Chapter 21
MYA
The massage leaves me relaxed, loose-limbed—and annoyed.
Annoyed because I actually enjoyed it, and I don’t want to be grateful to Worth Miller. I should be furious at him for constantly crossing lines.
As I get ready for dinner, I decide to channel that irritation into my outfit: something provocative but still classy.
A black dress with a low back, a slit that teases mid-thigh, paired with strappy heels that make my legs look longer than they are.
If Worth is going to mess with my head, I may as well return the favor.
I exchange a quick text with Seraya confirming the meet-up time, swipe on a final coat of lipstick, and head downstairs. The others are in the lobby. Worth waits near the others, in a dark suit tailored to perfection.
He doesn’t say a word, but the way his eyes drag down my body and then back up makes my stomach flip. His face smooths out into that unreadable mask he always wears, but I feel the tension, thick as a barbed wire.
We don’t speak. Just exchange a curt nod.
Then Ethan lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Jones.”
Heat crawls up my neck; before I can respond, Seraya chimes in, grinning as she gives me a once-over. “You’ll be turning all the guys’ heads tonight.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the tiniest twitch at Worth’s temple, and I stifle a smug smile.
When we arrive at the restaurant—an upscale spot tucked against the bay, glowing with candlelight—we’re promptly seated at a long table near the glass walls showcasing the skyline.
Worth takes the chair beside me without hesitation. Out of all the empty options, he chose the one next to me.
The waiter hands out menus, but all I register is him so close. Heat radiates off his body, and when he leans in, his addictive cologne invades me at once.
His lips brush dangerously near my ear as he whispers, “You look pliable tonight, Ms. Jones. I gather the massage went well.”
My throat goes dry, and I curl my fingers around the stem of my wineglass to hide the way they tremble.
Pliable. Who even says stuff like that—and at a work dinner? My boss, apparently. My infuriatingly magnetic boss who knows damn well what his words do to me.
I force a scoff, tilting the glass toward my lips so I don’t have to meet his eyes. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Miller?”
The corner of his mouth tugs upward. “What if I said yes?” he murmurs, before leaning back in his chair as if he didn’t just set my entire bloodstream on fire.
My pulse hammers against my ribs. I will the heat in my cheeks to fade as I focus hard on the menu, on the conversations swirling around me, on literally anything but the man beside me.
Because if I don’t, I’ll forget where I am. And that this is supposed to be professional.
“I told you to stop, Worth,” I say, though it comes out thin, weak.
He leans in closer again. My gaze darts nervously around the table, worried one of my colleagues will catch him in the act, but everyone is too distracted by conversation and wine to notice.
“Do you really want me to?” he whispers, breath tickling my skin.
Worth’s eyes travel down to my arm where goosebumps have risen, then lower to my chest, where my nipples peak traitorously against the fabric of my dress. Damn me for skipping a bra tonight.
“I guess I have my answer.” His tone drips with arrogance. The bubble of heat I was suspended in pops, and irritation surges.
The blue collar playboy is back.
“Yes, I mean it,” I snap under my breath. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to enjoy dinner without you breathing down my neck.”
Worth chuckles before lifting his glass. He takes a slow sip of amber liquor, watching me over the rim. “As you wish.”
I force myself to focus on the people around me as dinner continues. On the surface, everything is fine. But I feel Worth’s gaze brushing over me the entire time, even when he converses with the others. It’s unnerving, and yet, deep down, a shameful part of me thrills at it.
When the last plates are cleared, Seraya leans towards me with a grin. “We’re heading to a club. You in?”
My body is heavy with exhaustion, but the thought of going back to the hotel alone, replaying every charged second with Worth, sounds dreadful. “Yeah, I’ll come.”
Across the table, another colleague pipes up, smirking at Worth. “Guess we’ll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Miller. We know clubs aren’t really your thing.”
Worth sets his glass down. “Not tonight,” he says smoothly. “I’ll join you.”
A chorus of surprised sounds follows, but everyone quickly grows excited at the idea of their CEO coming along for a night out.
Several minutes later, we’re making our way through the neon-lit streets of Singapore.
We arrive at our destination where a long line snakes outside the poshest club I’ve ever seen.
Worth pulls out his phone and fires off a quick text.
Within seconds, the doorman says something into his earpiece, his gaze shifting to our group, and he waves us forward.
My coworkers erupt in cheers and high fives, grinning like kids who just snuck into the world’s best amusement park.
