A business trip, one too many drinks, and I ended up in bed with my boss. I woke up in the middle of the night, sobered by sheer panic, and made a run for it. The moment I got home in the pre-dawn gloom, I scrambled to check my bank account. An hour later, my heart sinking with every passing second, I had no choice but to call my boss. “Mr. Kingsley? I was just calling to see if you were satisfied with the VVIP service I arranged for you last night.” Silence. Then, his signature deep voice, raspy with sleep and a faint London accent, crackled through the phone. “I was drunk, Abby, not erased. Now get your ass back here and pick me up.” Me: Picking you up is not an option. But I can arrange for you to be… disposed of. 1 The company had just transferred a new boss from our London office. Marcus Kingsley. Young, rich, and so handsome it was almost unfair. He made all the other so-called “elites” in the office, who had seemed perfectly presentable before, look like absolute trolls. In the two months he’d been with us, Marcus had proven himself to be low-key in person but extravagant in his methods. He’d silently bulldozed through a year’s worth of backlogged problems, solving them all without breaking a sweat. At the quarterly review, our department didn’t just become number one; we also walked away with the largest team bonus. The old-timers who used to mutter about “overseas transfers being all style, no substance” suddenly shut their mouths. They were now the first to offer a friendly word or try to claim some distant connection. And once everyone knew Marcus was single, the women in the office went on the offensive. Take Jessica, for instance, widely considered the office bombshell. Her skirts got shorter, and whenever she went to Marcus’s office, she practically tried to sign documents from his lap. But Marcus deflected every advance with infuriating, effortless grace. After six months, the female troops had all retreated, defeated and demoralized. One day, they were all gathered in the breakroom, comparing notes and discovering that none of them had succeeded. There was a certain camaraderie in their shared failure. After a round of jokes, someone’s gaze landed on me. “If I remember correctly, Abby’s the only one who hasn’t thrown herself at Mr. Kingsley. What’s the matter? Not your type?” Marcus Kingsley had a face that could start a war. He was lean in a suit, but you just knew he was hiding a body that was pure muscle. Who wouldn't be tempted? Besides, with everyone else so obviously trying, saying I wasn’t interested would just make me sound arrogant. That’s a major workplace sin. So, I quickly defended myself. “No way! I threw myself at him long before you all did. He just wasn’t catching.” “When?” The entire room was suddenly buzzing with gossip. I pretended to think hard. “The day he started. My heel got stuck in the elevator gap, and I stumbled right into his arms. Total coincidence.” It was a true story. He had steadied me by the waist, a small smile playing on his lips as he’d murmured, “Careful.” “Pfft, that was an accident,” they all laughed. I laughed along with them, deciding to come clean. “Look, a handsome face is nice, but I’m a woman who loves her money. I’m on a mission to save two million dollars so I can quit the rat race and retire to my quiet hometown. Men are nowhere near as important as cash.” As soon as the words left my mouth, the glass door to the breakroom slid open. Marcus Kingsley stood there, phone in hand. I had no idea how long he’d been listening. “Abby,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Pack your bags. We’re going on a business trip. Here’s your chance to make some money.” Me: … Everyone else scattered like startled birds. 2 It was my first business trip with Marcus in the six months he’d been here. The driver, Ben, was already waiting downstairs. He saw me get out of my cab and even helped with my luggage. As we were chatting, Marcus came down, a laptop bag in one hand, deep in a phone call. He handed the bag to me, his eyes gesturing for me to get in the car first. I settled into my seat, and he continued his call for another couple of minutes. Through the window, I unabashedly sized him up. He really was gorgeous. A perfect six-foot-two frame, a meticulously styled haircut, a strong nose, and sharp, intelligent eyes. When he wasn't smiling, he had an untouchable air, but when he did, he was like a dangerously charming fox. No wonder women were falling all over him. I’d heard rumors that models and actresses were pursuing him. Who would be the lucky one to finally snag him? Marcus hung up and pulled open the car door. Our eyes met. He gave me a quick, assessing glance, then another. I immediately straightened up, staring straight ahead, trying to suppress the frantic beating of my heart and project an aura of pure professionalism. Then I heard him speak. “Move over.” Three seconds later, I practically launched myself to the other side of the car as if the seat were on fire. “Oh! Right, of course.” Marcus got in and closed the door. As the car pulled away, I turned to stare out my window, my mind racing. Damn it, that was so embarrassing! 