emails to my editor. It became impossible for me to play pretend once you accepted me as a member of your family, but it took time for me to realize that. I wish I’d cut off my editor sooner and came clean with you myself. I was starting to hope we could be an actual family, but I guess that was wishful thinking.

Okay.

That’s done.

I could sit here all night and let my compulsive editor side run wild, but then I wouldn’t be able to finish the letter before Ethan and Penny wake up.

I tear out the page from the notepad and fold it. Picking up the balls of paper strewn all over the floor, I stuff them into a pocket in my luggage. I pull my luggage upright with the handle out and give the bedroom one last look.

It’s a beautiful bedroom, especially when the blinds are pulled up like this and I can see the entire city through the glass wall.

I don’t think I’ll ever sleep in a room like this again. Hell, I might not even get to step another foot in a space this luxurious, except if I make it as a journalist and secure an interview with someone rich and famous.

I’ve spent a lot of time in this bedroom, just admiring both the interiors and the views, but right now I don’t really care how nice it is. What matters more is the memories I’m leaving, the hopes and dreams of finally belonging to a family.

I pull my luggage slowly out of the bedroom. One of the little wheels squeaks a little bit, just like it did on move-in day. It’s dead quiet right now, except for that little noise.

I drag air into my constricted lungs as I try to remember every little detail of this apartment. For once in my life, I was happy here. I was too dumb to realize how rare and precious that is. And so I carried on like I always had, plotting against Ethan Hunter without a second thought.

I put my folded letter on the dining table. Pulling the wedding band off my finger, I place it on top of the letter, as if it was a common paperweight.

There’s already a piece of paper on the table, I realize as I squint in the dark. It has my name on it. The writing is small, neat, and rounded.

Dad & Megan,

Your dinner is in the fridge, in the yellow boxes. Matt said to microwave for three minutes.

Penny

I smile as I notice the way Penny has replaced the dots over her i’s with circles. There was a time when I used to do that, too.

My heart clenches. Penny knocked on my door earlier tonight, at dinnertime, and I pretended to be asleep. She must’ve had dinner alone, because I didn’t hear a peep from Ethan either. Maybe he’s passed out on his bed, drunk out of his mind.

I wonder what Penny thinks about the situation.

I let out a deep sigh as I realize she probably doesn’t know yet about what I’ve done. That’s why she’s still so sweet to me, remembering to set aside my dinner and leaving a note.

I’ll probably never see Penny again. In a few years, she’ll be all grown up and she won’t even remember me.

Oh, maybe she’ll tell her friends about that time she impulsively made her dad marry his assistant.

And she may even remember how I turned out to be a liar and a backstabber.

But she won’t remember what I looked like, or what my voice sounded like, or what we used to talk about at the dinner table.

I won’t be a part of Penny’s life, or Ethan’s. I’ll be a stranger, who’ll be lucky to be recognized if we ever bump into one another.

I’ll just be watching them from afar. It’s for the best. I won’t be able to hurt them if I can’t even see them.

I tear my gaze from Penny’s sweet little note and make my way out of this place. It’s not my home anymore. I put my finger over the scanner and wait for the elevator to arrive. Soon, my fingerprints will be erased from the database, and I won’t ever be able to come back here.

When the door opens, I have to squint because the light from inside the elevator is so bright.

“…tell me why?” A woman’s voice comes from inside the elevator, loud enough for me to worry that she might wake Ethan or Penny up.

“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, Piper. But that smell is vile. You know I hate pickles,” a man says in a hushed tone.

When my eyes finally adjust to the brightness, I realize Raphael Holt and his wife are in the elevator. They step back to let me and my luggage inside. They smile politely at me, looking like they feel bad about how loud they were.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” the woman called Piper says in hushed tones. “I’m pregnant with your baby, Rafe. Having cravings because of your baby. And you’re punishing me?”

He lets out a heavy sigh. “I can’t wait for that baby to come out so you can stop being so hormonal.”

“Oh my god, did you just seriously say that?”

“Princess, we’re going out at midnight to buy some disgusting junk food for your cravings. In some circles, I’d be getting the Husband of the Year Award,” he says in the sweetest, most frustrated voice.

“Well, not in this circle, you don’t,” Piper says.

“I love you, but I hate pickles. That puts me in a dilemma when you say you want a kiss. Could we please compromise? I feel like we can solve this if you take one of those mint breath strips after having pickles.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding like she’s still not completely satisfied with the outcome.

Something about the way they interact gets me choked up. I was already emotional from having to leave the apartment and finding Penny’s note on the dining table. I’ve been struggling to hold myself together, at least until I get to my new temporary home.

Now, seeing what I’ll be missing, knowing Ethan and I will never have what this couple has, it pushes me to the brink. I can’t hold back the tears anymore.

A lump forms in my throat as tears prick my eyes. Before I know it, I’m openly crying, right in the elevator with Raphael freaking Holt and his wife.

“Hey, are you okay?” Piper asks, her voice full of concern.

“Yeah,” I say in between breathless sobs. I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, but I can’t keep up with the deluge pouring from my eyes and nose.

“Do you want a tissue?” Piper pulls her bag over her big pregnant belly and digs inside. She holds out a rectangular plastic packet of tissues and I take it. She steps closer and puts her hand on my back. She asks, “Can we help you with anything?”

“No, I’m okay.” There I go again, lying. I guess it’s part of my nature now.

But I don’t want to be a burden to this nice couple. They were probably just on their way to buy some burgers and didn’t expect to meet a crying girl in the elevator.

“Are you sure?” Piper asks again.

“Yeah. Thank you, though.” I blow my nose into a piece of tissue.

When we reach the ground floor, Raphael grabs the handle of my luggage and pulls it out of the elevator for me, while Piper keeps asking me if I’m okay. They offer me a ride, but I refuse. Finally, they leave me on the entrance porch of the apartment building.

I draw some curious stares from the valet attendants, but they oblige when I ask them to call a cab for me.

Standing there with my luggage and my blocked nose, I can’t even begin to separate all the different emotions I’m feeling.

I’m sad, of course. That’s self-explanatory. There’s a gaping hole in my chest where Ethan and Penny used to reside.

I’m also angry, mostly at myself, but also at Michelle. I guess it’s my own fault for trusting a tabloid journalist.

Writing celebrity news has never been my dream goal, so I should just leave that world and go for what I really want.

If nothing else, this extraordinary experience as Ethan’s fake wife has opened my eyes to see what I really need to do with my life.

After a short period of rest, my plan is to start a new life somewhere else, somewhere far away from Ethan and Penny. I don’t think I can stay in this city anymore.

Every time I see a skyscraper in the city, I’d remember the way it looks from my bedroom in Ethan’s apartment. I’d fall apart every time.

No, I can’t do that.

Maybe I’ll come back in a few years, when the pain has subsided.

But for now, I need to disappear.

Megan

“Hey, I saw your article on Chatter Magazine. Everybody’s talking about it in my yoga class this morning. Congrats!” Kira exclaims as soon as I pick up the phone.

“Thanks,” I say flatly. I’m still not in a celebratory mood, even though it has been a week since I left Ethan’s apartment. “It wasn’t hard to pitch that article. Honestly, I only had to mention my name and they were practically waving money in my face, pressuring me to immediately sign an agreement to not talk to other media outlets so they could have an exclusive.”

It took no time at all for me to find a gossip tabloid to print my story.

After the news about the fake marriage broke, people were hungry for more information. The more sordid the details, the better. People are like vultures that way.

So when I called Chatter Magazine, which is also The Goss’ biggest rival, they were eager to print my story.

I’m the one in the eye of this media storm, after all. I knew I was going to sell them a ton of copies and make them a truckload of money.

“Who cares?” Kira asks. “Everybody uses their connections to get ahead in this world. You and I, it just so happens that we weren’t born into well-connected families, so we have to use all the advantages that we do have.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I thought you’d be more psyched about it. You’re on the cover and everybody knows your name now. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

“I don’t know, Kira. I don’t know anything anymore. I think my old plan of making a name for myself in celebrity news and then moving on to something more serious is stupid. I don’t want to be writing about some old actor’s hair plugs or some celebrity couple’s divorce rumors when I’m forty. I want to do something more respectable.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like, actual undercover exposés, political scandals, or human rights violations in underprivileged countries. I want to actually make a difference, you know?”

My mind flies back to Melanie, the journalist who interviewed Ethan on that fateful day. I want to be like Melanie when I grow up, conducting serious interviews and writing serious articles on serious subjects.

“Wow. You’ve changed,” Kira says slowly.

“Yeah. I don’t know. Being on the other side of things kinda gave me a different perspective, Kira. I feel bad for intruding on people’s privacy, even if they’re public figures. They’re just people like you and me, who sometimes want to be left alone. Their work happens to be in the spotlight, but that doesn’t give gossip journalists the right to intrude.”

Kira stays silent for a few seconds before finally saying, “I don’t know, Megsy. You’re the journalist here. I don’t know enough about the ethics of things to make any meaningful comment. But in the end, it’s your career. You decide what you want to do. If you want to switch gears, then go for it.”

“Yeah.” I don’t know what kind of a response I was expecting from Kira. I guess I just need a sounding board. It’s not like I have anyone else to talk to, now that Ethan’s out of my life for good and I’m at home, where nobody ever pays attention to me.

Like me, Kira’s just a twenty-something who has no clue what to do with her life. If she doesn’t have an answer for herself, then how could I expect her to have an answer for me?

“So I take it everything you wrote in that article is true, then? I guess that’s a safe assumption, considering how weird you’re being right now.”

“Weird is one way to put it,” I laugh. One thing I love about Kira is how honest she is. Too many people put on a front, which makes me nervous because I never know what they’re really like, or what they actually want.

It’s kinda ironic, considering I just pulled off a huge undercover thing and Ethan never suspected a thing, until factors outside of my control interfered.

“So you really have feelings for the guy, huh? I never would’ve thought. You’re supposed to be the ice queen. You’re supposed to have sworn off men, which makes you a sane person I can actually talk to. Now you’re just one of them.”

“Who’s them?”

“You know, sappy, mopey people, walking around dazed and preoccupied with their daydreams. I swear, people are like zombies when they’re in love.”

“I’m not in love,” I protest.

“Yeah?” Kira asks in a sarcastic tone. “You’re the most career-oriented person I know, and you cut off your main media contact just to divert attention from some guy. With this latest article, you have taken all the blame—again, just to divert attention from some guy. You have literally put this guy above your career and yourself. So tell me what that means.”

“Uh, that I’m trying to become a nicer person?”

“Oh, Megsy, you’re funny,” Kira says, and I can just imagine her shaking her head, her ponytail swaying as she does. “I didn’t know what you were trying to do with the article. To be honest, at first I thought you’d made the whole thing up. The Megan that I know wouldn’t go that far for some guy, especially when that guy is her nemesis.”

I can’t help but laugh at Kira’s last word. “Oh my god, you just totally made me sound like some character from a superhero movie. It’s kinda bad-ass. I like it.”

“Just take care, okay? I hope this Ethan guy treats you right,” Kira says wistfully.

“It’s…” I take a deep breath. The thought in my head is really hard to put into words right now, and I come up with words for a living—or plan to anyway. “It’s over between Ethan and me, Kira.”

“Oh, shit. Really?”

“Yeah,” I swallow hard to get rid of the lump in my throat, but it stays, making it difficult for me to continue the conversation.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, he found out about how I’d been emailing Michelle updates and how I was planning to write a story about him, then he got… I don’t know. He was angry and disappointed. And hurt. It was bad, Kira.” I pause and take a few controlled breaths. I don’t want to cry on the phone. I don’t want Kira to worry about me.

“So he told you to leave?” “No, I just felt like I had to. There’s no way to fix this. The damage I made is too big.”

