Chapter 12 Cuddled and Conflicted
CUDDLED AND CONFLICTED
JAMIE
I’m snuggled up to Magnus, trying not to think about how completely ridiculous it is that I’m falling for my boss.
No, my boss’s boss. My new boss, whom I’ve only spoken to via phone.
Who I’m supposed to be supporting as an admin, not cosplaying as a junior strategist. Yeah, there’s no way I’m winning employee of the month.
Or maybe, more accurately, I’m falling for the CEO who just completely, gloriously wrecked me in his penthouse condo.
But every time I glance at him or sense the muscles beneath his fur, his impossible combination of strength, tenderness, and total recklessness makes my body feel like it’s been handed a pogo stick.
He’s rumbling softly, that low, almost imperceptible growl he makes when he’s content—or maybe still turned on—and I press closer, letting my fingers trace the line of his arm, the soft hair at the base of his horns, the curve of his shoulder.
Every touch reminds me this is what I’ve been dreaming about since I first saw him in the hallway almost a year ago.
I never meant to land in the mailroom at Labyrinth Solutions.
But when you don’t have the résumé or connections, you take the door that’s open, not the one you dream about.
I’d heard they valued curiosity and boldness, and I thought maybe that could be enough.
So I took the leap, and it landed me here.
Close enough to see him in his element. Close enough to want him—more than I ever expected.
“You’re… so warm,” I murmur.
He grins, eyes crinkling in a way that makes my knees weak even when I'm lying down. “Not everyone can pull this off—being close, being warm. But you… you make it look effortless. You feel like home.”
I close my eyes, bury my face in his chest, and take him in. All of him. This big guy that’s somehow stolen my heart.
“Magnus. You’re incredible. Do you know that?”
He kisses the top of my head, then my temple, and I press a hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “Stay,” he whispers. Not a request. Not exactly an order. Just… stay.
And I do. I remain curled against him, murmuring little confessions—how my wardrobe comes from the outlet mall because it’s all I can afford, the tiny triumphs of training myself with the oversized toy I bought just for this, the ways I’ve been trying to prepare, to handle him.
He listens, really listens, and I try to ignore the secret I’m still keeping from him.
At some point, we drift off, tangled together, the city lights painting the walls in streaks of gold and orange. And for the first time in a long time, wrapped in Magnus Trainor’s powerful arms, I feel safe.
I wake up on Monday to an alarm that feels like a betrayal. My apartment is quiet, too quiet, and for a second I almost expect to hear the low rumble of Magnus’s breathing beside me, his tail flicking lazily against my hip. My stomach flips. My ass twitches. My whole body hums.
Saturday felt like a dream I never wanted to end.
Waking up enveloped in his arms, the sunlight cutting across his horns, the softness of his chest under my cheek.
We drifted through the day like we were in a montage of a cheesy romance—coffee, kissing, napping, kissing, and more napping.
And by napping, I mean more meetings between his cock and my entire body.
By evening, I was spent, and he called me a car and sent me home so I could rest, but the weight of his presence hasn’t left me.
But now, with my bag lunch and coffee tumbler from home, reality waits at Labyrinth Solutions.
The elevator ride to the office feels like a parade of every possible worst-case scenario marching through my brain. What if someone notices how tired I am? How flushed? How dangerously distracted I am by… the CEO?
The doors slide open, and the commotion of the office crashes into me like a storm—trolls grumbling over budgets, humans lost scrolling on their phones, harpies fluttering through inboxes, and Greg giving me that side-eye that says he knows I’m hiding something as he wheels his tech cart through the hallway. Greg always knows.
“Jamie,” Amara trills, swooping in with her blazer flaring around her wings, a stack of folders tucked under one arm. Her sharp gaze follows Greg’s retreating grunt then locks on me. “Oh, honey. Even Greg knows? You are not subtle.”
“Knows what?” I sputter, my heart thumping through my button down.
Does she know about Magnus and me? Does Greg? Oh gods—does the whole office? Sweat prickles down my temple, and I want to swipe it away, but that would be like holding up a neon sign that flashes Busted.