3 On the road, Marcus took two more calls before turning his attention to me. “You’re from Aspen Creek, aren’t you, Miss Clark?” “Yes, I am.” He smiled, his long fingers tapping a rhythm on his thigh. They looked strong. “Aspen Creek is beautiful. A real gem.” “You’ve been?” “My family used to spend summers there sometimes, to escape the heat.” I instantly pictured the ridiculously expensive summer villas in the new district of my hometown. A wave of resentment toward the wealthy washed over me. Strangely, that feeling steadied my nerves. “It is,” I said, my voice gaining confidence. “It’s a famous summer destination. They’ve built a lot of new tourist spots in recent years. It’s a great place to relax…” Once I started talking about my hometown, I couldn’t stop. It was, after all, the reason I was so obsessed with saving enough money to quit. “I’ll have to visit again sometime,” Marcus said, smoothly ending my monologue and transitioning to work. The task for this trip wasn't complicated, but the client was notoriously difficult. Everyone who had tried to deal with him before had failed, which was why Marcus had to handle it personally. My own skills were in meticulous attention to detail, not in blazing new trails, which I guessed was why he’d brought me along. When we met the client, he was just as difficult as advertised. A slippery old snake. You’d talk about work, he’d talk about gourmet food, the stock market, investment opportunities. You’d bring up contract terms, he’d lecture you on the art of relationships, quoting ancient philosophers. It was enough to make even someone with my patience want to start throwing things. Marcus, however, remained calm, intercepting a glass of wine meant for me. “Mr. Peterson, why don’t we continue this tomorrow? I hear there’s another club with fantastic grilled fish.” “Excellent! It’s a date, then.” After we sent the drunken Mr. Peterson on his way, I stood fuming in the parking lot. “Mr. Kingsley, do you think he’s ever going to sign?” For a fleeting moment, a harsh, predatory light glinted in Marcus’s eyes, vanishing so quickly I thought I’d imagined it. “Oh, he’ll sign,” he said with a soft, dangerous laugh. “Or I’ll kill him.” 4 A shiver went down my spine. I felt like I had just glimpsed a very dark, very real side of him. So much for the refined gentleman. Marcus told me to get in the car. We’d both had a bit too much to drink, and the drive back was long. Before I knew it, I had drifted off. When I woke up, the first thing I saw was Marcus with his arms half-wrapped around me, his eyes closed, his head nodding with sleep. The slightest movement from me caused his hand to tighten on my shoulder, as if to keep me from sliding off the seat. I froze, not daring to move an inch. We finally pulled up to the hotel. Before Marcus could even open his eyes, I scrambled out of his grasp like a whirlwind, tossing a single sentence behind me as I bolted. “I think I’m gonna be sick! Going back to my room!” I didn’t dare look back to see his expression. Back in my room, soaking in the bathtub, my head started to clear. I splashed my hot face with water, trying to calm myself down. It’s just a hug, what’s the big deal? It’s common courtesy. He’s a gentleman. He wasn’t going to let his female colleague fall onto the floor of the car, right? He couldn’t possibly be interested in me. I was just overthinking it. With that thought, I relaxed. But just as I finished my bath, there was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” I called out. After a short pause, Marcus’s low voice came from the other side. “It’s me. Open the door…” … “Mr. Kingsley? Is something wrong? I was just about to go to sleep.” I could almost hear him gritting his teeth. “Just open the door.” I had no choice. I cinched my robe tight and went to the door, cracking it open just a sliver. I peered out at him through the gap. “What can I do for you, Mr. Kingsley?” He was still wearing the same clothes from dinner, though he’d ditched the jacket. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, revealing toned forearms that radiated raw power. He looked annoyed. He took a step back, planting his hands on his hips. “Come out here.” I shook my head. “To prevent myself from doing anything inappropriate to you, I think it’s best I stay in here.” Marcus looked up at the ceiling as if praying for patience, then tried to reason with the drunkard. “I’d like to see what kind of ‘inappropriate things’ you have in mind. Get out here.” I was resolute. “For the sake of my two-million-dollar retirement fund, I cannot risk offending my boss.” That was the last straw. With a huff of exasperation, he threw a small white box onto the floor in front of the door and stalked off. As he left, he shot one last threat over his shoulder. “You’d better remember that two million dollars for the rest of your life!” !!! 5 After he left, I picked up the white box. Hangover pills. He was actually kind of thoughtful. The next morning, looking at the opened box of pills on my nightstand, I cringed at the memory of my drunken antics. