What are we doing?
This is going to end badly.
This always ends badly.
I shake my head, thinking about the way he just fucked me on his desk, and also thinking about how only more of that mind-blowing sex awaits tonight.
No. It’s going to end well.
Stop being so negative.
I catch sight of my reflection in the darkened window. My blouse still wrinkled from his hands, my lipstick long gone, my hair mussed.
I look like exactly what I am: a woman who just had sex with her boss and is now bringing him home.
You’re an idiot.
A complete and total idiot.
But as we cross into Queens and the familiar streets of Astoria start appearing, I realize something.
I’m smiling.
Maybe Iaman idiot.
But for the first time in a long time, I’m an idiot who feelsalive.
20
Bree
Two weeks.
Two weeks of sneaking around like teenagers whose parents don’t approve of their relationship. Except my parents would probably love Nico. He’s rich, driven, and ridiculously handsome in that brooding way moms eat up.
It’s everyone else who’s the problem.
I step out of the elevator onto the 28th floor at 8:27 AM, coffee in hand, professional mask firmly in place. My concealer game has never been stronger. Seriously, I should publish a YouTube tutorial. “How to Hide Evidence of Your Boss’s Mouth on Your Neck.”
You’re a walking HR violation, Bree.
Congratulations.
Piper looks up from reception as I pass. Her smile is the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Never has, actually, but lately there’s been something sharper underneath it.
“Morning, Bree.” Her gaze slides down my outfit. Today’s choice is a navy blazer over a cream silk topand black slacks. Conservative and boring, which is how work outfits should be.
“Morning, Piper,” I reply.
“You look tired,” she comments.
I stop. Turn back. “Excuse me?”
“Just saying.” She shrugs one far-too elegant shoulder. “Late night?”
The question lands like a slap disguised as concern. My cheeks heat despite my best efforts to control them.
She knows.
