We scramble to separate, grabbing clothes, dressing with hands that shake from more than exertion. My blouse is wrinkled, my skirt twisted, and I don’t even want to think about what my hair looks like.
Breck tucks in his shirt and runs a hand through his hair to smooth it down. He looks wrecked in the best manner—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, and eyes dark.
I step back, panic rising in my throat.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
When the infatuation with me stops, what if he fires me? What if Enzo and Ansel fire me, regardless, because I just fucked someone in the server room?
Breck reaches for me.
I cut him off before he can say anything. “Don’t. We can’t talk about this.”
“Remy, what are you talking about?”
“We got caught up in the moment.” The admission rips out of me. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect anything from you. We can pretend this never happened.”
Even though I know I will never be able to pretend I didn’t just have the best sex of my life.
He takes a step toward me. “Don’t do this.”
I grab my blazer from the floor, shrugging it on even though it’s wrinkled beyond recognition. “We work together. I’m not going to make this weird. But we can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
I exhale and decide not to hold back my feelings. “Because I could lose everything when you lose interest in me! My career, my reputation… Damon spread rumors about me, and I couldn’t bear it if you did the same thing. If anyone learns about this, I’m done. And not just here. Word spreads fast in this industry.”
Breck goes very still. “I would never do that to you. Ever.”
“Please, Breck.” I know I’m begging, but I don’t care.
“So that’s it? We pretend this didn’t happen?”
I need to escape. I need air. “It’s the only option.”
The formality of my response makes him flinch.
I’m already moving toward the door. “I have to go. We should leave separately. You wait a few minutes.”
I don’t let him speak. I walk through the door and into the fluorescent hallway, my heels clicking against linoleum with each step.
His voice follows me out. “I’ll handle the security footage.”
I don’t turn around to acknowledge the comment. But my shoulders relax slightly knowing that at least no one will see what we did.
The building is mostly empty at this hour. There are a few night shift workers and security personnel, but no one to witness my walk of shame, my wrinkled clothes, or my swollen lips that feel like they’re broadcasting exactly what I did.
I take the stairs because the elevator feels too public. Each floor I climb, the ache in my chest intensifies. I don’t even bother going back to my office to collect my things. I have my car keys, that’s all I need.
By the time I reach the parking garage, I can barely breathe.
The silver car—the one the brothers gave me—sits in its designated spot. I climb inside and lock the doors, then sit there in the darkness, hands shaking on the steering wheel.
I can still feel Breck’s hands on my skin, hear the sounds he made when he came, and I can still taste him on my lips.
And I walked away from him like it meant nothing.
Like he meant nothing.
