My new office was stunning, perched high above the glittering chaos of New York. The view alone felt like a promotion. That, and the delicious paycheck hitting my account every Friday.
I learned quickly that when Aaron Simmons walked in and loosened his tie, it meant the day was about to get brutal. Today? Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled. Shoulders tense. Game on.
I glanced at him from my desk, where paperwork had staged a full-blown rebellion. He was hunched over his own mountain of files, jaw tight, brows knit. CEO and owner of the company—and yet, here he was, grinding through it like the rest of us.
The man was an enigma. Rich enough to buy an island, but instead, he spent his days elbow-deep in spreadsheets and strategy.
Meanwhile, I was sweating through my blouse, curls frizzed beyond salvation, and trying to decode next week's stock projections. My inbox pinged. An email from Aaron, requesting a flight to Hong Kong two weeks from now. I flagged it, filed it, booked it.
Just as I clicked "confirm," a knock came at the door. A tall blond man entered, holding out a cup.
"Hey—I'm Ryan. Brought you some orange juice. Donuts are in the break room."
My soul practically wept with joy. "Thank you," I said, taking the cup like it was an offering from heaven. I followed him down the hall, stomach growling.
The break room smelled like sugar and salvation. I snatched a jelly-filled donut and inhaled it.
Ryan pulled out a chair, so I sat, grabbing a second donut like a woman possessed.
"You're new, right? Not from around here?"
I shook my head, half-listening as I bit into the sugary goodness.
He launched into a monologue about how much he loved New York. I nodded, brain elsewhere—still adjusting to the noise, the crowds, the speed of this place.
"This is my first real meal in three days," he said with a laugh.
"Living the dream," I replied dryly.
He smirked. "That's the beauty of this job—built-in starvation plan."
I sighed, longing for a cheeseburger.
Then, he leaned in just a bit. "What do you say to dinner tonight? Business, of course."
Before I could answer, Aaron stepped into the room.
Ryan straightened like he'd been electrocuted.
Aaron plucked a donut from the box and sat beside me without a word. The air shifted the moment he did, his presence a gravitational pull I could never resist.
His thigh brushed mine. I felt it in my spine.
Ryan glanced between us, confused by the silence, the weight of something he didn't understand.
"So, uh… how busy are you this week, Mr. Simmons?" he asked.
Aaron leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes thoughtful. He didn't even need to speak to make my heart race.
He caught me staring and smiled like he knew exactly what was on my mind.
"How busy would you say we are, Miss Jackson?"
I groaned internally and glanced toward the ever-growing chaos on my desk. "We're swamped," I muttered.
Ryan gave me a sympathetic look. "You could use a night off."
Aaron's phone rang. He stood, answering it with a curt nod. Then, as he turned to leave, he tossed over his shoulder, "Dinner after work."
No question. Just a statement.
I blinked, my jaw ticking. Did he really just—
"Look at that ass," Ryan murmured.
I glanced at him, startled to see him watching Aaron walk away, eyes hungry.
"You're into Mr. Simmons?" I asked, raising a brow.
Ryan gave a sheepish grin. "Aren't you? He's like... dangerously hot."
I tilted my head. "He seeing anyone?"
Ryan shrugged. "Not that I've heard. His last assistant quit after he rejected her—in front of everyone. Brutal."
Oof.
I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ease the tight knot forming there.
Ryan smirked. "Hot night?"
I froze. "What?"
He held up his phone and snapped a picture before I could stop him. My stomach dropped.
The screen showed hickeys. Deep red blotches scattered across my neck and shoulder like a confession.
Shit.
"You can cover it up," he offered, almost kindly.
I muttered a rushed thank-you and power-walked back to my office, heart pounding.
Aaron didn't look up as I passed, but I felt him watching me the second I sat down. I tugged my blouse slightly, trying to see my reflection on the darkened computer screen. The marks were impossible to miss.
"Fuck," I whispered, cheeks burning.
When I looked up, Aaron was watching me.
His gaze flicked to the exposed curve of my shoulder, then back to my face. One brow quirked. I adjusted my blouse with trembling fingers and buried myself in work like it could save me.
By eight, Ryan had said his goodbyes. I finished my report, kicked off my heels, and let out a long breath.
"You ready?" Aaron asked, standing in the doorway, briefcase in hand.
I nodded and slipped on my flats.
The office was dark and silent as we walked to the elevators. We stepped in. The doors slid shut with a soft ding.
The moment they did, Aaron turned to me, voice low and casual. "You know, I've thought about hitting the emergency stop button and fucking you right here."
My knees nearly gave out.
He stepped closer, setting his briefcase on the floor. The heat radiating off his body had nothing to do with proximity—it was his energy. Caged. Intentional. Hungry.
I looked up into those sharp, ice-blue eyes, breath trapped in my lungs.
He leaned in, close enough for me to feel his breath on my neck.
But then, I heard a faint click. He'd pushed a button.
Aaron smirked. "Not tonight, Alaina."
He stepped back, cool and controlled.
"Not until you ask me to."
I exhaled shakily, heart pounding in my ears, as he pulled out his phone like he hadn't just flipped my entire nervous system inside out.
But my mind? It stayed right there—on the idea of what could've happened in that elevator.
And the heat blooming between my thighs told me I just might ask.