“You need to stop blaming yourself, Megsy. You already tried your best to fix it. I think it was really brave, what you did, publishing your side of the story. I thought it was ballsy and creative, even when I thought it was mostly fabricated. Now that I find out it’s all true, your cool factor has just shot even further up,” Kira says.

“Thanks,” I say with a little laugh.

“Did he know you were going to write this story?”

“No. You didn’t see it, Kira. He was furious at me, and I don’t blame him if he’ll never forgive me. He trusted me, and I betrayed him.”

“Okay, well, maybe I’m not the person who should be giving out dating advice, seeing as my own love life is pretty bleak and depressing, but I think he’d be stupid not to take you back,” Kira says.

“I don’t want him to take me back.”

“What? But in the article you said he’s the best man you’ve ever met and you have real feelings for him.”

“I do. Which is why I’m not going to subject him to the torture of having me around. I’ll only hurt him.”

“What’s your basis for saying something like that?” Kira has a sharp mind. She’s always the first one to spot the hole in someone’s logic.

“The fact that I’ve already hurt him and his little girl. Trust me, they’re better off without me.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong, Megsy. But I’m not going to preach to you when I’m just as clueless when it comes to men.” Kira pauses before she changes the subject. “So if you’re not at his place, where are you now?”

“At my mom’s.”

“Jesus.”

I laugh. “It’s not so bad.”

“Listen, my new roommate sucks. You’re a tough act to follow. Could you please just move back into our apartment? I miss your sexy ass. I’ll kick out the new roommate for you, or we could share my bedroom.”

When I moved out from the apartment I’d been sharing with Kira, I didn’t expect to need the room back. The fake marriage was going to last at least one year, after all. So I told Kira to find a new roommate.

It’s a tempting offer, but I’m not coming back. I have other plans and I’m afraid I’d just fall back to my old patterns of behavior if I did.

“I’m moving, Kira.”

“Back to your hometown?”

“No, to another city.”

“Where?” Kira asks.

“Wherever I can find a good job, or even a good unpaid internship. With the job market as bad as it is, I’d be lucky to get anything.”

“And yet you’re going to try.”

“Yeah. You know me. I don’t see any other option,” I say.

“You’re so bad-ass,” Kira says, a hint of admiration in her voice. She’s being genuine in her compliment, which is kind of embarrassing, although it also feels great. “If you ever decide to change your mind, you’re always welcome to live with me, okay? Even if I have to share my room with you.”

“Thanks, Kira. You’re a good friend.”

“I know.”

Megan

“What do you mean you don’t know how long?” Frank’s voice booms from the kitchen.

“It’s her home, too. She can stay here for as long as she wants,” my mom says.

“Fuck that. She’s a freeloader, that’s what she is. She can start paying rent if she’s staying much longer. Isn’t she married to some rich guy anyway?”

“No, Frank. She said it’s all a big lie. Tabloids print fake stories all the time—that’s what you always say. And keep it down. She might hear,” my mom says in hushed tones.

I snort as I stuff my clothes into my luggage. It's a little late to keep their fights a secret from me. I’ve only been living here for two weeks, and I must’ve heard, like, twenty arguments between my mom and her long-term, live-in, perennially unemployed boyfriend, Frank.

And, to be honest, I share Frank’s sentiments. I don’t want to be here either, but beggars can’t be choosers.

I know I don’t have to do it and I know I’m being dumb. But I want to do everything I can to make it up to Ethan.

It’s the most idiotic plan I’ve ever come up with, but hey, I came up with it on the night my cover was blown and I lost everything. My world was falling apart and that was the only plan I could think of, so give me a break.

My biggest mistake, I guess, is putting it down in writing. Now I have no choice but to follow through.

I can’t get over how dumb it is, though, to scrounge up money so I can pay back all the salary that Ethan has ever paid me. Luckily, I only worked as his personal assistant for a few months and he hasn’t paid me for being his fake wife.

If I work hard and live frugally, I should be able to pay him in full in a year. It occurred to me that I could take some cash advance from my credit card and pay him that way, but that would be yet another bad decision, on top of the incredible number of bad decisions I’ve already made.

Look at me, trying to fix my problems with money, when I don’t have any myself. I’d make a good rich person.

I smile wryly to myself, appreciating the irony in my own predicament.

To think that only a couple of weeks ago I dared to hope that I’d live happily ever after with Ethan and Penny in their luxury apartment, driving around town in their shiny convertible, eating the meals meticulously prepared by their personal chef.

I close the luggage, but it won’t zip up. As I sit on top of it to compress the contents, I hear voices from the kitchen.

My mom and Frank are being quiet and loud at the same time. You know how people sound when they’re whispering and speaking in low tones, but shouting at the same time? Yeah, that’s what they sound like.

I hate that my mom’s life seems like such a struggle, but I’m pleasantly surprised to hear her standing up for me. I hope that means she’s been standing up for herself, too.

When my dad left, the Mom I knew and loved went away, too.

She was always sleeping in her room. After losing the business, she hadn’t been working at all. And after losing her husband, she hadn’t even bothered to get up.

Whenever I went into her room to give her some food, I’d see a new pile of tissues scattered all over the floor, drying off after being soaked with her tears.

I was an afterthought to her.

I was old enough to feed myself and bathe myself. I didn’t even need her to help me with my studies anymore. Even if she neglected me, I wouldn’t die, and I wouldn’t leave her either.

Like a pet rock, I could take care of myself. Hell, I could even help keep her alive. I could buy food with her credit cards, and I kept doing that until we had maxed out all her cards.

When we had about fifty dollars left to spend on her last card, I begged her to find work. Any work.

I would’ve done it myself, but every single fast food restaurant and retail store I’d approached had told me I was too young.

We were on the verge of ending up on the streets. We had already received multiple collection notices from the water department, as well as the gas and electricity companies.

I had to type up a resumé for my mom and print it out myself at the library in school. I remember going to the mall and giving out the copies to whoever would take them.

She finally got an interview, which I made her go to. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, she got the job. And she eventually started going to work on her own, without me prodding her.

I thought things were finally starting to get better. I thought she’d get back on her feet and go back to being an adult soon.

Boy, was I wrong.

You know why she got the job, even though she’d half-assed the interview? Because the manager, Frank, wanted to sleep with her.

Depressed, sad, and angry, Mom wasn’t exactly a good judge of character. And she eagerly ate up all the attention Frank was showering her with.

To be fair to Mom, Frank was sweet in the beginning. Even I thought she was finally getting her life back together, with the new job and the new attentive boyfriend.

Then Frank got his hooks all the way into her and showed his true colors. He started to become angry, irrational, and demanding.

I watched helplessly as he took over our home and turned Mom into a different person.

Things got even worse when he lost his job. He and his son moved into our home, and I had to walk on eggshells all the time to avoid setting off those two.

Frank was overly strict with me, telling me he was berating me for my own good. Then he’d turn around, see his son doing the exact same thing, and let him be. “Boys will be boys,” he used to say.

Brad, Frank’s son, is now a police officer. A profession where you’re always right and you hold a lot of power over almost everybody else. I can see why Brad would want that job, but I have no idea why anyone would give it to him.

So, in summary, I grew up with a dad who left me, a step-dad who hated my existence, and a megalomaniacal step-brother who could do anything he liked.

No wonder I used to think every man was a user who’d chew you up and spit you out.

I thought I’d go out and stand on my own two feet. I’d never depend on any man. I’d make a name for myself, and make some money, too.

Then I’d find some way to get Mom out of this house and away from Frank. It’d be just the two of us against the world.

But I hit a big snag as soon as I started carrying out the first part of my plan. Just when I thought I’d turn the game on men and use them before they could use me, I met a specimen so different from the rest that he might as well be his own species.

Too bad I treated him like I’d treat the rest of them. Now I’ll never even see him again, except for when he inevitably appears on a magazine or on TV. And I only have myself to blame.

I get up and pull the luggage upright. It’s time for me to move on.

I’ve obviously overstayed my welcome here. Maybe one day I’ll manage to persuade Mom to kick Frank to the curb, but it doesn’t seem like today’s the day. My own life is in tatters, so who am I to tell her what to do with hers?

I’ll move to a new city and start a new life. I’ll channel all my energy into my work. Everything else will follow, hopefully.

I’ll put Ethan and the whole fake wedding thing behind me. I expect to receive the divorce papers any day now. Mom can forward it to me by mail when they get here.

It sucks that chapter of my life had to end, even though I was hoping it would last forever.

Nevertheless, I’m glad it happened. At least now I know what kind of a man I’ll be looking for. Now I know decent men exist, and I won’t settle for anyone who doesn’t treat met as well as Ethan did.

I have an interview to attend, so that’s all I should be thinking about. I’ve been preparing myself for all the questions they could possibly ask. This is my chance at breaking into serious journalism, and I’m not going to let it go to waste.

Pulling out the handle of the luggage, I drag it out of my bedroom.

The squeaky wheel reminds me of Ethan’s apartment, but again, I push out that thought out of my mind. I’ve done enough crying to last me a lifetime.

No more sad thoughts about Ethan. No more tears.

“Mom,” I yell out so I can be heard over their arguing. I listen as the hushed voices in the kitchen stop and add, “I’m leaving now, okay?”

“What?” Mom asks. I hear her footsteps approach in haste, and soon I see her walking down the hallway. She looks disheveled. Her hair is a mess, her eye bags are massive, and her shirt has yellow stains on it. She used to look pretty, but she hasn’t been putting any effort into her appearance for a long time. She sees me standing with my luggage by the door and says, “You didn’t tell me you were leaving today.” In a lower voice, she asks, “Is this about Frank? I’m sorry about that, honey. Don’t pay any attention to him. You can stay for as long as you want.”

“No, Mom. I have an interview and I just found out late last night.”

“Oh, that’s great news.” Mom tucks my hair behind my ear and smiles, even though her eyes are sad. “I was just getting used to having you around again. I’m going to miss you.”

“Yeah, I know. Call me any time,” I say, returning her smile. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

“Where’s this interview? Back in San Francisco?”

“No, Mom. It’s actually in Chicago.”

“Oh, that’s…far,” she says with obvious disappointment. “I thought I could start visiting you more if you were in San Francisco, but Chicago… That’s on the other side of the country.”

“Yeah. It’s a really good opportunity. It’s a newspaper called the Illinois Enquirer. They’re focusing on their online version so they’re hiring younger people. I’m really excited about this.”

“I’m happy for you, honey. You’re flying out tonight?”

“Yeah. I should get going. I already called a cab.”

“I wish you’d stay longer,” Mom says as she takes the handle of my luggage and pulls it toward the door.

“Well, they’re only paying for my hotel for two nights. If everything goes well, they’ll help me find an apartment to rent. If not, then I’ll be back here.”

“Oh, no, honey. I’m sure you’ll get the job. They’d be crazy not to take you. You work so hard.”

Just as we reach the door, there’s knocking from the other side.

“You’re expecting someone?” I ask Mom.

“No. It’s probably just the Jehovah’s Witnesses, or the next-door neighbor complaining about the tree branch that’s apparently intruding into his property,” Mom says with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Or maybe it’s the taxi driver,” I say as I grab the door handle and pull.

Behind the door is the last person I’d expect to see.

My jaw drops and my lips part, although no words come out of my mouth. My brain is still too busy trying to grasp what’s happening.

“We already have the latest issue of Watchtower, and we have already heard the good news about Jesus Christ,” Mom says with a polite smile when she sees a man clad in a suit on our doorstep.

I don’t know how she could mistake him for a Jehovah’s Witness.

Firstly, his suit fits him too well for it not to be designer and outrageously expensive. Secondly, the flashy black convertible parked in front of our house can’t possibly belong to an ascetic door-to-door evangelist.