Worth shrugs. “I know the owner,” he says simply, holding the door open for us to pass. “W.H.M. built this building.”
When we step inside, Seraya immediately grabs my arm, her voice raised over the music. “This place is insane!” She’s practically glowing, her sequined dress catching every shard of light.
I smile, letting her energy fuel me.
The rest of the team scatters—some heading for the bar, others for the dance floor. Worth lingers near the entrance, scanning the room.
“Come on,” Seraya says, tugging me towards the bar.
Ethan materializes on my other side, leaning in close so I can hear him. “First round’s on me.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You don’t have to—”
But he’s already ordering. Three shots of tequila are slid in front of us moments later, salt and lime on the side. Ethan raises his glass in a toast. “To surviving W.H.M. Construction.”
I snort and clink my glass against his. “Barely.”
The tequila burns, but it loosens something in me. Warmth unfurls in my chest, enough to drown out Worth’s earlier words at dinner.
Still, I feel him across the room. His gaze, hot and unrelenting, finds me through the throng of bodies. Even with distance, it feels like static sparking between us, my skin too aware of him.
I turn back to Ethan, who’s already asking me if I want to dance. Seraya wiggles her brows and nudges me forward. “Go. Live a little.”
I let Ethan lead me to the dance floor. The music is loud, bodies packed tight.
Worth is at the edge of the room now, tall and immovable, a drink in his hand. He doesn’t look like he belongs in a place like this. But his eyes are locked on me. Angry. Possessive. Like I’m committing some crime by dancing with a colleague.
My pulse stutters. I’m allowed to dance. I’m allowed to breathe. He has no right to be jealous. I don’t belong to him.
Worth’s gaze doesn’t falter. It pins me in place even as I spin and Ethan’s hand steadies me.
After a while, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom for a breather, leaving Ethan abruptly on the dance floor.
The second I’m inside, I sag against the sink, dragging in a shaky breath.
I splash cool water on my wrist but it does nothing to calm me, especially when I can still feel Worth’s eyes burning into my back.
The heavy door opens behind me, and I whirl around just as he steps inside. “What are you doing? Are you out of your mind? This is the women’s bathroom!”
Worth chuckles low. “No. You wandered into the employee bathroom.” He tips his head towards the sign I missed, smirk curling his lips. “Convenient, isn’t it?”
I glance under the stalls, heart battering against my ribs. Empty. Relief tangles with dread. “You can’t be in here,” I babble, stepping back. “We can’t—”
But Worth is already moving. His presence swallows up the tiled space until my spine hits cool metal. He nudges me backwards into a large stall, and before I can form another protest, the lock clicks shut behind him.
“Worth—”
He cuts me off with his mouth. Hard. His lips crush mine, and my gasp is swallowed whole. The taste of him explodes across my tongue.
His palm slides into my hair, fingers tangling deep. He tugs, angling my head back, and his mouth trails fire along my jaw, down my neck. My knees weaken.
“We have to stop,” I breathe, words stumbling between frantic kisses. “We can’t do this. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
But my body betrays me, arching as his lips drag lower, grazing the swell of my chest where the neckline of my dress dips scandalously low. My nipples tighten against the thin fabric, shameless proof of how badly I’m unraveling.
His mouth sears down my neck, and I can barely think. My hands push weakly at his chest, but it only presses me deeper against the wall.
“Worth, we can’t—” My voice shakes. “This is… this is wrong. You’re my boss. You literally sign my paychecks. If someone finds us in here, it’s not just my job on the line, it’s my whole career—”
His lips graze the dip of my collarbone and my knees buckle. I grip his shoulders, desperate to keep myself standing, pulling him closer.
“I’m serious,” I rush out, breathless. “This is reckless and stupid, and people like you don’t get caught, but women like me? We’re the ones who get chewed up and spit out, and—”
His teeth nip at my skin, wrenching a gasp from me.
“You’re… you’re making it impossible to think straight—”
His fingers tighten in my hair, tugging my head back to expose more of my throat. Heat floods me, shame and need colliding in a dizzy mess.
“And if this keeps going, I don’t even know what I’ll do, because I can’t stop wanting it, even though I know it’ll ruin everything, and—”
“God, you talk too fucking much, Mya,” he growls against my mouth, cutting off my ramble with a kiss that leaves no space for air, no space for protest, just the furious clash of lips.