She raises one perfect brow, talon tapping against a folder.
“Well...” She smiles in that knowing, harpy way. “Here’s the good news: all signs point to you nailing it.”
My stomach drops. She knows. I mean technically, Magnus is nailing me, but… details.
“The bad news,” she continues, “you’re nailing a position you don’t have.”
Wait, what?
My eyes widen.
“Jamie, I get it. You’ve been dying to get your shot as a junior strategist. But you’re supposed to be Vanessa’s admin. I pulled strings to even get you that.” She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But… Magnus appears very pleased with your performance.”
You don’t know the half of it.
I let out a deep sigh. At least she doesn’t know I’m screwing the boss.
“I mean, I’m just trying my best,” I babble. “Showing all I’ve got to… give.” The lump in my throat is roughly the size of one of Magnus’s balls. Maybe both. Definitely a two-baller situation.
Amara’s talon brushes my cheek lightly. “Still, don’t go overboard. And remember, the truth always comes out, so don't get carried away.”
Her laughter rings out like wind chimes as she flutters away, leaving me equal parts mortified and strangely comforted. At least one of my career-ending secrets is safe… for now.
The first meeting of the day is brutal. The big pitch to the city looms. Vanessa’s gone, yes, but the execs are here. She’s been calling more. Making sure I’ve got things covered. I don’t think she means having my face covered in the CEO’s jumbo-sized load over the weekend. Three times.
Key players from Labyrinth Solutions are already around the table, each more commanding than the next.
Zephyr, a smoke wraith, drifts lazily above her chair, leaving a faint haze that makes her part of the table look like a clouded stage.
Clang, a metallic armadillo, rattles every time he shifts, sending little plinky echoes across the room.
Flick, a luminescent dragon, changes colors with every point he makes—blue for agreement, pink for doubt, and neon green whenever he thinks someone’s bluffing.
And then there’s Selene, the only other human, her rich brown fingers tapping her pen as she scribbles furiously in her notebook.
I sit across from Magnus, my stomach doing somersaults.
He’s calm, composed, horned and broad-shouldered and entirely too magnetic, while I feel like a rookie being quizzed on multiplication tables I never learned.
The room hums with energy, magic, metal, and faint smoke, but all I can focus on is him—and the part of me that keeps whispering, don’t mess this up.
“And Jamie,” Magnus says, drawing me into the conversation, “your work on the media kit proposal is exceptional. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Cue the guilt. I can feel my face heating, my stomach twisting.
He’s praising me publicly, and I’m acutely aware that this…
this isn’t technically my role. I’m from the mailroom, a fraud masquerading as a junior strategist. And yet, he’s looking at me like I belong. Like I’m the one he’s been waiting for.
After the meeting, Magnus drapes a hand over my shoulder. “You handled that beautifully.” I do my best to smile like I’m confident. Like I deserve it. Inside, I’m panicking. Because even though I do deserve his praise, the lie seems to override any pleasure I should feel in taking it.
Lunch isn’t any easier. My mind is half on the sandwich in front of me and half on Magnus’s laughter, the memory of our Saturday together pulling my focus.
Him holding me in his strong arms. Kissing me.
Running his hands through my hair as he smelled it.
Teasing me as we lay in his bed. Calling me his little man.
I try to shove the memory away, but it’s stubborn, curling around my brain like smoke.
I’m back in my office, staring out the window, trying to focus, when my phone rings.
Vanessa.
“Jamie, darling, how did the big planning meeting go?”
There’s a swell of background noise—laughter, clinking glasses, an entire room buzzing behind her.
“It went well. At least I think it did.”
“And Magnus? Was he satisfied?”
My stomach flips. I yank my feet off the desk. “Um, yeah. Pretty sure he was satisfied with my performance.”
Flop sweat has taken over my forehead and shirt. I’m pretty sure my ass crack is slicker than a slip and slide.
“Amazing. I knew you could handle things. Hold on a sec, sweetie.” The line goes muffled, like she’s cupping the receiver, but I can still hear her calling out: “Of course, Fernando—more champagne! More champagne for everyone!” Then she’s back, brighter than ever.