“Mom, he’s not… Uh, he’s not a…” I try to find the right words to say to make things less awkward, as the man stares at us with confusion on his face. In the end, I simply say, “I know him.”

“Oh.” Mom flicks her gaze between him and me. She smiles and says to the man, “You look familiar.”

“He's, uh, sometimes he's on TV.”

“I see. Well, I’ll let you two talk, then. I’ll be inside. Let me give you one last hug before you leave, honey.”

“Okay, Mom.”

With that, she leaves me alone at the door to deal with the handsome stranger.

I have so many questions to ask him, so many things I want to say to him. I thought I’d put everything down on the letter I left him, but my mind kept coming up with more.

I just never thought I’d get the opportunity to even talk to him again.

“What are you doing here?” I finally ask.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

That voice. I thought I was never going to hear it ever again.

And it's just like Ethan to answer my question with another question.

Ethan

“Page twenty-four,” Eliza says when she enters my office—without knocking.

Having worked with me for years, she knows how much I hate getting unexpectedly interrupted. Add to that the fact that my whole life got turned upside down the last time she came here with news.

Before she walked in here with that magazine? Perfect life. Only getting better. Healthy kid and beautiful fake wife I was starting to really like. About to shut up ex-wife and mortal enemy once and for all.

After? Nausea and chills all the time, except for when I’m drunk. I’d drink more, but I hate the hangovers. Besides, I have a kid to take care of.

See the difference? Same kid, but a beautiful divine gift before, and a burden that hampers my attempts at becoming a serious drinker after.

“Oh, stop glaring at me, Ethan. Trust me, you’ll want to see this.” Eliza drops a magazine onto my desk before she plops down on the chair. She leans back, clasps her hands together, and watches me.

“Another fucking magazine?” I groan.

What is it this time? Penny is secretly a sleeper KGB agent? What could be so important Eliza decides it's acceptable to break one of my biggest rules about knocking?  

I slide the magazine across the glass surface of the desk.

The garish cover features women I recognize from TV, all wearing swimsuits and photographed in bad lighting to emphasize their uneven skin. The biggest headline, emblazoned across the cover in bright yellow, says, “Worst Beach Bodies in Hollywood.”

Jesus. What an uplifting read.

To the left of the pictures of perfectly slim women is the text: “EXCLUSIVE: Mrs. Ethan Hunter’s Confession.”

I raise my gaze up to Eliza and raise an eyebrow. I know how tabloids often make up their own stories from unreliable sources. I ask, “Is this real?”

“Would I bring it to you if it wasn't?”

“How bad is it?” My fingers pinch the edge of the first page, eager to read what Megan has written about me, but also afraid to find out.

“It's not bad, actually. Your wife really knows her audience.”

What kind of an answer is that? I still have no idea what to expect, and I hate that Eliza has just referred to Megan as my wife. It reminds me of what I thought I had found and subsequently lost.

I flip the pages impatiently. The graphic designer of this magazine should be kicked in the ass for making it impossible to navigate.

Wait. Oh, that's right. Eliza has already given me the page number.

I finally find page twenty-four and see a big picture of Megan and me, having our first dinner date.

Seeing her so pretty and happy feels like a kick in the nuts.

I’ve been trying to tell myself maybe it wasn't as good as I remember, but there it is sitting right in front of me: evidence that it was, in fact, as good as I remember.

I look happy in these pictures. We both do.

This article is written by Megan. It's an account of what has happened, told from her perspective.

Without going into too much detail about how it happened, Megan says that Penny was the one that who came up with the idea, and that neither she nor I could say no. Next thing she knew, we were in my office, saying our vows in front of a minister and two witnesses. “The most surreal experience of my life,” she calls it in the article.

She also admits to having interned at The Goss, and having taken the job as my personal assistant to gather material about me. But then, she got to know me and decided not to write about me at all. She cut off her editor, never expecting her to retaliate by blowing her cover.

She even mentions how the media has been unfair to me by pushing Ashley’s side of the story as truth. She doesn’t go into much detail because, as she says, “it’s not my story to tell.” But she insists that I’m not the monster my ex-wife makes me out to be.

Megan ends the article by apologizing to me for having misrepresented herself and “returning kindness and generosity with deception.”

Overall, this article actually makes me look pretty good. Instead of an evil boss who forced Megan into marrying me, I seem like a good guy making the best of bad circumstances.

Megan has painted me as a “doting father who's doing his best for his daughter,” which must gain me some sympathy from the bored housewives who are reading this magazine while their kids are climbing all over them and their husbands are playing video games.

Finished reading the article, I stare at Megan's pictures. Damn, she’s so fucking beautiful. Just look at those killer curves on her body. I want to reach into the scene printed on the magazine, and sweep her hair away so I could kiss her neck. She’s so sensitive that she’d start moaning and begging me for more in no time.

Eliza clears her throat, jerking me back to the present. “I think she has just saved your ass. She's done my job for me. Good crisis management skills on that girl.”

“Yeah,” I say, still trying to shake off the dirty thoughts in my head.

“Although she created the problem herself, so...”

“Yeah.” I’m still in a daze, not quite believing that Megan has basically taken the blame for our fake marriage. She doesn't need to put her personal life out there for people to judge and criticize, but she has nevertheless done it for me.

“But if you want to ask her to move back in, that's entirely up to you,” Eliza says.

“Huh?” I snap my head up to look at Eliza, who's giving me a knowing smile.

“You said she moved out as soon as you found out, right? Well, Ethan, in all my years of working for you, I’ve never seen you so miserable, or so distracted. You’ve always been focused on whatever you're doing. Far be it from me to tell you what to do in your personal life, but I don't think it’ll be the worst thing in the world if you start living together again. It would make for such a good story. The way people have been eating up this article, they’d go crazy if you two decide to make a real go at it.”

I stay quiet. Evidently, I’ve already said too much without ever opening my mouth.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing, boss,” Eliza says with a sly smile as she gets up from her chair and walks out of my office, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

My head fills up with possibilities, while my heart begins to pound in my chest.

Make a real go of it? At marriage? With Megan?

* * *

Penny cranes her neck to check that Matt has gotten into the elevator. She looks at me, then at the grilled chicken and vegetables on her plate, and back at me again.

“What is it?” I ask. I haven't been able to pay attention to anything since I read Megan's article this afternoon, but I can still recognize it when my little girl has something difficult to say.

“Uhh…”

“Did you get into trouble in school?” I love Penny, but not everybody gets her. She's too smart for her own good sometimes.

According to her teacher, her sarcasm and offbeat sense of humor don't make her cool. I beg to differ, but apparently the popular girls don't like it when she's unimpressed by the latest designer bags that they’ve bought in Europe.

“No,” Penny says, to my relief. I’d hate to sit through another long session with Mrs. Turner, whereby she complains about all the things that make Penny great in my eyes.

“Then what is it?” I ask.

“Um… Did you read Megan's article?”

I run my fingers through my hair. Am I the only person who doesn't read gossip tabloids?

“What did I tell you about those magazines?” I ask.

“So you’ve read it,” she says with a grin.

“Maybe I have, maybe I haven't. The point is, I’ve warned you about those magazines, haven't I? I told you not to read them. They're going to rot your brain.”

“My brain is not going to rot just because I read something you don't want me to. I’m not a dumb toddler you can lie to, Dad. I’m almost a teenager, and I have a smartphone. I can Google.” Penny rolls her eyes. “Besides, you so have read it. I didn't say it was in a tabloid, but you already knew.”

Damn those detective stories, turning my sweet little girl into a scary human lie detector.

“Okay, I’ve read it,” I admit. “What about it?”

“I think you guys should make up.”

“And why do you think that?” I ask as my heart begins to race. I’ve been thinking about asking Megan to come back, but I’ve been worried about how it would affect Penny. God knows she's gone through enough upheavals in her life.

“Because everything in that article is true.” A grin blooms on Penny's face and she says, “Also, you were happier when she was around. You like her. Like, like like her.”

Ethan

I stare at the suitcase as Megan speaks with a woman who seems to be her mom.

“Where do you think you're going?” I ask, terrified that I might've missed her had I come just a few minutes later.

“I, uh, I’m moving,” she says as her mom walks back inside the house.

It's a humble house in the outskirts of the city. For some reason, I never expected Megan to live in a place like this. She always looks so glamorous that I forget she doesn't usually live the way she did at my home.

“Yeah, I can see that.” I glance at the luggage, then back at her beautiful face.

That beautiful, infuriating face. I want to scream at her for leaving without telling me and for planning to use my life as fodder for her article.

At the same time, I want to grab her and hold her tight, maybe even handcuff our wrists together, so she’ll never leave my side again. I repeat my question, “But where do you think you're going?”

“Chicago,” she says softly, shock still freezing her tongue. She’s dressed in a casual pair of skinny jeans, a white shirt, and low heels. Pretty low-key for Megan; no doubt it’s because she was about to get on a plane.

“Chicago? You were going to move to the other side of the country? And you weren’t even going to tell me?” I can’t help but raise my voice, although I remind myself to hold back in case Megan’s parents could hear us.

If everything goes well, I’ll be seeing them a lot so I don’t want to make a bad impression. Come to think of it, they’re already my in-laws right now, even if they don’t know it yet.

Judging from Megan’s mom’s reaction when she saw me, she probably doesn’t know who I am, which means Megan hasn’t told her and she doesn’t keep up with the news.

I find it strange that she doesn't read her own daughter’s writing, but that's not the important thing here.

The important thing is Megan's about to leave, and I need to stop her.

“I didn't think you'd care,” she says.

“Well, I’m here, so obviously I do.”

She looks at me like she still can't quite believe I’m standing right in front of her. If she wants to touch me to make sure I’m not only here in her imagination, I wouldn't object to that.

“Is it true?” I ask.

“Is what true?”

“Your article. Is it all true?”

“Yes,” she says, fixing her brilliant blue eyes on me. She's telling the truth.

“Or did you write it just to get published?” I feel bad for accusing her of trying to take advantage of her fifteen minutes of fame, but I need to hear her say it.

“No,” she answers quickly, an offended frown on her forehead. “I wasn't planning on publishing anything about you. That's what I told Michelle, the editor at The Goss, and that's why I left.”

“Why did you change your mind?”

“Because I couldn't do that to you, after getting to know you,” she says, using the same words she did in the article.

These words may not sound like much. But I know Megan, even if she thinks she has been hiding herself pretty well from me. The truth is, as soon as I let myself see her as a woman and not as an employee, I started to see her—really see her.

She's too ambitious and organized to end a project prematurely for no reason.

During her time as my assistant, she never so much as misscheduled an appointment, or even forgotten to pick up a piece of laundry. If that's the kind of dedication she shows for an undercover job, she must place even more importance in doing her actual job as a journalist.

And, like me, she keeps her distance from people.

Even though she worked alone with me on our separate floor, she could've hung out with the staff from the other floors. My previous assistants used to do that. But Megan was always content to sit alone at her desk.

Whether as my assistant, my fake wife, or my real lover, Megan has never volunteered much information about herself. She tends to make understatements.

Which means that, when she says she says, “I couldn't do that to you, after getting to know you,” it means... It means she has real feelings for me.

Perhaps I should've known this because she gave me her virginity. But in my defense, you’d be surprised by the number of women out there who’d sleep with rich, successful men and consider it some kind of an achievement, like a tick on the old bucket list.

But Megan's different. She's more serious than most girls her age. Hell, she's more mature than many women my age.

I'm confident in her feelings for me. We have the kind of connection that can't be faked. The only thing I don't know is, will she come back to me, or is she too proud to do that?

“And yet you left without even saying goodbye. How do you think that made me feel?” I ask.

“I… I…” Megan looks around, perplexed by my question. She pauses before softly saying, “Honestly, I didn't think you'd want to see me again.”

