*Isabella's POV*
* Monday morning *
Ah, Monday again. Fuck. Back to the grind. The whole weekend felt like a surreal, sex-fueled dream, and now I was being rudely awakened by the shrill sound of my alarm. I took a long, hot shower, letting the water beat against my skin, trying to soothe muscles that were still deliciously sore. I stood in front of my closet, my eyes scanning the options. Today felt like a yellow dress day. A sunny, flirty-but-still-kinda-formal number that said, "Yes, I'm a professional, but I also got railed by two gorgeous men all weekend and I'm not even sorry." I slipped it on, took a deep breath, and made my way to work, bracing myself for the weirdness that was now my life.
I was seated at my desk, pretending to look busy, when I felt a familiar presence lean against the wall. Jacob.
"What's wrong, doll?" he asked, his voice a low, teasing murmur that already had my stomach doing a little flip.
I sighed, not even looking up from my computer screen. "Oh, it's nothing," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just have a shit-ton of work to do. And certain person—or some people, I should say—didn't exactly let me rest the whole fucking weekend."
He chuckled, a warm, rich sound that made me want to smile, but I fought it. "I call bullshit," he said, his voice dropping. "Tell me what's the matter."
"Shoo," I said, waving a dismissive hand at him. "Go away. I have work to do."
"Oh, please," he said, a knowing, infuriating smirk spreading across his face. "Because you and I both know Damien is in a meeting with marketing until noon, which means you have no actual work to do." He leaned in closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "So, try again."
I let out a long, dramatic sigh, slumping in my chair. "I can't stand it when you look at me like that," I grumbled, finally giving in. "Fine. Let's go to Damien's office." I stood up, grabbing my coffee mug, and we made our way down through quiet room, the click of my heels echoing on the polished floor.
Once inside, the door clicked shut behind us, and we were just standing there in the middle of Damien's ridiculously large, sterile office. The silence that followed wasn't just quiet; it was fucking heavy, oppressive, pressing down on me until I couldn't stand it.
"How much longer can you stall?" he said, his voice losing its playful edge, cutting right through the bullshit.
I let out a shaky breath, the words just tumbling out before I could stop them. "I'm in big shit," I admitted, my voice sounding small and pathetic even to my own ears. "At the end of this week, I have to pay fifty thousand dollars." I paused, letting the insane number hang in the air. "Or else my life is as good as screwed."
"What?" he paused, his playful demeanor completely gone, replaced by a look of serious concern. He took a step closer. "Do you have a gambling problem?" he asked, his voice cautious, like he was treading on thin ice.
"No," I snapped, the defensive words flying out of my mouth, sharp and brittle. "Why the actual fuck would you assume that? It's my college tuition, okay?" I retorted, my voice cracking on the last word.
He let out a breath he didn't seem to know he was holding, a visible wave of relief washing over him. "Phew, such a relief," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Although... how come?" he asked, his tone softer now, gentle.
I looked down at my shoes, feeling a familiar heat of shame creep up my neck. "I lost my scholarship," I mumbled. "And since then, I've just been saving and saving, but it's not enough." I looked back up at him, my eyes pleading with him to understand. "It may not seem like a big deal to you, but it is to me."
I let out a long, shaky sigh, the weight of it all pressing down on my chest. "NC State has been my dream university since I was a fucking kid," I said, my voice quiet, barely a whisper. "I had a master's in business administration all planned out in my head, but look at me. I'm almost 23 already, and I'm just a secretary. I can't even finish college. My fucking life is falling apart, and I have no idea what's going to become of me." The words just tumbled out, a pathetic, jumbled mess of all my deepest fears and insecurities.
"Would you stop it already?" Jacob said, his voice cutting through my pity party. It wasn't unkind, just... firm. "I'll pay your tuition."
I looked at him, my eyes wide, my mouth slightly agape. Did I hear him right? Was he fucking with me? "You what?" I asked, my voice a choked, disbelieving squeak.
That's when I heard it. A low, deliberate cough. Someone clearing their throat. I turned my head toward the door, my heart leaping into my throat, and saw him. Standing there, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the entire fucking world, was none other than Damien. His arms were crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were fixed on his brother.
"Yes, Jacob," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. "You what?"
"Damien," I said, my heart leaping into my throat. "I didn't hear you come in."
He didn't say a word, just walked closer, his expensive shoes clicking softly on the polished floor, each step a deliberate, measured sound that made my anxiety spike. He stopped in front of us, his gaze moving from Jacob to me, and it was like a fucking switch had been flipped.
"What's going on, Isabella?" he asked, his voice devoid of any warmth. His gaze was cold, calculating, assessing. He was back to being the Professional Cold Boss I knew, not the boyfriend who had been fucking the daylights out of me all weekend. Just like that, I was reduced to that same stuttering mess I was when I first started working for him. All the confidence, the smart-mouthed teasing, the sexual power I'd felt over the weekend... it all just fucking evaporated.
"I just... I was..." I began, my voice already trembling, when he cut me off.
"Are we really back to fucking Ground Zero?" he asked, his voice sharp, impatient. "Talk to me."