Hazel
M y boss makes zero sense. One minute, he’s gazing at me hungrily, yanking me to his front, and kissing me until my head spins. Making all my heartsick daydreams of the last four years, all those imaginary kisses that played like a movie reel in my head, pale in comparison to the real thing. Drowning me in perfect, overwhelming details.
Like his heat.
His hunger.
The hard planes of his chest and the little growls in the back of his throat, and the way he kissed along my jaw, breathing in the scent of my skin like he wanted me to fill his lungs.
Then… this. We’re back to cold, professional distance between us again, like nothing ever happened. Like it meant nothing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I hallucinated the whole freaking thing—except my lips are kiss-swollen, and there’s a telltale slickness between my legs that will not stop tormenting me as I walk. Thoughts blurry, I dodge a server carrying a stack of trays and stumble across the rooftop. The band is warming up, random notes humming on the breeze.
Gotta get inside.
Gotta change for tonight.
And hell, I’m going to need a long, cold shower first to get my head on straight; to calm the ache in my lower belly and my feverish pulse and all the silly, foolish voices whispering in my head that he wants me, he wants me, Leo actually wants me.
Leo Corbin does not want me.
Leo Corbin does not do relationships. Period.
And if he ever broke that rule, it would never be for me. I annoy him too much, driving him to distraction with my perkiness first thing in the morning. He’s grumbled about how unbearable I am more times than I could ever count—and I try really, really hard not to count.
But… unbearable, am I?
That kiss didn’t feel like he found me unbearable. Not for those few perfect minutes, at least. No: it felt like Leo Corbin was ready to sling me over his shoulder and carry me across the city rooftops, King Kong style.
Back inside the building, my spare key lets me into the boss’s penthouse apartment. I’ve been here dozens of times before, running errands for Leo, but my heart has never raced like this as I step inside. My skin has never flushed hot, like I’m doing something wrong.
I’m not.
I’m not.
Leo is the one who told me to get ready here, and I remind myself of that fact over and over as I gobble down two of my toffee-nut cookies in the kitchen in place of dinner, shower in his bathroom, dress in his bedroom, and keep my gaze fixed on anything except the bed. Still, it’s impossible to miss the faint spicy scent of his aftershave. What color are Leo’s bed sheets?
No ! I will not look.
If I do, I’ll probably rope myself to the headboard and beg my boss to ravish me just once for old times’ sake. Sane, normal assistants don’t do that.
So, nope. Not crossing any lines in here, thank you, brain. Instead I tiptoe back to the safety of the living area and slide on my strappy high heels with a wince.
Ouch. I stand up straight and shake out my arms. My feet throb like crazy, and it’s already been a long day, but I’m sure that my silvery heels and pink cocktail dress do nothing to hide that fact. At least I’ve redone my ponytail, smoothing down those stray, frizzy hairs, and dabbed some gloss on my lips.
The key sliding into the lock gives me barely any warning. The door swings open, and Leo strides inside, barreling into the kitchen.
He’s still in his work clothes from earlier, the white shirt open at the collar and rumpled by our kiss—and duh, of course he hasn’t changed yet. I’ve been hogging his apartment.
Leo’s black hair is wind-ruffled, and dark shadows cling beneath his icy blue eyes. He looks wan as he chugs a glass of water; today is taking a toll on him too.
Is he okay?
Wish I could cancel this party. Even though it’s selfish, even though I’ve put in months and months of stressful work, I’d love nothing more right now than to close that door and block out the rest of the world. To hole up in this penthouse with the boss and let him persuade me again to stay with a kiss; to switch on his fancy remote-control fireplace and curl up together on the sofa for more… negotiations.
Because Leo kissed me.
He kissed me.
Doesn’t make any sense.
But my stupid heart doesn’t care about logic and boring stuff like that—it’s too busy doing cartwheels around my chest.
“You look…” Leo trails off with a frown, placing his empty glass down with a thud.
My excitable heart sinks, finally simmering down, and I pluck at the pink fabric. It seemed fine when I checked myself in the bathroom mirror, but maybe this outfit is all wrong. “Oh. Okay. I could change back into the purple dress from earlier?”
“What?” Leo’s frown deepens, then he jerks his head from side to side. “No! That’s not what I—no. You look nice. That’s what I was going to say.”
“Nice,” I mumble. “Thank you.”
And I’m not digging for compliments, I swear, this man just scrambles my brain with a fork whenever he’s near. But Leo huffs and folds his arms, leaning back against the counter like I’m being difficult.