“Sorry, darling. Just a little party. For me.”
“Right,” I say weakly.
“Now, listen—the next meeting is the big one. The pitch to the city. Today was just the setup.”
“Oh.” Acid burns the back of my throat. The one where we pitch the campaign to Crownpoint. My chance to prove myself. To please Magnus. To keep perpetuating the lie.
“No worries, Jamie. I’m coming back. This little soirée in my suite is my going-away party.”
I sit up straighter in my chair. Vanessa’s chair. “Uh—coming back? As in… when?”
“Soon,” she says, drawing the word out like a threat wrapped in a bow. “Dr. Karesh says my recovery is ahead of schedule, and honestly, you wouldn’t believe these veneers. They’re perfect. No one will ever know.”
“Wow,” I manage, my throat dry. “Perfect.”
She laughs, bright and sharp. “Oh, Jamie, I knew you’d hold things down while I was gone. br said you were just the right candidate. Reliable. Smart. And they were correct. I mean, for a mailroom drone. But don’t get too comfortable without me, okay?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, forcing cheer into my voice.
She hums a tune I’m not familiar with. “Good. Because I want everything ready when I’m back. No surprises.”
My pulse jumps. My stomach drops. My lie—the one I’ve been leaning on—feels like it’s on the verge of collapsing.
When the call ends, I just stare at the screen for a long second, my reflection pale and sweaty in the glass. I take a deep breath and whisper, “Only until I prove myself.”
And just when I think I can’t possibly handle one more thing, Greg materializes like an IT orc prophet, his cart overflowing with enough tangled cords to choke the entire city grid.
“Jamie,” he says flatly, “you need to tell him.”
“Tell who what?”
“Magnus. That you’re not actually a junior strategist. Do it before Vanessa comes back. Do it before this whole place catches fire.”
My throat goes dry. “Wait, how did you—”
Greg taps his ear. “Yeah, this little thing? Picks up every conversation in a half-mile radius.”
My blood runs cold. “So you knew?” I don’t specify what, silently praying he’s not talking about Magnus and my extracurricular… performance reviews.
“Yes,” he says, deadpan. “The whole office knows about your little junior strategist cosplay.”
Relief floods me. Thank gods. Just the very fake job, not the very real orgasms.
How did I manage to stockpile this much chaos in such a short amount of time?
“Anyway.” He shoves a bundle of cables back into place. “Time to come clean.”
“I can’t,” I mutter, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Not yet. I’m killing it on the pitch. Magnus is… pleased. We’re close to sealing the deal.”
Greg sighs, like I’ve just admitted I haven’t updated my operating system in years. “Jamie, second chances don’t exactly grow on trees around here. You might want to get ahead of this before it grows teeth.”
I nod, because he’s right. Of course he’s right. Greg’s always right. But the thought of Magnus looking at me differently… disappointed… it nearly crushes my ribs.
By the time lunch wraps, I’ve eaten like a being who should probably hibernate afterward, my mind swirling with images of Magnus, of us, of what comes next. After the meeting this morning, he said, “You’re doing amazing work, Torres. Keep it up.”
Amazing work. Not admin work. Not mailroom work.
My chest swells for a second, just from him seeing me—not the lie, not the title, not the facade.
And for a fleeting heartbeat, I allow myself to imagine: what if he doesn’t care about the lie?
About being an admin brought up last minute from the mailroom. What if he sees me, really sees me?
I glance out the window at Crownpoint. I moved here because I wanted new opportunities to grow and thrive. And now, I’ve somehow found myself growing and thriving with a certain CEO in a way I never dreamed would happen.
Magnus. The way he looks at me. Not with suspicion, not with judgment—just… with that pull that has me imagining curling into his chest again, all the while knowing the truth could blow up spectacularly at any second.
But for now, I sit in Vanessa’s office. In her chair. Doing my best to cling to a tiny moment of peace. Because it’s getting harder to hide the truth. And honestly? I’m not sure I want to anymore.