“You should've asked me.”

“You went off on me and you drank in your room for the rest of the night.”

“I’d just found out something disturbing about this girl, whom I thought was the best thing to have happened to me in a long time. Give a guy a break.”

“I thought that was what I was doing.”

“Well, you thought wrong. The last thing I wanted was for you to give me a forwarding address for me to send the divorce papers to. In what way would divorce be a way to make someone feel better?”

“It wasn't even a real marriage,” Megan snaps. Good.Maybe now she’ll tell me what's really on her mind. “It wasn't like you actually wanted to be with me. We just had to put on a show for the media. When the media found out it was just a charade, you had no use for me.”

“No use for you?” I repeat. “Jesus, Megan, what kind of an asshole do you take me for? Did you think I was just using you? In your letter, you said it was wishful thinking, for you to imagine that we could last. Why? Why would you not give us a fighting chance?”

“I didn't think—”

“Stop thinking,” I cut her off. “Stop thinking for once and listen to your heart. What do you feel?”

“I… I don't know what kind of an answer you're looking for here.”

“Do you really feel like I was just playing with you?” My heart clenches.

Megan hesitates. “No,” she finally says.

“And were you just pretending, when we were together?” I hold my breath, afraid to move a finger. I don't want to miss her answer.

“No,” she says softly.

“So why would you think I was?”

“I don't know. I mean, you're…well, you. And I’m just me.”

My heart breaks at her answer, and I have to fight the overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms. I have one more question before I feel comfortable taking her back.

“Why me?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you go undercover specifically to write about me? Why did you choose me? Why not someone else?”

“Because I hated you,” she says matter-of-factly, driving a million blades into my chest.

What the fuck does that mean?

Megan

“Because I hated you.” The words slide smoothly out of my mouth. I immediately realize what I've just said and regret it, but it's too late.

Ethan is staring at me, hurt and disbelief overtaking his features. He hardens his expression. “Wow. You hated me because I was a bad boss?”

“No. It was from before you were my boss.”

“‘Hate’ is a strong word for someone you didn't even know, isn't it? You had never even met me before you started working for me.”

“But I had,” I say softly.

“When?” Ethan asks, frowning. “Kitten, I would've remembered meeting someone like you. Do you know how hard it was for me to keep my hands off you when you were still my assistant?”

“No,” I say honestly, taken aback by his confession. Ethan was always professional and even distant as my boss.

“Well, it was. Now, when was it that I saw you and didn't even notice?”

“It was a long time ago.” My heart starts to race. Am I really going to tell him the one thing I’ve always hidden from him? Is he going to hate me when he finally learns the whole truth?

“How long?” Ethan asks.

“Eight years.” I hold my breath as I watch his face for a reaction.

“Eight years?” Ethan asks incredulously. “But you would've been…thirteen?”

“Yeah.”

“How did we… Where did we even meet?”

“At your office.”

“At my office?” Ethan’s forehead creases as he strains his memory. “That would've been when I was just starting out, at my first shopping centre.”

“Yeah. Here, in Flint.”

“What were you doing there? What was a thirteen-year-old doing at my office?” Ethan asks, his disbelief slowly replaced by confusion.

“Well, I wasn't there on my own…”

“Would you just…” Ethan runs his hand through his thick, dark hair and lets out a big sigh. “Would you please just tell me the whole story and not make me guess anymore? I need to know why you hated me.”

For a moment, I remember tangling my fingers in that hair myself, when he ate me out against the glass wall in his apartment. But this is not the time for dirty daydreaming.

I start to answer, “It's a long—”

“I have all day,” he cuts me off.

“Don't you have to go back to work and—”

“I’m done for the day.”

“I don't even know where to begin.”

“Start from the first time we met.”

“Well, I heard your voice before I ever saw you. It was—”

“Hey, I remember who you are,” Mom says as she suddenly appears beside me.

I didn't even hear her coming. I was too focused on Ethan to pay attention to my surroundings. It takes everything in me to evade Ethan's questions and come up with a way to tell him a story I never expected to tell.

“You’re Ethan Hunter, aren't you?” Mom asks. Her voice sounds more surprised and curious than anything else.

“Yes,” he says, raising a questioning eyebrow at me. From his perspective, this day must be getting weirder and weirder.

Here's my mom, recognizing him but not knowing anything about the fake marriage. Where does she recognize him from? Why doesn't she read the articles about us that are everywhere?

For a moment, I feel embarrassed for my mom because of how weak she has been; and then a wave of guilt comes over me for feeling that way. Mom has been my sole support system for years and she tries her best, even if she's not very good at parenting.

“I knew I’d seen you somewhere.” Mom says.

“And where was that?” Ethan asks, glancing at me. He's finally going to learn the answer.

Panic grasps my heart. Logically, I know nothing disastrous is going to happen here, but I can't help feeling like I’m losing my grip on the situation.

“Oh, you probably don't remember. It wasn't a very pleasant meeting, to be honest. I don't think you want to hear about it,” Mom says.

“I’d actually like to hear all about it, if you don't mind jogging my memory,” he says.

“Oh.” Mom pauses, then says, “We—uh, my ex-husband and I, that is—we wanted to rent some space at the mall, but our store wasn't a good fit for it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ethan says.

“Oh, it's water under the bridge,” Mom says, waving a hand. We’ve never discussed Ethan or the toy store beyond her depressed ramblings, but her indifference still surprises me. She continues, “So you two know each other?”

“You don't keep up with celebrity news, do you?” Ethan asks, smiling.

“No, my partner thinks it's silly,” Mom says.

It's one of the reasons why I’m going for serious journalism—so Mom can read my writing without risking Frank’s anger. It’s also the reason why I dared to agree to the fake marriage, knowing Mom would either not even find out about it, or dismiss it as a lie.

“I see,” Ethan says, glancing at me once again. “Well, Megan and I, we used to work together.”

“Oh, at Hunter Corporation?” Mom widens her eyes when Ethan nods. Turning to me, she says, “You never told me, Megsy.”

“I told you I got a personal assistant job, Mom.” I was relieved when Mom first came and interrupted us, but right now, she’s making it impossible for me to talk to Ethan. I say, “Actually, Mom, Mr. Hunter and I have something important to discuss.”

“Oh, I’ll leave you two to it, then. Wait, are you asking her to come back and work for you again?” Mom asks Ethan. “She seemed really down when she came home and told me she’d gotten fired. If you could persuade her to stay, that would—”

“Mom,” I cut her off. She can be a little too chatty sometimes.

Even if Ethan were just my employer and he were about to offer me my old job back, it wouldn’t be a good idea to talk about how sad I was about losing it. How is that supposed to help me negotiate better terms for this hypothetical job?

“Oh, sorry. I said I was leaving and I’m still here.” Mom laughs, then says, “Megsy, you can do whatever you want and go wherever you want. But I’d love it if you could stay. I’ve been thinking about visiting the city more often.”

“Okay, Mom.” This is the second time today I’m hearing about her wanting to spend more time in the city, which makes me curious, but I have more urgent things to worry about right now.

Like the man at our doorstep who’s staring at me with his piercing blue eyes, as if I’m a puzzle for him to piece together and figure out.

“Okay.” Mom smiles and walks back inside the house.

“Have you told your mom anything at all, anything related to your life?” Ethan asks when she’s out of earshot.

“What does it matter to you?” I snap, annoyed at how intrusive he’s being, although I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth.

I feel like he’s crossing a boundary by coming here to my family home, speaking to my mom, and judging me. But what I did to him was so much worse. I lived in his home and enjoyed being treated like family, while I was actually gathering evidence against him so strangers could judge him.

“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just that Mom doesn’t fare well with change, so I prefer her to think that my life is normal and stable. I don’t want to stress her out.”

“Maybe you don’t give her enough credit,” Ethan says.

“Maybe you don’t know her enough to comment,” I say, unable to restrain myself.

“Okay, fair enough,” he says. “So based on what your mom said, we met when your parents wanted to rent retail space in the mall?”

“Yeah.” I can already feel heat starting to creep across my cheeks as I get embarrassed over my own prejudice.

“And that’s why you hated me?”

“Yeah.” My face is so hot it must be flushed red right now. I add, “But that’s all. That’s not the whole story.”

“Okay. So tell me the whole story.”

“That was the day everything in my life started to go wrong. My parents lost their livelihood. They got stressed out. They started to argue more often—a lot more often—and eventually, they got divorced. I never saw my dad again, and my mom fell into deep depression.

“Things have never quite recovered to the way they were before that meeting at your office. It was… I started to look at my life as being divided into two: before you got involved, which was when everything was good; and after, which was when everything started to go wrong.”

“Wow, that’s…uh, that’s a lot of things I wasn’t even aware of causing, kitten,” Ethan says, sounding more than a little confused.

“I know it was stupid now,” I admit. “I was confused, you know? Everything went wrong and I didn’t know why. I needed to blame it on something, because things couldn’t have changed that much from nothing.

“In my mind at the time, you were the one who ruined everything, and getting back at you would fix things somehow. I know now how messed up my thoughts were.

“But I never questioned myself because, well, there are many people out there who hate your guts and tell the media that you’re basically scum of the earth. So even if I didn’t arrive at my conclusions logically, it still seemed like the right thing to do. I’d be helping a lot of people by making you pay for everything you’d done.

“Sorry,” I say softly.

I feel a little better after vomiting out all my secrets, even if I realize how embarrassing that whole tirade is. It reminds me of the time I went out clubbing with Kira until four in the morning and threw up on the sidewalk—I instantly felt better, but also embarrassed.

I slowly raise my gaze to look at Ethan. I’m nervous to see how he reacts after hearing everything.

Would he think I’m stupid? Would he think I’m just a blonde airhead? Or a vengeful person who spends all my time concocting evil schemes?

Please don’t hate me, I plead quietly in my heart.

Only minutes ago, I was resigned to a life without Ethan. I had accepted my fate as a villain in his eyes.

But now, with him right in front of me, I can’t help but hope.

I know it’s dumb and I know it’s entitled. But the very fact that he’s still here, even after listening to my nonsensical thoughts…

That must mean something, right?

Even if we can’t go back to the way things were, maybe we could be civil to each other, at least?

Ethan

“I’m sorry,” I hear myself say.

“What for? I told you I’ve realized that it was all in my mind. If anything, I’m the one who should apologize to—”

“You’ve apologized enough,” I cut her off. “You know what your problem is, kitten?”

She squints at me with her beautiful baby blues as the afternoon sun shines on her face.

“You don’t ask enough from the world,” I say as I step in front of her, blocking the sunshine so she’d be able to see me clearly when I tell her this important truth.

“Huh?” Megan reacts like that’s the last thing she expects to hear—and maybe it is. Judging by the way she speaks, she still seems to believe that everything is her fault and she’s the one responsible for how messy everything is.

“You heard me. You have such low expectations from the world, that all you wanted was to get back at me by publishing some gossip article on me. Do you know how fast it would be buried by some other piece of celebrity news? Do you really think people care?”

Megan parts her lips, but she doesn’t say a word. The gears in her mind are turning. She’s trying on this new perspective for size.

“Here’s a hint: they don’t care,” I say. “And even if they do, it wouldn’t affect me at all. My shares might dip by a few points and a handful of people might even boycott my shopping centers, but do you see any of those things having any long-lasting impact?”

“No,” she says tentatively.

“Exactly. I’m too big now for my shareholders to concern themselves with gossip. And if you were only going to write about how ruthless I am, that could even be a good thing because it would show that I put my investors first. Did you think of that?”

Megan shakes her head slowly.

“And what’s the deal with the letter that you left me? You were going to pay me back everything I’ve ever paid you for your work? Who does that? You know the richer spouse is the one who’s supposed to pay alimony, right?” I ask.

