Chapter 1
Jasmine
Deciding to cross the line with Nathaniel Grayson—my billionaire boss and my best friend Sophie’s stepdad—is the scariest choice I’ve ever made. That includes turning what started as a joke—reading erotic short stories alone in my bedroom—into an actual audio narration gig over the past eighteen months.
September sunlight slants across the quartz countertop in the penthouse kitchen. Past the French doors, Lake Washington sparkles in that hazy, soft-focus way Seattle has this time of year.
I pull out the zucchini and feta egg bake out of the oven—Sophie’s latest craving—and set it on the counter to cool. From the stove, I slide a perfectly folded omelet onto a warm plate and add a blueberry muffin on the side. For Mr. Grayson.
My half-eaten breakfast—toast slathered in my favorite spicy jalapeño jelly—sits on a plate.
Sweet, sharp, fiery. Could be me, if I had any bite at all.
I can be that woman, I remind myself.
This kitchen—the heart of my boss’s sleek, high-rise penthouse—has become the center of my life. It’s where I laugh with Sophie late into the night, where I listen back to the day’ssteamy chapters I narrated on my phone, where I pretend that I belong here.
That I belong in his penthouse.
In his life.
When Mr. Grayson asked me to move in nearly four years ago, to help Sophie through her chronic health spiral, it was like being offered a life raft when you’re drowning.
After Mom’s sudden death—heart attack—I had nowhere else to go. No way could I even think of staying at our condo. Not with my stepdad Clive barely tolerating me when she was alive.
Mr. Grayson offered me safety and stability in those grief-stricken days when Sophie dragged me to the penthouse. Later, he made it official by drawing up an employment contract.
And now, I have to prepare myself to lose it all.
Just last night, I saw Sophie’s college applications open on her laptop. The invoice from her private college counselor was still on the printer tray. I stared at it for way too long, like it would rewrite itself if I blinked hard enough.
She hasn’t told me that she’s begun applying to college. Hasn’t told Mr. Grayson either.
But she’s serious this time. Restless in a way I’ve never seen.
Something happened over the summer that changed her. And now, she’s clawing for independence.
Which means my orbit around the man I’ve been low-key obsessed with is almost over.
I adore Nathaniel Grayson with every cell in my body. But he might as well be the blazing sun to my plain skinny Venus, forever orbiting and never allowed to land.
He’s nearly twenty years older than me.
A powerful CEO. A caring stepdad. A silver fox with piercing gray eyes and a mouth that could ruin me in one kiss. And I’m... me.
Twenty-three. A skinny nothing with a giant birthmark the shape of Texas splashed across my left cheek. It either earns me pity, horror, or really creative cruelty. I’m hyper-aware of it, always. And the idea of Mr. Grayson seeing me as something that deserves his pity has been grating on me in the last few months.
The whispering swish of the elevator makes me stiffen. I know the weight of his footsteps, the way the room changes when he enters.
But today, instead of sneaking glances at him, I turn fully and face him.
Mr. Grayson walks into the kitchen in a sleeveless black tee, sweat slicking the edges of his silver-streaked hair. There’s a damp sheen across his arms, a bead of sweat clinging to his collarbone I want to chase with my tongue.
His gray sweatpants hang low, clinging to his tapered hips.
I can’t breathe for long seconds, like the sight alone demands reverence. And then it hits me—my half-baked plan to get him to notice me.
I plan to be chattier with him, maybe even flirty. To engage him in real conversation instead of staring like a lovesick fool. To make him notice me as more than his stepdaughter’s plain friend who cooks his breakfast and keeps his house clean.
