I scoff. “Not the point, Dani.”
“Fine, fine.” Her voice softens. “So what now? You can’t let your family get crushed, but you can’t lose this job either.”
“I know.” My voice cracks on it. “So I’m stuck lying to both sides until I figure out a way to fix it.”
7
JONATHAN
I make it home, strip down, and throw myself into bed like a man about to wrestle sleep into submission. Spoiler: sleep wins. Or rather, it doesn’t show up at all.
“Keep things professional.”
The words loop in my skull like a broken record. Shouldn’t gut me. Shouldn’t even sting. I’ve closed deals that would bankrupt kingdoms, but one woman looks me in the eye and tells me to behave, and I’m flat on my back like some kid with his first heartbreak. Pathetic.
I stare at the ceiling fan until I swear it’s mocking me. Every time I blink, it’s her face. The way her lips parted, the way her eyes slid away from mine like she couldn’t bear to hold the line she was drawing.
Dry laugh. “Professional,” I mutter to the empty room. “Yeah, that’ll be easy. Right after I take up knitting and join a monastery.”
Eventually, exhaustion drags me under. And that’s when she comes back—except in my dream she’s not careful, not cautious. She’s straddling me in that pencil skirt, blouse unbuttoned enough to spill my fantasies into the open.
Her mouth is on mine, hungry, tongue wet and demanding. Her breasts press against my chest, her nipples hard under the thin fabric. My hands fist in her hair, yanking her head back so I can take her throat into my mouth, biting, sucking, leaving marks that scream mine.
She grinds against me, panties soaked, dragging her heat over my cock until I’m swearing into her mouth. “You like being my little distraction, don’t you, Lizzy?”
“Yes,” she moans, breathless, clawing at my chest. “God, yes.”
I rip her panties aside and slam into her, the dream version of her arching and crying out, clenching around me like she was made for it. I pound into her until the headboard smashes the wall, until her breasts bounce in my palms, until the sound of her moans turn raw and broken.
She shatters first, trembling, crying my name. I don’t stop until I’m spilling into her, grinding her down into the mattress, claiming her so thoroughly the sheets smell like sex and sin.
When I jolt awake, my cock is hard, sweat dampens my chest, and the sheets are tangled around my legs. Professional, my ass.
By the time I finally drag myself out the door, the world is buried in fresh snow. I take the long way across the lot, boot heels scuffing lazy patterns into the drifts like a sulking schoolboy. Pathetic, maybe, but it buys me a few more seconds before I have to face her.
Professional. Fine. I can do professional. I’ve built an empire on restraint. But restraint’s a hell of a lot harder when the woman testing it sits right outside my damn office door.
The glass doors groan open, and the heater blasts my face with dry warmth. Sherry’s behind the front desk now, standing in for Lizzy. She beams at me like she’s been waiting.
“Good morning, Mr. Clark. Cold one today. I brewed fresh coffee for you.”
I give her the kind of polite smile I’ve perfected over the years, pour myself a cup of black, and hope the burn will wake me out of this haze.
I don’t even get a full swallow before Chase barrels down the hall. “Jon—conference room. We’ve got reps already here. They want a client meeting.”
“What?” The word is sharper than I intend. “How the hell do they even know yet? I haven’t sent the emails.”
Chase shrugs, grin wide. “Don’t ask me, but hey—early’s good. We’re ahead of schedule for once.”
I sigh, clutch the coffee tighter, and follow him down the hall. Then I see her.
Lizzy. Bent over her desk, focused, pen flying across the page. She glances up, catches my eye, and smiles—calm, collected, as if last night never happened.
And just like that, I know. She sent the damn emails. She set this in motion.
I should be annoyed. I should call her in, remind her who makes the calls here. Instead, I find myself biting back a smile. Chase is right—she’s made us look good. Efficient. Ahead of the game.
But it’s the way she looked at me, all bright-eyed, like we didn’t nearly tear each other apart in my office last night—that’s what sticks.