“Beautiful. You look beautiful, . Alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Um. No? No one wants compliments through gritted teeth.
“I’ll head up to the roof,” I say, all business. No point wallowing, is there? And arguing sure won’t make things better. Besides, I’ll be gone in two short weeks, and these tiny stabs of disappointment won’t hurt me anymore. “You change and follow, then we can greet the guests as they arrive.”
“Wait, .”
“Mm?” Tugging my dress straight, I won’t meet the boss’s eye. Why should I? He kissed me, then bit my head off. Life is too damn short for this nonsense, and that is why I’m leaving.
“Will you stay?” Leo presses, gripping the counter hard, and it’s so freaking rich of him to ask me that now, right after grumping at me over nothing.
“No.”
The boss puffs up, outraged. “But I kissed you. We agreed—”
“ We didn’t agree on anything. You tried something and it didn’t work. Nice attempt, though.” My heels clack on the floor as I march past, and jeez, I hate playing hardball like this. Hate walking away when I can feel the misery pouring off him in waves, but what else can I do?
This man could crush my heart without a second thought—and he doesn’t even want it. He wants me to stay as his assistant, nothing more, and he’s willing to toy with my feelings to win his prize.
I should be madder than this. I should stomp and yell.
Instead, I’m just tired.
“Follow me up when you’re ready.”
* * *
For the next few hours, Leo Corbin is my handsome, brooding shadow.
He stands so close our arms brush as we greet the guests arriving on the rooftop; he fetches me drinks and canapes, fussing over whether I’m hydrated. When my shoe strap comes undone on the way to check on the band, it’s Leo who kneels down and fixes it, those blunt fingertips brushing over my bare ankle and making me tingle.
Mind games.
That’s what this is.
Just another ploy by my wily boss to make me want to stay with him, fetching his coffees and scheduling his meetings for as long as we both shall live. Another attempt to wear me down, crumbling my will power with sweet gestures and rumbled kind words.
No! It cannot work.
I can’t stay.
“Would you like to dance?” Leo asks as I hover at the edge of the dance floor, checking for dropped glasses or any other trip hazards. Nothing. The staff are doing a great job tonight, but I can’t seem to unclench, no matter how reliable they are.
This party is my responsibility. And now it’ll be the thing everyone here remembers me for—if they remember me at all.
A lump sticks in my throat. I blink up at Leo, confused. “What?”
“A dance.” He takes my hand, his expression more patient than I have ever seen, and tows me gently into the crowd. “You’ve watched enough people having fun, . Now you should try it.”
“But I… but we…” My legs are clumsy as I trip after the boss, and when he turns to face me, I practically fall against his chest. “Okay, fine.”
Curious glances flick toward us from all directions—because Leo Corbin does not dance . He does not engage with mere mortals. And yet here he is, lifting my arms around his neck before placing his hands on my waist, the heat of them searing through the thin fabric of my dress. Here he is, turning us in steady circles as the band plays a smooth song, staring down at me with those frosty blue eyes.
Leo’s mouth curves up on one side. Holy shit, is that a smile?
“You needn’t look so terrified, . I won’t step on your feet.”
“Only metaphorically.”
His laugh is rumbly and so nice.
“Stay,” Leo murmurs, squeezing my waist with his big, gentle hands. “Stay with me.”
“No.”
Emotions war on his face, battling for dominance, and I watch them play across his features, fascinated.
I’m used to Bored Leo. Irritated Leo. Focused Leo. Hangry Leo.
Not Emotionally Tortured Leo.
“Tell me why,” he demands.
My fingers scrunch against his lapels. “I can’t.”
“Can’t stay? Or can’t tell me why?”
“Both.”
The boss puffs out a breath, but he doesn’t scold me or storm off, even though this conversation must be maddening for him. Instead, he moves us closer, hands gripping possessively at my sides.
My tummy quivers.
My heartbeat pulses between my legs.
Thumbs trace along my sides, tickling me through my thin dress.
Stars wink overhead, and laughter and chatter buzz beneath the music. The rooftop is thronged with guests, everyone bright-eyed and excited to be here, on the mysterious boss’s rooftop. Seeing his pool, eating his canapes, drinking from his open bars. Leo Corbin is secretly a generous man—people just don’t notice that fact when he’s glaring at them.
“Will you tell me before you leave?” Dread curls through the boss’s low voice, his expression pained.
“Yes,” I promise.
I can do that much. After everything Leo Corbin has given me, surely I owe him the truth.
One final confession, one rip of the band aid, and then we’ll draw a line under this whole messy affair.