“But I was secretly spying on you. I was doing some other job, and my work at your office was just some kind of a cover.”

“Yeah, but you did a better job than some of the assistants I’ve had in the past.”

Megan stays quiet this time.

“You know you could’ve asked for some of my assets in the divorce, right?” I ask. “We do have a pre-nup, but it’s not an airtight document. You could’ve easily found a lawyer who’d take on your case for a cut of however much money I settled for. But you didn’t even speak to a lawyer, did you?”

“No,” she says.

“It’s no different from the way you expect so little from your mom. She can give you more. The world can give you more, if you’d just ask for the things you want.”

I can tell that I’m hitting a nerve. I know how Megan feels. I’ve seen it in so many talented people. They can do better, but they don’t have the guts to ask for what they’re worth.

I pause before I add, “I may be able to give you some of the things that you want. Is there anything you want from me, kitten?”

“I just want you to forgive me,” she says as her eyes fill with water.

“Of course I forgive you. I know now that you have good reasons for doing the things that you did. Just do me a favour and stop calling yourself stupid. I know I have a bad reputation, and that exposé on me would’ve sold pretty well. So I can’t blame you for wanting to write a compelling story—you’re a journalist.”

“Really?” Megan asks as tears roll down her cheeks.

“Really what, kitten?” I ask softly as I step forward.

I can’t stand not having her in my arms anymore. I can’t just watch her cry and do nothing. I need to comfort her. More than that, I need to do everything in my power to fix everything for her.

I realize these are the same sentiments that she probably felt as a teenager, when her mom was hurting after losing her business and her husband. She just wanted to fix things, and she thought she could do it by attacking me.

I put my arms around Megan’s shaking shoulders and pull her against my chest. As her tears seep into the fabric of my suit jacket, I stroke her hair gently.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, kitten. I’m sorry I caused you pain.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ethan,” she says between sobs. “I know now that it wasn’t personal. It was just the decision that made sense to you at the time.”

“Still, I could’ve done more.”

“You needed to do your best to keep your investors happy. You were trying to get Penny back at the time, right?”

“Yeah, I was.” My heart squeezes. She has been perceptive enough and empathetic enough to put herself in my shoes and see things from my perspective. I don’t know why she keeps calling herself stupid. I ask, “So do you forgive me, then?”

“Yes,” she answers quickly.

“You don’t hate me anymore?”

“Not at all.” With red eyes still full of tears, Megan looks up at me. One of these days, those big doe eyes are going to get me into trouble. She can make me do anything when she’s gazing at me like that.

“Kitten, would you consider moving back in with me?”

“You really want me back?”

“Yeah. How else are we going to get on the next edition of gossip tabloids?”

She laughs, even as tears wet her creamy cheeks. “They’re going to freak out.”

“Right? It would be fun.”

“Are you sure you want even more attention from the media right now?” Megan asks, concerned about other people before she thinks about herself, as usual.

“We’ll talk to Eliza and she’ll come up with some kind of a plan. She’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

“If I’d written that exposé on you, Eliza would’ve been the person to clean up the mess. And now she’s on my side. That’s so weird to think about.”

“Life’s funny that way. Sometimes old enemies become friends,” I say. “Now, since you’re all packed, shall I just take you to our marital home?”

Megan laughs. “Don’t call it that. It’s not even a real marriage, Ethan.”

“Maybe I want it to be,” I say.

Megan’s eyes grow as big as saucers. Her jaw drops.

“I’m not saying we have to decide anything now. I just want you to know that it’s on my mind. You don’t have to say anything. Just tell me if you want to move back into my apartment and make it your home, too.”

“Yes, I want that,” she says as she puts her delicate little hands on my back and pulls me closer.

The corners of my lips tug up to form a smile.

She’s back now, and I’m never letting her go again.

She’s mine. For keeps.

Megan

I follow Ethan into his apartment. I never thought the wheel of my luggage would squeak in this apartment again, but I’m glad to hear it now.

We haven’t discussed sleeping arrangements, but I don’t protest when he drags my luggage into his bedroom. I’ve never shared a bedroom with a man before, but this feels right.

It would be weird for me to go back to my old room. I feel like I’d be sneaking into his room most nights anyway, or the other way around.

When I moved out, I couldn’t even imagine that Ethan would ever invite me back, much less come and find me at Mom’s place and move me into his bedroom.

I even called it “wishful thinking” to hope that Ethan, Penny, and I could be a real family.

I guess Ethan’s right. I don’t expect much from the world, or from the people around me. Maybe I’ve been disappointed too many times before to believe.

I find it easier to keep my expectations low. It’s less exhausting that way, especially when so many things are outside of my control.

“How was it, living with your mom?” Ethan asks as he takes a seat on the edge of his king-sized bed.

“It was okay,” I say, standing awkwardly at the door. The sunlight shines from the glass wall behind me, casting my shadow on the floor.

“That bad, huh?” Ethan grimaces.

I laugh.

“You know, I had to stay with relatives for a few years while I was trying to get my business off the ground,” he says.

“Really?” I’m glad it’s his turn to tell me a story now.

Being the one to disclose information makes me feel vulnerable—not that I don’t trust Ethan, but it just drains me.

I’m used to being the one to ask the questions, the one with the recorder and the notepad for conducting the interview. But today Ethan has turned the game upside down and made me play defense for a change.

“Yeah.” He puts his hand on the soft white sheet of the bed, patting the empty spot next to him. “Come here and I’ll tell you all about it.”

I approach, taking slow steps as my whole body begins to tingle all over. I’m alone with Ethan now. Not even Penny is home because she’s still in school. It’s just the two of us.

I know we’re inevitably going to end up naked in each other’s arms, but I don’t know if it’s going to be right now or tonight at bedtime. Or both.

As I sit my ass down beside Ethan, I feel the heat of his gaze searing into my flesh. We’re not even touching, and yet I can feel his desire for me, threatening to eat me alive.

And the crazy thing is, I want it, too.

I want Ethan to unleash his lust on me, like he did when he took my virginity and showed me a whole world of new sensations I’d never felt before.

“So at the time, I had just gotten funding for my business idea, but I was still broke. That was the capital for the business, you see. I didn’t personally have any money yet. My savings were drained because of my medical treatments, and—”

“I don’t think you ever told me what your illness was,” I cut him off.

“I had brain tumor.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Brain tumor?” I ask slowly, as if that could change the meaning of the words.

“Yeah. I had a seizure in the middle of the night. I was still married at the time, and Ashley got me to the hospital. She hated me, but not so much she wanted me to die.” Ethan chuckles, as if there’s anything funny about what he’s telling me. “There wasn’t much chance of survival, even after a complex and expensive surgery, but I made it.”

“I had no idea you went through something like that.”

“You even touched the scar,” Ethan says with a sexy smirk. “There’s a raised scar on my head, which you would’ve touched when you were grabbing my hair.”

“Can I touch it now?” I ask. I raise my hand to the top of his head in an attempt to divert his attention from my reddening face, although I think he notices anyway. We both know the only time I ever grabbed his hair was when we were being intimate.

“Of course.” Ethan takes my hand and places it on his head so my fingers trace a long, raised scar that’s shaped like a big C.

My heart races as I touch his hair, my brain bringing up memories of other parts of our bodies tangled together.

“So anyway, Ashley had also just left me. When I survived after the surgery, she finally filed for divorce and managed to get some of what little money I had left.”

“She left you when you were sick?”

“Yeah, she actually said that I was going to die anyway, and that she had to learn to look after herself and Penny. So she left and took Penny with her.”

“What the hell?” I curse. What kind of a monster would say something like that?

Ethan bursts out laughing. “This is the first time I’ve heard you curse. I like it.”

“You like it?”

“I like that you’re comfortable enough around me to do that, and I like that you’re getting angry on my behalf.”  He gives me a panty-melting smile, accompanied by a loving gaze. He puts his arm on my shoulder, pulls me closer, and plants a kiss on my forehead.

I beam. I’ve never used that word before, but I really can’t find a more suitable word than that. I’m beaming at Ethan, knowing how much I’m being treasured, knowing he’s going to treat me like a queen.

“So I lost everything to medical treatments and to Ashley,” he says. “And all the money I had left went to the lawyer, who was fighting to get Penny back to me. It wasn’t easy. The courts often sided with the mother back then. They still do, but not to the extent that they used to.”

I nod.

“So I lived with my dad’s sister. My aunt isn’t cruel or anything, but she’s… Well, like me, she’s not very warm to most people, and she likes her personal space. I eventually got Penny back and we lived there for a while, but I moved out as soon as I could. I felt like I was intruding.”

“That’s how I felt, too.”

“I’m surprised you’d feel that way at your own mom’s house. That’s where you grew up, right?”

“Well, it’s not just my mom who lives there. There’s also Frank, her boyfriend.”

“Right. I didn’t get to meet him,” he says.

“You’re not missing out.” I laugh wryly.

“I take it you don’t get along, then?”

“That’s one way of putting it, yeah.”

“Did he ever… Did he ever do anything to hurt you?” Ethan asks, concern reflected in his darkened eyes that have suddenly turned stormy.

“No, it’s not like that,” I say quickly. “He never beat me or anything. He’s just selfish and angry. I hate the way he treats my mom.”

“I’m sorry, kitten,” Ethan says as he strokes my hair.

“What for? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’ve been through so much, and I didn’t even have any idea. I could’ve done something to help you.”

“Like what?”

Ethan pauses. “I don’t know,” he admits. “It just breaks my heart to know you’ve been suffering and I haven’t done anything to help you.”

“You’re really sweet.” I smile as I return his gaze. I raise my hand up to his cheek, caressing his skin, grazing against the rough stubble on his jawline.

Ethan laughs. “I don’t get told that very often.”

“That’s because you put on this tough front and you’re always all business—which, I mean, it’s fine, because I used to only see you at the office before. But you don’t really open up to anybody, do you?”

“I don’t really have much time for a social life. I have to take care of Penny,” Ethan says. “I don’t mind it, though. Not until you came along and showed me just how much better things could be. You made me miserable when you left.”

“‘Miserable’? Really?” I level my gaze at Ethan. A guy like him must have better things to occupy himself, rather than mope around over an ordinary girl like me.

“Yes, kitten. I think I’ve fallen for you,” he says with the kind of sincerity that can’t be faked.

His dark blue eyes reach deep into my soul; it’s like we’re communicating so much more than mere words can convey. Our marriage may be fake, but whatever is going on between us is real, even if it wasn’t there at our wedding.

Then, a kiss.

I admit I expected it—hoped for it, even. And now that Ethan’s hot, firm lips are on mine, it feels even better than I could imagine.

Ethan grazes his lips lightly against mine. I open my mouth for him, but he’s already gone. I keep my eyes closed, knowing he’s coming back for more. Sure enough, his breath feels closer and suddenly he brushes his lips over mine again. This time, I move closer, but again he’s gone.

He’s teasing me, I realize. It makes me impatient. I want him, and I want him now. It annoys me that he’d taunt me like this, but at the same time I have to admit it only whets my appetite.

Finally, I lean my entire body forward, landing in Ethan’s embrace, searching for his lips. His strong arms wrap around my waist as he places me on his lap.

And then he kisses me. Really kisses me. He captures my mouth and claims it as his own. He licks, he nibbles, and he bites, giving me a preview of what’s to come, showing me how much he wants me.

It has only been a couple of weeks since we last kissed, but this feels like new again. My heart is thumping in my chest, knowing and wanting where this is going, but anxious about it nonetheless. He feels strange and familiar at the same time.

Ethan’s hands pull me flush against his chest, squishing my tits against his hard body. He grabs my hair and pulls it to the side, exposing my neck. Without asking for my permission, he bites the sensitive flesh of my neck, making me gasp.

