Chapter 2

I should have left after finishing the coffee.

Instead, I stayed. Holden didn't say anything else, just stood there scrolling through his phone with one hand, the other rubbing his temple like his head hurt. I watched him from the corner of my eye, wondering what he was still doing here at two in the morning.

"You work too hard," he said suddenly, not looking up. "David told me you stayed until midnight every night this week."

My face heated. He'd been asking about me?

I wanted to respond, but my phone was still at my desk. So I just shrugged.

He glanced at me then, and something in his expression softened. "Go home, Wren. Get some sleep."

I nodded. Set my empty cup in the sink. But when I tried to stand, my legs were shaking. Six hours of sitting had locked up my back, and the exhaustion hit me all at once.

I made it to the break room sofa before my vision blurred.

Just for a minute, I told myself. Just rest for one minute.

The leather was cool against my cheek. My eyes closed.

Something soft settled over me.

I stirred, confused. The break room was darker now, just the emergency lights glowing. A suit jacket covered me like a blanket, expensive fabric still warm.

Holden stood by the sofa, about to leave.

Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed his wrist.

He froze.

I wanted to say thank you. Wanted to tell him he didn't have to do that. But my throat closed up like always, and I just held on, looking up at him helplessly.

His eyes met mine. Even in the dim light, I could see how tired he looked. How his pupils were slightly dilated.

"You should sleep," he said, but his voice was rougher than before. Slower. "I'll lock up."

He tried to pull away. I didn't let go.

I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn't thinking at all. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the way he'd remembered my coffee order, or the fact that he'd covered me with his jacket when he could have just left.

Or maybe it was the way he'd been looking at me all week.

His hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw. Gentle. Tentative.

"Wren." My name was barely a whisper. "What are you doing?"

I didn't know. I pulled myself up to sitting, and suddenly we were too close. His hand was still on my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone, and I could see the exact moment his control slipped.

"I took something," he said, words slurring slightly. "New medication. For the pain. I shouldn't—I can't think straight."

That should have made me let go. Should have made me pull back and leave.

Instead, I leaned closer.

His breath caught. "You're always watching me." His other hand gripped the back of the sofa, like he needed something to hold onto. "Why? Why do you look at me like that?"

I couldn't answer. Couldn't explain that I'd been watching him because I couldn't help it. Because he was terrifying and beautiful and he'd defended me without even knowing me.

Because I wanted him in a way that made no sense.

His forehead dropped to mine. "Tell me to stop." His voice was desperate. "Please. Tell me to stop."

I couldn't speak. Could only shake my head.

He kissed me.

It wasn't gentle. Wasn't careful. His mouth was hot and demanding, one hand tangling in my hair while the other pulled me against him. I gasped, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss until I couldn't breathe.

I should have pushed him away. He wasn't himself. The medication, the exhaustion, the late hour—none of this was real.

But I didn't want to stop.

I grabbed his shirt, pulling him down onto the sofa with me. He made a sound low in his throat, something between a groan and a laugh.

"Finally," he breathed against my neck. "Finally."

His hands were shaking as they found the buttons of my blouse. I should have been scared. Should have remembered that this was my boss, that I was just an intern, that this could ruin everything.

But his hands were shaking, and I realized he was scared too.

Or maybe it was the medication making him unsteady.

I didn't care.

I reached for his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle. He froze, pulling back to look at me with wide eyes.

"Are you sure?" His words were slurred. "Wren. Are you—are you sure?"

I nodded. Pulled him back down.

This is wrong, a voice in my head whispered. He's not in control. You're taking advantage.

But his mouth was on mine again, and his hands were everywhere, and I couldn't think about right or wrong. Could only feel.

The sofa was too small. My skirt was pushed up, his shirt half-unbuttoned. His weight pressed me into the leather, and I bit my lip to keep from making any sound. From giving voice to something I'd kept silent for fifteen years.

"Look at me," he said, breathless. "I want to see you."

I opened my eyes. Found him staring down at me with an intensity that made my heart stop.

For a moment, we just looked at each other.

Then he moved, and thought became impossible.

I dug my nails into his shoulders. He buried his face in my neck, breathing hard, whispering things I couldn't quite hear. My name, over and over. Like a prayer.

It was desperate. Messy. Nothing like I'd imagined my first time would be.

It was perfect.

After, he collapsed beside me on the narrow sofa, pulling me against his chest. His breathing slowed, evened out.

He was asleep.

What did I just do?

Reality hit like ice water. I'd just slept with my boss. The CEO. A man who'd taken medication and couldn't think straight.

Oh God.

I extracted myself carefully from his arms. Found my blouse, buttoned it with shaking hands. He didn't wake.

I should leave a note. Say something.

But what could I possibly say?

I grabbed my shoes and ran.

By the time I got home, my hands were still shaking. I scrubbed my skin raw in the shower, but I could still feel his touch. Still hear him whispering my name.

I didn't sleep.

Monday morning, I walked into the office with my head down, praying he wouldn't remember. Praying I could pretend it never happened.

There was an email waiting.

From: Holden Pierce

To: Wren Ashby

Subject: (no subject)

My office. 9 a.m. We need to talk.