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I went downstairs and knocked on Marcus’s door to ask about the day’s plan. He opened it just a crack before turning and walking back into the room. His voice, cool and echoing slightly, floated out to me. “Miss Clark, if you can’t control yourself, you can deliver your reports from the hallway from now on.” I sighed in frustration. He was never going to let this go. I pushed the door open a little wider, slipped inside, and closed it behind me. “Mr. Kingsley, I brought you some breakfast…” I trailed off, my eyes widening at the scene before me. The six-foot-two man was standing by the fridge, drinking water, with nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips. As he tilted his head back, a single drop of water traced a path down his long neck, over his sharp Adam’s apple, across a chiseled pec, and down his hard abs, finally disappearing beneath the edge of the towel. And the man was completely oblivious to how ridiculously tempting he looked. He finished drinking and turned to look at me, a smirk on his face. He let out a soft “Hah,” as if mocking me for being all talk and no action. “So, figured out how you’re going to have your wicked way with me yet?” he teased. My face flushed a deep crimson. I quickly looked away. “Mr. Kingsley, I was really drunk last night. Please, just make fun of me and get it over with.” He chuckled again, then turned and went into the bedroom to change without another word. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I really couldn't handle him like this. We didn’t go out that morning. Marcus had me and another assistant review all our preliminary work from the beginning, looking for any oversights. If the problem wasn’t on our end, then our client had ulterior motives. Marcus supervised personally, double-checking every clause, especially the penalty fees and financial figures. He had changed into a pair of light grey casual pants and a matching knit sweater. The v-neck dipped just low enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of his impressive physique. Yet his demeanor was once again cool and refined, as if the man who had been teasing me in a towel was a different person entirely. When Marcus worked, he was meticulous. He could spot a misplaced comma from a mile away. His level of professionalism was undeniable. The problem was, he was also young, and handsome, and… sexy, and… “Daydreaming?” Lost in thought, I snapped back to reality. I’d been staring at his face for three solid minutes. I quickly recomposed myself, chanting my mantra: This is the time for making money, not for lusting after men. “You have a great eye for detail, Mr. Kingsley,” I said, offering a clumsy compliment. He leaned back in his chair, stretching. “Draft a new contract with these revisions and send it to Mr. Peterson. If he still won’t sign, we’ll put it on hold.” On hold? I thought he was in a hurry. I couldn't keep up with his thought process. We sent the revised contract. It was met with radio silence. As expected, Mr. Peterson was still not satisfied. Just as he’d said, Marcus put the deal on hold. No more dinner invitations for Mr. Peterson. The next day, Marcus announced he was taking me to a private cocktail party. I was confused, but at the party, I saw him: Mr. Peterson’s boss. After a bit of schmoozing from Marcus, the big boss was practically beaming at us, expressing his enthusiasm for our company. My eyes lit up. Was Marcus planning to cut out the middleman entirely? Ha! When that bald old snake Peterson found out, he was going to lose his mind. I gave Marcus a mental thumbs-up. The man was a genius. Our efforts paid off. Not only did we land a massive deal, but we also bypassed the middleman, opening up a whole new, more direct business channel. On the night we celebrated our success, Marcus took a lot of drinks for me. As a result, both of us ended up completely hammered. On the way back, Marcus was walking straight, seemingly steady. But the moment we got in the car, he started trying to wrestle the keys from our driver, Ben. “Ben, you’ve worked hard. Go on, take the night off. I’ll drive.” Ben looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “Mr. Kingsley, you’ve been drinking! You can’t drive!” Marcus turned to me. “Did I drink?” I answered with perfect seriousness. “Nope. You drank amnesia water. Ah, give me a cup of amnesia water…” Ben looked like his head was about to explode. When we got back to the hotel, I heard Marcus waving Ben off in the lobby. “Thanks for everything. Go home.” “Are you sure you don’t need me to help you up, sir?” Ben asked, his voice laced with worry. Marcus shook his head. “I’m fine. I know the way.” And then, he steadily followed me into my room and collapsed onto my bed. I was drunk too, but at least I wasn't causing a scene. I stared at him, exasperated. “This is my room.” He looked at me with grave seriousness. “I paid for it.” I was speechless. I was starting to suspect he was faking it. Annoyed, I tried to pull him up. “Get up. This is my bed.” He looked at me lazily, not budging. “Could be mine.” I snapped. “If you don’t get up, I’ll do something inappropriate to you.” Even drunk, his tone was laced with that same mocking challenge. “Hah,” he scoffed, then added in a slow, infuriating drawl, “Go ahead. I dare you.” Me: Deep breaths, Abby. Deep breaths. Hadn't anyone ever told him not to use reverse psychology on a drunk person? Looking at this infuriatingly handsome mix of innocent college boy and refined gentleman, I lost all control and pounced. Whatever. He asked for it. The moment I lunged, he caught me, and in one smooth motion, flipped us over, pinning me beneath him. My last conscious thought before passing out was a big question mark. Didn’t that move seem a little too smooth, a little too… premeditated? Like a fisherman who had finally hooked his catch?
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