He’s biting so hard it starts to hurt, but it feels too good for me to stop him. I never knew pain could feel this amazing. He’s going to leave a mark on my skin, but I don’t care. Why should I worry about what strangers would say about me?

He’s getting rougher, more desperate. There’s no more teasing now. Gone is the gentle Ethan who looked at me like he wanted to shield me from the world, replaced by a primal version of him.

“You’re so sexy I can’t stand it,” Ethan says in a low, gravelly voice. He grabs my waist and pulls me down until I’m straddling him, sitting right on top of his hard bulge. “See what you’re doing to me?”

I bite my lower lip and sink down on his lap. I don’t know how I figure out what to do, but I get the urge to rock back and forth against him. Instinctively, I just know that’s going to help with the ache between my legs.

“I asked you a question, kitten,” Ethan says. It’s hard to focus on his words when his body is doing all the talking necessary. But he wants me to answer with words, and I want to please him. He knows he's got me. Sneaky bastard. He repeats, “Do you see what you’re doing to me?”

“Yeah.” Tentatively, I follow my intuition. I rest my weight on my knees, which are splayed out on either side of him, and start rubbing myself against him.

I feel too self-conscious to say much. I may be a wordsmith, but at a time like this, I’m at a loss for words. Still, my body can show him what I feel.

“Fuck,” Ethan groans as he pushes his hips up, letting me grind myself on him more easily. His mouth gapes open over my neck, huffing his hot breath on my skin. I’m surprised and flattered by his reaction. I have no idea what I’m doing. Yet here's this beautiful man, looking like I’m slaying him with my hips.

Getting bolder, I put my palms on the lapels of Ethan’s designer suit jacket and pull it open. An asymmetrical smile appears on his handsome face as he shrugs it off and throws it down on the floor.

My hand stays on his chest, tracing the hard ridges and lines of his muscles underneath his crisp white shirt. My heart races as my breathing gets more labored.

It's strange. Pictures of attractive men on magazines have never appealed to me. But it's different with Ethan. Just imagining his naked body gets me leaking onto my panties. His heart beats rapidly against my palm, telling me he feels the same way.

“I’ll take it off if you take off yours, too.” Ethan looks deep into my eyes as I play with his shirt buttons.

“Okay,” I say as I unbutton his shirt hurriedly, eager to feel his skin on mine. I lift my hands up when I’m done, letting Ethan pull off my shirt and dump it on the floor to join his suit jacket.

While I have both my hands on Ethan's shirt, trying to take it off, he leans all the way back onto the bed. I lose my balance as he pulls me down with him, chuckling when I cry out with surprise.

“This, too,” he says as he unhooks my bra, yanks it off, and throw it in the air. For someone who lives such a sober, responsible life, Ethan sure knows how to have fun in bed.

I laugh, although my eyes remain fixated on him as he removes his shirt, revealing his magnificent body. My pussy misses the pressure of his hard-on, so I lower myself down and get back to riding him, moaning when a stroke feels particularly good.

“Are you ready?” Ethan asks as something wicked glints in his eyes.

“What for?” I ask with concern. I trust Ethan to take care of me and make sure I feel good, but I don't know what to expect.

“For me to rock your world.” After this vague answer, he does something that makes it crystal clear just what he wants.

He rolls me over until I’m on my back and takes my nipple into his mouth, bathing it with the warmth and wetness of his lips and tongue. I surprise myself when my sigh turns into a moan, and a sexy one at that.

It's not that I’m not aware of my sexuality, but I’ve only ever used it as a tool. I focused on making my appearance enticing to men in power. When I got the internship at The Goss, for example, I’m pretty sure the HR manager hired me so he could ask me out—which he did, a few times.

But my sexuality has never been something I enjoy for myself, and now Ethan's showing me how to do just that.

I raise my hips off the bed to let Ethan slide my jeans off, and he gives my nipple one last lick, flattening his tongue and brushing against the hardened little pebble. Then, he yanks off both my jeans and my panties, and I’m completely naked.

Ethan kneels between my legs and stares at my body as I lie before him, bared and vulnerable. Out of embarrassment, I pull my legs together. But Ethan places his hands on my thighs, keeping them spread.

“You’re going to keep these legs open for me,” he commands in a voice I can't say no to. He asks, “Is that clear?”

I nod.

“Good,” he says, his voice hoarse with desire.

I don't know where to focus. He makes every cell of my body come alive.

His blue eyes roams over my body, like he has just bought himself a new car and is now admiring it, like I belong to him and I please him. His erection strains the front of his jeans, mirroring the way my pussy is yearning for him, pulsing and throbbing.

I’m about to pull his pants off when he suddenly grabs my ankles and turns me over. I shriek again and he chuckles.

I push myself off the bed with my elbows, but Ethan grabs my wrists from behind me. He pins them against my own back and pushes me down.

“Bad kitty,” he whispers darkly in my ear as he hovers over me. “Stay still.”

I turn my head to the side. With my cheek against the soft bedsheets, I look behind me, but I still can't see him clearly.

I can feel him, though. Damn, can I feel him.

I shudder as he trails kisses up and down my spine. My heart races; I can’t tell where his lips are going to land next, and it keeps me guessing.

“You’re so wet you’re staining the bedsheets, kitten,” he says as he puts his hand over my pussy. “You’re enjoying this, aren't you?”

“Yeah,” I answer breathlessly.

Running his fingers between my folds, he continues to kiss my back.

With my hands restrained and my legs spread by Ethan's powerful thighs, all I can do is hold on as my body shudders from Ethan's skillful manipulation.

“Fuck, I love it when you do that.” I faintly hear Ethan unzip his pants, and I realize he's no longer restraining my hands. It only takes one of his fingers right on the hood of my clit to keep me still now. It's crazy how even the lightest touch from him affects me so much.

When he gets on top of me, his chest on my back, he's already naked. I can tell because his hot, hard cock slips between my thighs. He slides back and forth along my slit, teasing me as he grabs my hair and bites the back of my neck.

“Ethan,” I moan, spreading my legs wider for him. I clutch the bedsheets, letting his strength and sensuality overwhelm me.

“Tell me what you want, kitten,” he says, nibbling my earlobe.

“I want you inside me.” I don't know what comes over me, but I’ve lost all of my inhibitions. Now there's only one thing on my mind, one thing that I want. “Please, Ethan, I want you inside me.”

“As you wish,” he whispers. He lines the head of his cock against my opening and spears inside me, burying himself to the hilt. Unlike the first time, now he enters smoothly, aided by my overflowing wetness.

I whimper and quiver when as he slides in and out of me with his thick, hard cock. He thrusts at an angle so he's hitting me at my sweet spot.

“Fuck, kitten. If you keep squeezing me like that, I’m not going to last long. You’re so damn sexy.”

“Do it,” I sigh.

“Do what? What do you want?” Ethan asks urgently.

“Do it. Come inside me. Don't hold back.”

Ethan goes quiet, even though he keeps thrusting into me faster and harder. “And here I thought you couldn't talk dirty to me.”

“Fuck me hard, Ethan,” I moan desperately, ignoring his teasing. I want to be used. I want him to satisfy his lust with my body. Like a mantra, I repeat, “Fuck me hard and come inside me.”

Ethan gets up to his knees. I miss his weight and his warmth on my back. But by the way he’s roughly grabbing onto my waist with his powerful hands now, I know he's about to get serious.

He pins me down against the bed and pulls me back onto his cock. Soon, I’m crying out into the mattress, my body shaking uncontrollably as Ethan growls and slams into me again and again, until his whole body stills all of a sudden—only his cock continues moving, twitching and spurting inside me.

He leans his sweaty body on top of me, careful not to crush me with his weight. He grabs my hair again firmly, although with no urgency this time. He whispers, “You little minx.”

I smile and reach behind me to stroke his thick, dark hair. My smile grows even wider when he sighs with contentment and drops his head on the bed.

“Don't ever leave again,” he says.

“I won't,” I blurt out before I can think.

When my brain starts working again, I realize with surprise that I mean it. It's not just the happy brain chemicals from my orgasm talking.

“I love you.” Ethan gazes softly into my eyes, looking strong and vulnerable at the same time.

“I love you, too,” I say.

Epilogue

Megan—One Year Later

“Megan, did you really use to think that being incarcerated meant being burned alive?” Penny asks, grinning at me mockingly as her little feet sink into the sand.

“Mom, what have you been telling her?” I ask, half-shouting so she can hear me. She's smiling in the sun as she gets closer, her skin still wet from having been in the resort swimming pool. She looks happier and more beautiful than I’ve seen her in years.

“Just some old stories,” she says.

“‘Incarceration’ and ‘incineration’ sound similar,” I say to Penny, shrugging.

“And to think I take grammar and vocabulary advice from you,” Penny says, shaking her head.

“Hey, that was a long time ago. I must've been, like, six,” I protest, getting defensive despite my attempt at staying cool.

“Twelve,” Mom corrects me.

“Hey, whose side are you on, Mom?” I ask. “Wait. Twelve, really? Damn.”

“Yes, honey, really,” Mom says, smiling as she turns around to follow Penny, who’s already laughing and wandering off toward the water.

When I turn to look at Ethan, he's grinning at me from his wicker lounge chair, which is identical to mine. “So did you think people got arrested and then burned alive?”

“Hey, I just used to misspell the words, okay? I didn't confuse the meanings.”

“Okay,” Ethan says, laughing as he moves his hair out of his face. I can't help but notice the wedding band on his finger—a mark that he's all mine. I still can't believe my luck sometimes.

Without thinking, my fingers rub my own wedding band. Not long after I moved back into our apartment, we decided to start wearing our wedding bands again. No pomp, no ceremony.

One morning, I just came across the rings in a drawer and said that we should start wearing them again. Ethan was happy to oblige.

“Are you sure you don't want a real wedding, kitten?” Ethan asks, as if he can read my mind.

This is not the first time he asks about having a “real wedding,” like a vow renewal and a reception. We’ve already had the paperwork taken care of the first time we got married in his office, so we won't have to repeat that.

“Yeah.” I’ve been telling him I’d rather use the time and money to travel as a family, which is why we’re here now.

“You know we can afford to have a family vacation and a wedding, right?” Ethan asks.

I laugh. “Yeah, I know you have truckloads of money.”

“‘We,’” Ethan says, correcting me. “Whatever is mine is yours now. It has been one year, kitten. When are you going to realize that?”

“I don't know. Sometimes I just can't believe how lucky I am. Everything still seems like a dream.”

“It's okay. We have all the time in the world,” he says with a smile.

“Yeah.” I return his smile. We may not have exchanged any real vows, but I don't doubt for one moment that Ethan plans to stay in my life forever. “Real wedding” or not, he’s the love of my life. He's the person I want to grow old with.

What's a wedding for, anyway? I’ve seen too many dysfunctional marriages to believe in the institution. A marriage certificate didn't stop my dad from leaving.

We’re a family. Just another American family in the Caribbean, enjoying a vacation.

Right now, we’re just Ethan, Megan, and Penny. Oh, and my Mom—she’s the matriarch now that she has a step-grandchild.

Mom has never had the money to travel before, so I was ecstatic when Ethan said there's enough room for her in his—I mean our—private jet. She makes a great babysitter; it warms my heart to watch her play with Penny.

True to her words, Mom has been spending more time in the city, staying over every couple of weeks, giving Ethan and me some opportunities to be alone.

Mom has been making comments, comparing my relationship with hers. It's slowly dawning on her that she can do better than Frank, that she can hope for a healthy relationship like the one I have with Ethan.

I’m hoping this vacation will give her some space to think and make plans.

She's always welcome in our home, of course. But she’d probably want to keep her home and kick Frank out, and that’ll take some time. Luckily, we have Ethan’s team of lawyers on our side. Oops, I just did it again—our team of lawyers, I mean.

