Chapter 2
VIVIAN
Iwake up Monday morning still able to smell his cologne.
Matthew. That's all I know about him. Matthew with the sharp jaw and the voice that makes my core clench and hands that knew exactly what they were doing. I press my face into the pillow and groan.
Over the weekend, I've done nothing but go over every single thing that happened between us.
Friday night plays in flashes. The slight eyebrow lift when he saw my drink.
His laugh when I told him about the pineapple pizza debate.
The moment he pushed up his rolled-up sleeves and I caught myself staring at his forearms like some Victorian maiden seeing an ankle.
The baritone voice that puts all my imaginary boyfriends to shame.
I thought he was one of those guys who were nice to look at and not much else, but I was so, so wrong. It wasn't just how easy it was to talk to him, it was that in this room, his room, he made all my filthy fantasies come true without even trying.
God, the tongue, the mouth, the—
My alarm goes off again.
Ugh. Perfect timing as always.
Right. Work. The thing I was supposedly de-stressing about when I ended up in a stranger's bed.
I drag myself to the shower and try to wash off the weekend. Today, I meet the nightmare. Levi's brother. The one who supposedly makes everyone cry—from his VPs to the salespeople.
The universe really has an odd sense of humor. I went to that bar because I was dreading this exact morning, and instead I had the best sex of my life with a man whose last name I don't even know. Someone who has ruined every other guy for me. Someone I'll most likely never see again.
Of course. Of course that's how my luck works.
Welcome to my life.
The office feels different with Levi's energy missing. My boss has been gone since Friday afternoon, probably sipping mimosas on some beach with his wife, Angela, while I'm about to face his allegedly terrifying older brother.
So imagine my surprise when I'm organizing my desk for the third time and Levi appears, looking disgustingly happy for someone who should be halfway to his honeymoon by now.
"Last-minute details," he says, reading my expression. "Flight's not till noon. Come on, let me introduce you before I abandon you to the wolves."
My stomach drops. "He's here already?"
"Conference room. Don't look so terrified, Viv. He's not actually going to eat you."
"That's not what Jaden heard."
"Jaden heard wrong." Levi pauses at his office door. "Probably. Also, wasn't he the one who said UFOs were spotted near Florida?"
"No, he said Maine."
"Hmm."
My palms are sweating, and I almost commit the very unladylike sin of rubbing them against my skirt. I'm just meeting my temporary boss, and yet it feels like I'm headed for the guillotine.
This is so much scarier than when I had to present my thesis.
I follow Levi down the hall, mentally rehearsing professional small talk.
Good morning, Mr. Astor. Looking forward to working with you, Mr. Astor.
Please don't fire me on day one, Mr. Astor. This girl has bills to pay.
I have the nerve of watery tofu, so please go easy on me, Mr. Astor.
Levi pushes open the conference room door, and I take a deep breath. "Matthew, I want you to meet—"
The world comes screeching to a halt. My stomach drops, and my breath catches. It's the same feeling I get when I misjudge how many stairs are ahead, and my foot lands in thin air. The slightly giddy, slightly shocked sensations as my body regains its balance.
No way. No freaking way.
Standing at the window, eyes scanning documents, is Matthew. My Matthew. Friday night Matthew. Hotel room Matthew. Tongue-in-my-pussy Matthew.
No, no, no.
This is not happening. It's still Sunday, and I'm having a nightmare. I'll wake up any minute now, and my alarm still hasn't gone off.
This is a joke.
But…
Same dark hair. Same broad shoulders filling out a perfectly tailored navy suit. Same hands that had my hair wrapped around his fingers. Same mouth that was on me.
He lifts his head and locks gaze with me. For two seconds, his gaze sharpens and narrows, and just like that, it's gone. He schools his face into a neutral expression, as if he has never seen me once in his life.
"Vivian," Levi says, completely oblivious to the fact that my world just imploded, "this is my brother, Matthew. Matthew, this is Vivian Olivers, the best EA I've ever had. She keeps this place running, and I basically just do whatever she tells me."
Matthew steps forward and extends his hand, a bit reminiscent of Friday night. "Ms. Olivers."
Okay, so we are actually doing this.
His voice is different. Colder. Flatter. Gone is the man who laughed at my rambling and told me I was beautiful when I was falling apart in his arms. At least he's not trying to make this any more awkward than it actually is.
