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“Even?” she practically screams, storming back toward me. “Even, Ethan? You found out not even two days after that I’m not and never have been with Theo. I’m finding out after two weeks. How is that even?”

Now she’s right in front of me again. “I spent these two weeks trying to avoid both of you. It was easy to avoid you because you were probably avoiding me too or maybe you were just busy. But her? She kept calling me constantly about today’s event and I never picked up, always came back late with some lame excuse, and sent her all the planning by email.”

She’s so flustered she doesn’t even realize she’s just admitting to avoiding me on purpose. Meanwhile, I wasn’t avoiding her; I was just gone. I’ve only worked a few hours here in the office during these two weeks.

“Well, you don’t have to ignore anyone, Thalia. Neither of us cheated on anyone.”

“God. I really want to strangle you right now.”

“And I’ll indulge you, as long as you give me what I asked for when I brought you here.” I smirk, watching her carefully.

SIXTEEN

Thalia

He’s not in a relationship.

Ethan is not in a relationship with Irina. Why does this information make me so damn happy? It should mean nothing to me. I’m only glad because it proves I didn’t help him cheat on Irina, that I wasn’t part of something so vile.

That’s all.

Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, Thalia.

“One night with me?” I ask playfully, letting my head fall to the side as a teasing smile curves my lips, stepping fully into his game. “Any preferences?” My voice dips lower as I lean toward him, closing the space between us until my breath brushes against his ear.

His hands tighten on my waist, strong and unyielding, keeping me right where he wants me. His grip isn’t rough, but it radiates control, dominance—an unspoken command.

I force myself to play the part, my shoulders squared, my chin lifted in defiance, as if I’m perfectly composed, as if I’m not trembling inside. I try to look like a woman who knows exactly what she wants.

And what she wants isn’t him. Right?

No, of course not.

What’s wrong with you, Thalia?

I catch his earlobe between my tongue and my teeth, tugging gently before letting it slip free. My lips brush against the curve of his jaw when I whisper, “Maybe you’d like a pole dance?”

His skin is warm under my mouth, his scent—clean, masculine, faintly spiced—coiling around me, making it harder to breathe.

“Or maybe a little role play? Your secretary? Oops, I mean, your assistant?” I murmur, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, feigning innocence with a slow blink. My fingers trail lightly along the nape of his neck, nails grazing his skin as I add, “Should I wear a brunette wig?”

He only smiles, unaffected, as if every move I make amuses him more than it tempts. Then, with a sudden tug, he pulls me flush against him. My chest collides with his, and I feel the steady hum of his heartbeat… or maybe it’s mine, hammering wildly.

“Are you done?” His voice is low, rough. “Because I’d prefer we use the time differently.”

“Differently how?” The words escape me softer than I intend, betraying the way my body is betraying me.

“For starters, with you on your knees, choking on my cock.” He leans in close, his smirk widening, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth without kissing. “Then I’d like you right here,” he murmurs, his breath hot on my cheek, pointing toward the kitchen counter, “while I lose myself with my head between your thighs.”

The shame I expect never comes—instead, heat explodes through me. My entire body is on fire, my breath caught high in my throat. My pulse pounds so loud it drowns out every other sound in the room. His green eyes pin me in place, dark and merciless, and I can’t look away.

“Then I’d want us to move to my bedroom, the shower, the couch, the floor—wherever you want, honestly.” His thumb strokes idly along the curve of my hips, his touch both grounding and electrifying. “As long as the result’s the same—my cock buried deep inside your pussy.”

“What a gentleman,” I reply, gathering as much composure as I can, my chin raised ever so slightly, like I’m immune to him.

My voice is steady, but my palms are damp against the cool surface of the kitchen counter behind him.

Of course I’m not affected. Why would I be? It’s just very hot in his apartment.