The legal team should be able to resolve things pretty quickly, even if they are getting busy with the upcoming case against Lucas Murdoch. At my urging, Ethan has been taking the complaints of people who were wronged by Primaland and having his lawyer prepare a case on their behalf.

Previously, he was worried that countering Murdoch’s attacks against him would incite him to do something worse and affect Penny in some way. But after lengthy talks with Penny, he realized that she’s old enough to understand what's going on, and she fully supports the lawsuit.

Taking care of Lucas Murdoch will take care of Ashley as well. Without his money and the might of his PR team behind her, there won’t be much she can do.

Hopefully, everything will go smoothly and we’ll be able to help everyone—my Mom, as well as Lucas Murdoch’s victims.

I think this experience has made Ethan more mindful of how his giant corporation can affect small, local businesses. Despite his shareholders’ protests, he has decided to scale down on his expansion plan so his team can conduct extensive research and make sure to take local communities into full consideration.

But whether we succeed or not, the main thing is that our little family is happy—including Mom, even if she's still technically living with Frank, at least for the next couple of months.

We’re happy, healthy, and we stick together.

After going through a few tumultuous years, I’ve learned not to take things for granted. There are always going to be problems in life—sometimes big and sometimes, thankfully, small. But with Ethan on my side, I feel like I can do anything.

Honestly, I haven't said this to anyone, but I'm even thinking about maybe having a baby with Ethan.

Wait, don't get excited yet. I said maybe. In the future.

I still want to focus my energy on my career right now; in fact, I’ve just gotten a pretty good internship at a broadsheet newspaper right here in San Francisco.

It's just that I’d never found the idea of parenthood to be appealing. But then I look at Penny and I think, maybe it wouldn't be so bad; maybe it would be pretty cool. Just accepting it as a possibility is a big step for me.

“What are you thinking about?” Ethan asks, looking at me with that smile that makes my knees go weak. Luckily for me, I’m reclining on a lounge chair on the beach, relaxed as can be.

“You,” I answer honestly. “And our future together.”

Ethan takes my hand and strokes the back of it with his fingers. Our gazes lock, and I know he's thinking the same thing: everything is perfect just the way it is, and we can’t wait to grow old together.

The End

* * *

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Preview: Royal Beast

A Dark Fairy Tale Romance

Prologue

“Sir, I…” My sentence hangs in the air. I know what I want and I want to ask for it, but I can’t bring myself to.

“Tell me, what do you want?” Prince James leans just close enough to let his lips graze lightly against my pussy as he speaks, making me gasp.

“I want you to… finish what you were doing,” I say softly.

“And what was that?” he asks, prolonging my torment. I can almost hear the smirk in his voice.

“You were… You were eating me out, Sir,” I say again, my pussy throbbing, both from the prince’s oral attention and from the cocky, dominating way he’s talking to me right now.

“Good girl,” he says, in the kind of voice that makes me want to please him even more. “But before that, let’s get your punishment over and done with, shall we?”

“Uh, punishment, Sir?”

He picks me up into his arms, making me shriek in surprise. He stands me up on my feet, then he sits on a chair by the big wooden desk, on which lie a few stacks of books.

“Lie across my lap,” he says darkly.

As if hypnotized, I step forward and put my belly across Prince James’ lap. I know what’s coming. I’ve seen it before. I’ve fantasized about it, but I still can’t quite believe it’s actually about to happen now.

“Relax,” the prince says, chuckling. “You’re going to like it.”

Despite his words, my muscles tense as he pulls the hem of my dress up over my waist.

Naked and vulnerable, all I can do is lie here and wait, while the heat from the prince’s lustful gaze sears into my flesh. I can feel his anticipation. The thought of inflicting pain on my body excites him.

I place my fingers on the marble floor to balance myself. The prince’s shadow moves as he raises his hand in the air. I brace myself for the impact.

Smack!

The prince’s palm lands on my ass cheek, making it hot with pain.

I whimper.

Why did I ever think this would feel good?

Maybe I’m not cut out to be a Submissive after all. I should tell the prince I’m not what he thinks I am.

As I part my lips, the prince rubs the part of my ass that’s stinging in pain. His hand feels so gentle and warm.

At his soothing touch, the heat from the pain turns into pleasure that seeps through my skin and spreads throughout my body.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it, sweetheart?” Prince James asks.

“N—no, Sir.”

“You like it, don’t you?”

I remain quiet.

Did I…?

James

I almost can’t believe my eyes.

But there’s no doubt in my mind.

It’s her.

She’s even wearing that same choker around her slender neck, the one that looks a lot like a collar.

I can’t forget a face like that. Or a body like that. The picture I’m looking at doesn’t show any part of her below the neck, but I remember.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” The man asks. Exhaustion is still written all over his face, but he’s beaming with pride.

“Yes, they’re lovely,” I answer, briefly tearing my eyes from the man’s phone that I’m holding in my hands.

I couldn’t care less about the other two girls in the picture. I only have my eyes on her, the one with the big, doe-like eyes the color of café au lait, the one with the wavy honey-brown hair tumbling down her back.

“This is Clara, my oldest,” he says as he points at the girl on the left. “Irina, the middle one—” his index finger moves to the girl in the center, then finally to the girl on the right “—and Rosemary, my youngest daughter.”

Rosemary.

So that’s her name.

It fits her. A name from the old world, classic and elegant. But most importantly of all, that name is just another clue that she belongs to me.

I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I saw her last month. In fact, I’ve taken screenshots and short videos of the moments she’s caught by the surveillance cameras.

That tight little yellow dress, covering her up while showing off all her curves. That black choker around her neck. That golden rose pendant that rests between her collar bones, pulsing to the beat of her heart.

And now this old man is telling me that beauty is his daughter?

If I were a little more naïve, I’d be stumbling all over myself to declare this to be the work of fate. I’m not going to do that, but I know an opportunity like this will not come by twice.

“They’re all grown up,” I comment casually as Albert, my butler, comes to pour us more red wine. He raises a questioning eyebrow at me, but I press on. To the old man, I say, “They must be starting their own families now.”

“Oh, no.” Wrinkles appear on the man’s forehead and around his brown eyes when he chuckles. “My girls haven’t been lucky when it comes to love, especially Rosemary. She hasn’t ever had a boyfriend.”

And yet, despite the man having daughters of marriageable age and me obviously staring too long at the picture, he makes no mention of match-making.

It doesn’t surprise me, of course. Even though I’m royalty, my reputation as a sadistic beast has preceded me.

Still, I suppress a smile from spreading across my face.

So she’s really a virgin.

I had my doubts when I saw the white band around her wrist at the club. There was a meaning attached to every color, and white was for virgins.

But I thought a girl like her must have had many suitors. She couldn’t possibly be untouched.

“I have to admit it’s good to have them all to myself, though, even though that sounds selfish,” the old man suddenly says, smiling awkwardly.

Returning his smile, I wonder if he simply said that to fill the silence. I’m so used to quiet and solitude that it feels normal to me.

“Well, Quentin, I should retire for the night,” I say. “I have an event to attend in the morning. It’s the anniversary of the women’s division of the Royal Navy tomorrow.”

“Thank you so much for everything, Prince James. I mean, Your Royal Highness,” the old man says as he stands up.

“Oh, please. No need to get up. Just sit back and enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you,” he repeats, stubbornly getting up. “If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me. I could’ve gotten lost in the woods and gotten attacked by wolves. You’ve saved my life.”

“Don’t mention it.” I give him the same polite smile that I usually give the press, then leave him with the mountains of food on the table.

I live alone in this big palace—along with Albert and the rest of the staff, of course. So when a guest comes, Albert tends to go overboard.

I thought this old man was just an ordinary lost traveler. This part of the woods is thick and it regularly swallows up hikers into its depths.

But it turns out he’s related to her.

Based on his non-reaction at my obvious interest in his daughters, Quentin has probably heard about my depraved desires. And just like the rest of the kingdom, he doesn’t want me to get close to any of them.

They seem like a nice little family, and he seems to think Rosemary would be better off if she never sees me again.

He’s wrong, of course, but he doesn’t know that.

In fact, I suspect I’m the only one who knows about his daughter’s dirty little secret.

Rosemary

“Hi, beautiful,” a cop greets me as soon as I walk through the glass door and into the police station.

“Hi Graham, have you heard any news about my father?” I ask, ignoring yet another one of his attempts at flirting. I need his help so it would probably be smarter to get on his good side, but I can’t stand the guy.

“No, Rose. I told you I’d come to your house to personally deliver the news if I heard anything,” Graham says.

“There’s no need for that. You know my number. You can just call me,” I say curtly.

“Okay, princess,” he says. He flashes me his rows of pearly white teeth.

I can only smile politely in response. The way he says it makes me cringe.

Sure, Graham has good looks, and some girls go for that. He has also climbed the ranks in the Willowdale Police Department at a young age, although a lot of his progress has to do with his father being the Chief of Police.

But nepotism isn’t why I’m not interested in his overtures. There’s something unpleasant about him that I can’t quite put a finger on.

For example, right now I know Graham doesn’t care about my father. He just likes the fact that I’m dropping by his workplace more often. He thinks he can use this opportunity to hit on me.

And when he said he’d visit me with any news? He’s only trying to get into my home, where my father doesn’t usually allow male visitors.

Yes, my father is more than a little old-fashioned. But he was born in a different land, where values were a lot more conservative, so I can’t blame him. He’s only trying to protect us.

“How long has it been again, since you last heard from him?” Graham asks.

This is a waste of time. I’ve already given him all the relevant information. There should be no need to go through those same details over and over again.

But I oblige. Anything to find my father.

“Three days. He texted me before he left the city,” I say.

“Three days since he left Malvern, huh? It should’ve taken him one day to get through the woods, so he should’ve been back two days ago,” Graham says.

“Yes.” I stop myself from reminding him that he said the same thing when I came here yesterday. This is not new information.

“It has been raining pretty heavily, so maybe he found shelter somewhere,” he says. “The cell reception is bad in the woods.”

“Yes.” I’m familiar with this problem, but I probably shouldn’t mention it, especially to someone like Graham.

Even though I’m already twenty-one, I’m not supposed to leave the sleepy town of Willowdale on my own—meaning without my father—but I’ve done it, a few times.

The first time I came home from the city, I couldn’t sleep from the fear and guilt. But I kept doing it regardless, and I got better at pushing those feelings aside.

I know it’s wrong and I know father wouldn’t approve, but I can’t help it. All my friends go to the city on weekends, and I’m the only one stuck at home.

I mean, I love my books, my home, and my family. But sometimes a girl wants to see what’s out there.

“Thanks, Graham,” I say as I turn around to leave the police station.

“Any time, beautiful,” he says.

Luckily, I already have my back to him, or he’d see me scrunch up my nose.

As the sun hits my skin and warms me up, I pull out my phone from my bag. Still nothing from my father.

I hope he’s okay.

He probably is. Nobody else but me seems to find it odd that he hasn’t made any contact in three days.

Even my sisters tell me he’s probably just lost his phone—considering how absent-minded my father is, that’s entirely possible.

I really hope they’re right.

James

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask.

Quentin’s plump body jerks from the shock. Obviously, he didn’t expect to be interrupted. He thought he had the whole garden to himself, the old thief.

If it weren’t for the surveillance cameras, I would’ve missed this. Unfortunately for him, I always check the security footage.

He turns around, and I can see the shock in his eyes. “Your Royal Highness,” he says in a squeaky little voice. “I, uh, I was just about to leave, and then I saw the garden, and—”

“And you thought you’d steal from me,” I cut him off. “I have so many plants, so I wouldn’t notice one or two missing. Have I guessed correctly?”