I can do this. I can pretend just as well as him … if not better.
I force my hand into his. The contact is brief, professional, and absolutely nothing like the way those same fingers felt on my skin while he grunted against my neck.
God, I should stop replaying that reel in my head. It isn't helping.
"Mr. Astor." Thank God my voice sounds at least normal.
"Vivian's been with us for two years," Levi says, resting a hand on Matthew's shoulder. The shoulder I'm pretty sure I left scratch marks on. "Started as a coordinator, promoted to EA within eight months. She anticipates problems before they happen and solves them before I know they exist."
"Impressive," Matthew says, his tone suggesting it's anything but.
"She'll get you up to speed on everything. All the department heads, current projects, collection details." Levi checks his watch. "Speaking of which, I really do need to get going. Angela will murder me if I miss this flight. That's not a great way to start a honeymoon."
No. No, don't leave me alone with him. Please, Levi. Take me with you. I'll carry Angela's bags. I'll do her hair and make-up. Anything but stay in this room with your brother.
But Levi's already smoothing his jacket, looking like a man who's about to spend two weeks in paradise while I'm trapped in my own personal hell.
"Take care of things," he tells Matthew. "Call if anything explodes."
"It won't. I'll have Vivian to help me, remember?"
Levi hugs me goodbye—a quick, brotherly squeeze that feels like my last connection to sanity. It's not too late. I can still beg to come with him. "Be nice to him, Viv. He's not as scary as he looks."
And then he's gone.
The silence stretches between us, and my heart starts to beat out of time. Matthew turns back to the window, hands clasped behind his back, and it's not the time for reminiscing, but I’d dug my heels into that spot as I took him deeper.
"We should discuss the schedule," he says, one big hand rubbing the back of his neck.
Right. The schedule. Work. Normal, professional things that don't involve remembering how he fucked me or the sounds he made.
"Of course." I clear my throat. "You have the meeting with Mika Wells at ten, lunch with the creative directors at twelve-thirty, and reviewing the new designs for the wristwatch collaboration at three."
He spins on his heel to face me. "Give me the file on Mika Wells. Reschedule the lunch for tomorrow, and I need the designs on my desk by twelve."
"Of course."
"The creative directors—are they internal or external?"
"Internal. Stanley Brooks runs the team for the lifestyle brands, Allie Webb handles the marketing."
He nods once. "I'll need coffee. Black. I trust you know how to filter the calls? I also don't need every manager in the building wasting my time for courtesy calls."
"Yes, sir."
The 'sir' slips out automatically, and something flickers in his eyes before the professional mask slams back down. "That's all for now."
I nod and head to the door, hyperaware of every step, every breath, the sound of my heels on the hardwood floor. It's as though I suddenly don't know how to walk on legs that feel disconnected from my body.
Once I get back at my desk, I sit down slowly and stare at my computer screen without seeing anything.
The best sex I've ever had was with my boss's brother. I must have really done something awful in my past life for the universe to punish me like this.
The rest of Monday crawls by in a haze of professional torture.
Matthew treats me exactly like what I am—his temporary assistant.
He's demanding but not unreasonable. Exacting but not cruel.
When I deliver the Mika Wells files twenty-eight minutes after he requested them, he simply nods and moves on.
He calls me Ms. Olivers in the same flat tone he uses for everyone. When he needs coffee, he asks the same way he'd ask anyone. When I brief him on department heads, he listens with the same polite attention he'd give any competent employee.
It's perfect. It's professional. It's driving me completely insane.
Because every time he rolls his sleeves to his elbows, I stare at his forearms for a solid three seconds before I catch myself. Forearms. I'm losing my mind over forearms. How those muscles ripple and fold over and over whenever he clenches his fist or stretches out and picks up the file.
When he leans over my desk to sign documents, I catch his perfume, and my brain goes back there. The same scent from my clothes when I went home. The same scent I was breathing when he had me pressed against the hotel room door.
But his face gives away nothing. No recognition, no awkwardness, no heat. Nothing.
Fine. Two can play this game.
By five o'clock, I've matched his professionalism perfectly. I've anticipated his needs, solved three minor crises before they reached his desk, and delivered everything he's asked for with ruthless efficiency.
The man at the bar called me brilliant. Well, I'll take that. Not that I'm self-absorbed, but that sounds fair. The man in this office barely seems to notice I exist.