Page 44 of Saved By the CEO

The living room is a mix of dark wood, soft fabrics, and warm light. Plants spill out of oversized pots. Books fill entire shelves. A blanket has been thrown over one end of the couch, as if someone had been using it earlier and forgotten to fold it.

The place feels lived in.

It’s not the soulless, hotel-lobby-esque vibe I expected.

Mr. Bennett helps me inside, an arm around my waist. He steers me toward a low couch covered in dark green corduroy-like fabric.

“No,” I say immediately. “I don’t want to ruin your couch. It looks expensive.”

“You’re not going to?—”

He stops.

I know exactly what he’s thinking about. Me, dripping wet, on his desk. The towel and little box of wipes he now keeps in one of the drawers.

“You okay with the bedroom?” he asks.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say, trying to sound unbothered even though I am freaking out on the inside. I’m going to see Mr. Bennett’s bedroom.

Where he sleeps.

Every night.

Naked.

Okay, I don’t know that. But apparently, that’s the image my mind has decided to offer up at this critical moment.

His bedroom is decorated in the same colors and style as the rest of the apartment. A massive bed takes up most of the room, framed in walnut and dressed in crisp white sheets. It looks absurdly comfortable. I bet the pillows cost at least two hundred dollars each. Probably more.

“That’s the most billionaire-looking bed I’ve ever seen,” I say.

He scoffs. “I’m not a billionaire.”

“Millionaire, then?”

He ignores that. “It’s just a regular bed, Carly.”

I sit on the mattress, and he helps me swing my legs up. I lean back, sinking into it with a groan. This thing is an actual cloud.

“That’s the thing, though,” I say, burrowing deeper into the mattress. “It looks like a regular bed, but it’s not. Super-mega-rich people prefer quiet luxury. This bed is the definition of that.” I close my eyes. “I bet it costs my yearly salary.”

The bed dips next to me.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “It’s a Vividus. It’s more like four years.”

I crack one eye. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me. I open the other eye too, suddenly aware of how stupid I probably look.

“How are you feeling?”

I wince. “Not great. But lying down helps a little. Takes away some of the dizziness.” I start pushing my jeans down. “We should probably get started before I die.”

He helps me pull them off. “Don’t say that. You’re not going to die.”

“But it came so fast this time,” I say, reaching for my underwear too.

“And I was there within a few minutes, wasn’t I?”

He takes over, hooking his fingers into the sides of my underwear and sliding them down my legs. “I’m not going to let you die.”