“I’m so sorry,” he says, cowering as I approach. “I really didn’t mean to steal. But I thought you were away, since you said you’d have an early start today, and—”

“And you thought it would be the perfect opportunity,” I finish his sentence for him as I stand right in front of him.

I’m aware of how much bigger and stronger I am than him, and I know how intimidating I seem to him right now.

Despite my royal upbringing, I’d gotten into more than a few fistfights when I was a schoolboy. Older and wiser now, I’ve learned how to subdue an opponent without even touching him.

“No, Your Highness, I swear I didn’t mean to steal anything. I just couldn’t find you or Albert,” Quentin says, his body shivering despite the warm weather. “I would’ve asked for permission otherwise.”

“But you didn’t,” I say in a calm tone that nevertheless makes my indignation known. “Did you know this was my mother’s beloved garden?”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. I didn’t know.”

“I suppose you also didn’t know that it’s a crime to take anything from palace grounds without permission.”

“I apologize, Your Highness. Please forgive me. I merely wanted to bring something home for my daughter, Rosemary,” he says.

My ears prick up with interest when he mentions her name, even as anger continues to simmer in my blood.

“Did she tell you to steal, too?” I ask.

“No, she would never do anything like that,” Quentin says. “When I left for the city, I asked my daughters what they wanted me to bring from the city.

“Since my truck got stuck in the mud, I figured it would take days or weeks for me to get it into town. And the gifts that I originally bought for my daughters would’ve been destroyed by the time I can retrieve them, and that’s only if they haven’t already been stolen.”

“Is there a point to this story?” I ask impatiently. I was expecting him to tell me more about Rosemary, and instead he’s talking about mud.

“My youngest daughter, she wanted me to bring home a rose. I bought her a bouquet of roses in the city, but at this rate the flowers would’ve wilted before I got a chance to bring them home,” he says.

“Your daughter, she likes flowers?”

It seems like a strange request to ask for flowers from the city. Judging by Quentin’s story about closing a particularly big deal in the city, he probably could’ve afforded better gifts on this trip, like branded handbags, designer gowns, or even jewelry.

“Yes, Your Highness. She’s a florist and she takes very good care of my late wife’s garden,” he says. “Please, I’m just a father trying to make his daughter happy.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you stole from the kingdom. Your daughter wouldn’t be very happy if you were imprisoned in the dungeon.”

Quentin falls to his knees, staining his khakis with damp soil. “Please, Your Highness, don’t throw me in the dungeon. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” I ask.

This could be interesting.

James

Last Month

When my gaze first lands on her, she's on the other side of the big hall.

But I can see her clearly. It's like the crowd has parted to give me a clear line of sight. It’s like there's a spotlight shining on her and following her around.

I know the lighting technician wouldn't do that, though. I hired him myself and made it clear how important privacy is for my clientele. He knows I’d fuck him up if he ever violates my rules.

The spotlight should only ever remain on the stage, on the performers and the handful of guests who probably get off on public attention. Like me, the rest of the club prefers to remain anonymous.

The difference is, they get to take off their masks as soon as they step out of this club. Me, I normally wear mine home.

It's easier to blend into the crowd wearing a party mask than it is to just walk down the street as myself. As the crown prince, I’m often recognized when I’m out and about, which is why I prefer to stay inside the palace.

I can’t afford to have my pictures plastered all over the gossip tabloids again, especially when my presence here at The Dungeon is somewhat related to a past scandal. This is why I only visit The Dungeon on Masquerade Night, a monthly event that requires all attendees to—you guessed it—wear masks.

The men wear black, unadorned masks that cover the upper part of our faces. The women’s masks have the same shape, but many of them are made of sparkly materials, and some have colorful bird feathers stuck on the,.

But she doesn't need these tricks to stand out.

Even amongst a sea of people, my eyes always find her.

At first, I notice the dress. It's a little too conservative for the venue, but it's irresistibly sexy.

It's a yellow off-the-shoulder number that nips in at her narrow waist and follows the curve of her hips. The way the dress displays her dainty shoulders and elegant neck makes me want to rip it off her body and see what secrets she's hiding underneath.

Her body starts to sway seductively to the music. But she seems uncomfortable, like she's worried she's doing something wrong. She’s probably new and not sure what to expect here—and I’d love to be the one to show her the ropes.

My gaze travels down her slender arm and to her wrist, where I see a white band. Her other band, a pink one, tells me she doesn't have a master. She's a free agent, which means I can claim her. But what's that—a collar?

I move with the crowd, keeping my gaze locked on her lovely form, even though I don't fully understand this pull toward her. I can always watch her from my private booth upstairs, but that won't be close enough.

It's bizarre; she's a beauty, but I see beautiful women all the time, and none of them has this kind of an impact on me. She gets me excited—my heartbeat is faster than usual—and it's been a while since the last time that happened.

By the time I find a good spot to watch her, the host has gotten up on stage and announced a new show. I don't care, though. Not now. Not with her in the crowd.

I’ve traveled all the way to Malvern to watch this show live, but even that doesn't seem appealing anymore.

From up close, she’s even more stunning. Her eyes are so big they're almost cartoonish. Her hair catches the light from the stage, making it seem like she has a glowing halo around her—it makes her appear even more out of place in this club full of depraved people.

I take a closer look at the thing curled around the graceful column of her neck. It doesn't seem to be a collar, but a choker necklace with a small gold pendant.

Arousal rises within, kindling a flame inside me. She’d look so good on her knees with a real collar—my collar—around her neck and nothing else.

She obviously needs a master. Even without her saying anything, I can tell she’d do well and even flourish, with the right master.

Just watch her. Really watch her. The tell-tale signs are subtle, but they're there.

On stage, a man has tied up a woman to a wooden post on the floor. The bottom part of the post looks like an inverted Y, spreading her legs apart. A horizontal piece tops the post, keeping her wrists spread and restrained. She has her knees on the ground and her ass in the air.

“You understand why I’m punishing you?” the man asks as he menacingly raises his whip.

“Yes, Master. Because I talked back to you, Master,” she says in a voice that betrays her fear and anxiety. With a blindfold over her eyes, she can't tell what's going on around her. She can't even see the hundreds of people watching her in her most vulnerable state right now.

“That's right.” The man swiftly brings down the whip, the leather slicing through the air with an audible sound.

As it lands sharply, the woman cries out. “Thank you, Master!” she adds quickly, afraid delayed gratitude would earn her more blows.

I don’t even have to look at the couple on the stage to know exactly what’s going on from the sounds alone.

How can I watch something as mundane as the show, when there’s a captivating, innocent-looking angel in front of me?

Her brown eyes widen when the whip hits the sub’s ass again. Her mouth opens with a gasp, and my cock stirs in my pants as my imagination goes wild with all the filthy things I can do with those full lips.

With every lash, she flinches like most of the audience, but the way she bites her bottom lip tells me she’ll fantasize about this scene when she goes home and lies alone in the dark, her naughty little fingers in her panties.

All around us, men in suits and masks hold leashes that are connected to their subs’ collars.

One man up in the booth has his sub kneeling on the floor between his thighs, pleasuring him orally as he watches the show.

A few feet behind me, a man leans back against the wall as he puts one hand around his sub’s neck and another hand down her skimpy panties.

My hands have never felt more empty. I want to take off her stupid choker and replace it with my collar. I’ll take her with me to the club and show off her obedience and her commitment to my pleasure.

I squint to take a better look at the gold pendant hanging between her clavicles.

Is that...a rose?

I almost burst out laughing, but I stop myself just in time. I may be wearing a mask, but I still can't afford to draw attention to myself. It's too easy for someone to recognize me.

Me, caught in a BDSM club? That would be a paparazzi’s wet dream. The tabloids would have a field day.

But a rose. That is too fucking perfect. It's like she has already been branded with my family crest, like she's already mine.

I have to talk to her.

As if she can hear my thoughts, she whispers something in her friend’s ear and leaves the crowd, making her way to the ladies’ room.

Her friend is wearing a collar. I can't see the end of the leash from where I'm standing, but it's safe to assume she's here with the guy beside her.

I wonder if that makes my little rose feel lonely, being the third wheel. Maybe she yearns for a firm hand to take control of her. Judging from how much she enjoys the show, she probably does.

I follow her and find a spot by the restrooms where I can wait for her.

My mind wanders to imagine what she's doing right now. I wonder if her panties are soaked, if her pussy is throbbing with desire.

After a few minutes that feel like hours, she appears.

She's teetering on her high heels, her hips swaying sensuously with every step she takes. She stops as she faces the crowd, craning her neck to find her friend.

I step in front of her and block her view.

“You must be new here,” I say to her bewildered face.

Her big brown eyes grow even bigger as she tilts her head up to look at me. “Uh...yeah,” she says.

She's so small I can just throw her over one shoulder and take her home right now, kicking and screaming, but that wouldn't be much fun.

I’d rather train her slowly and watch as she blooms before my eyes. I’d love to see her shed that self-consciousness and replace it the quiet confidence of a submissive, secure in the knowledge that only her master’s opinion matters, and her master is pleased with her.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. There's still a long way to go until she becomes my perfect submissive. But as I watch her, I know she's a diamond in the rough.

“I trust you’ve already been told to never make eye contact unless explicitly requested,” I say.

Her lips part in surprise, but no sound comes out. Instinctively, she starts to raise her eyes to look up at me again, but she catches herself and directs her gaze downward instead. “Sorry,” she says softly.

“And you’re supposed to address men in the club with respect,” I add. I take another step closer to her, until there are mere inches between us.

The proximity between us excites her. Maybe she likes it that I’m invading her personal space without asking for permission. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm calling her out and putting her in her place.

Whatever it is, she's responding to me—at least her body is. Her breathing picks up, and her face grows warm with color. She even squeezes her legs together, the muscles in her toned legs tensing.

She's getting aroused, and all it takes is a few words from me.

“Sorry, Sir,” she says, correcting herself.

The sight of her in that state, combined with the way she has just addressed me, sends blood rushing through my veins. My cock jumps in my pants.

I want to see how she reacts to my hand pulling her hair, and my lips all over her smooth skin. I want to tie her up with her legs parted wide and bury myself balls deep inside her.

For the second time tonight, I wonder how wet she is.

But judging from the white wristband and how unfamiliar she is with this environment, she's not ready yet for something like that. If I move too fast, she might run away like a scared little hare.

No, an exquisite treasure like her requires careful handling.

“Good girl,” I praise her.

She seems taken aback by my words. Obviously, she has never been addressed like that before. And evidently, she likes it.

“You're supposed to express gratitude when you're given a compliment,” I say.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” she says, her breaths rapid and heavy. She's a quick learner, and she's responsive to my dominance.

“Good,” I say. “Next time I see you, you’d better remember the rules.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Or else I’ll have to punish you.”

Her breath catches, and I would've heard a soft gasp from her, if the music didn't drown it out. God, what I wouldn't give to steal her away to my palace, where I can hear every delicious little noise she makes…

“You may leave now,” I say, dismissing her.

She almost glances up at me again, surprised the encounter is over—and at least a little disappointed. She catches herself in time and says, “Thank you, Sir,” before she walks away.

Too bad I have to let her go for now. But her reaction has just confirmed that taking it slow would be the best strategy.

Keep her on her toes, and keep her guessing. She's already wondering what I’m doing, why I'm sending her away after giving her a heady taste of what it means to submit.

I’ve already gotten into her head.

Yes, this one will take some time to get ready, but it’ll be worth it.

I’ll find her again, even if it means I'll have to leave the palace on my own more often, even if it means I’ll risk getting caught.

* * *

End of preview.

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About the Author

Nikki Chase is a contemporary romance author. After having her own real-life insta-love experience, Nikki now lives happily ever after with her husband in the Pacific Northwest.

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