Chapter 16 Olivia
Chapter sixteen
Olivia
All weekend I’ve been sick over this.
Replay after replay in my head, like I’m some masochist who can’t stop pressing on a bruise.
Why did I kiss him?
Why did I lean in like some wide-eyed intern, practically begging for my boss, my boss, to kiss me back?
Stupid. Reckless. Dangerous.
I should have known better. I do know better.
This job is my lifeline, and I cannot, will not, lose it. Not over a man like Warren Beaumont. Not over lips that taste like wine and power.
My heels click on the marble as I walk through the lobby, and every step feels heavier. Head down. That’s the rule. Keep my head down, do my work, blend in. No one has to know I spent two nights staring at my ceiling, wondering if I’d ruined everything.
The elevator dings. I force my lungs to keep working, force my spine to stay straight. The doors open to my floor, and I walk fast. Too fast. Past Brody’s empty office. Past the buzzing phones and the low murmur of the staff already at their desks. Past his door.
Closed.
Thank God.
I don’t let myself look. Not even a glance.
I go straight to my office, twist the handle, and slip inside like I’m being chased.
The door shuts behind me with a click, sealing me into the only place I think might still be mine.
Then I turn.
And my heart stops.
He’s here.
Standing at my desk, broad shoulders filling the space, his hands tucked into his pockets as he looks out my window like he owns not just the skyline but the air in my lungs.
Warren Beaumont.
I move like I’ve been struck. The breath punches right out of me.
Eyes wide. Lips parted.
My brain stutters through every possible reaction—apology, denial, excuses, but none of them make it past my tongue. Because the only thing louder than my panic is the truth that rushes back in a flood.
The feel of his mouth crashing against mine.
The way my body melted, helpless.
The sound I made. God, that humiliating whimper.
And now he’s here.
In my space.
Waiting.
I grip the edge of the door behind me like it’s the only thing holding me upright. My throat works, but no words come.
His voice is smooth. Deep. Lethal.
“I figured you’d try to hide,” he says, not turning around. “So I waited here.”
My stomach drops to my knees.
He knew.
He gestures toward my desk with a tilt of his head.
There’s a coffee cup, still hot, still steaming and two sleek matte black boxes.
More gifts.
My heart thumps painfully.
I should leave. I should run. I should tell him this is inappropriate and unprofessional and a million other things I’m too terrified to say.
But I don’t move away.
I move toward him.
Like gravity. Like instinct.
Like I never stood a chance.
I reach for the coffee first, needing something to anchor myself. The cup is warm against my fingers, my name scrawled on the side in sharp black ink. I take a sip, and the perfect ratio of hazelnut and espresso coats my tongue.
His gaze sharpens, mouth curving the slightest bit. “Good.”
The warmth doesn’t stop at my mouth. It spreads down my throat, into my chest, radiating through limbs that had gone cold the second I saw him.
“Sit.”
It’s not a question.
My chair squeaks faintly as I lower myself, the leather too soft against my rigid posture. He gets closer, his hand brushes over the first box, sliding it toward me.
“Open it.”
My fingers tug at the ribbon. The lid lifts. Inside, nestled in velvet, are pens, sleek black with gold trim. My name engraved in delicate script. Olivia Baker.
My chest tightens.
“They’re beautiful,” I whisper.
“So you’ll stop using those cheap ones that smudge,” he says smoothly. “You always end up with ink on your fingers.”
Heat explodes across my cheeks.
He noticed that?
I glance up, but his expression is unreadable. Cool. Calm. Too controlled.
Before I say anything, he taps the second box. “That one, too.”
I obey, lifting the lid. My breath catches hard.
A watch.
White gold. Delicate, expensive. The band gleams with diamond accents that wink beneath the light. Not just jewelry, a statement. Something I could never dream of affording, not in three lifetimes.
I make a sound, barely audible, but he hears it.
“I can’t Warren, I don’t—”
His eyes flick to mine, silencing me with a single look. Not cruel. Not cold. Just… firm. Immoveable.
“Did you want yellow gold instead?” he asks, like that’s the problem. “Or platinum?”
I blink. “I don’t understand why I’m getting gifts.”
Why me. Why now. Why this.
“The watch,” he says, “is a reward. For coming in on time lately.”
My lips part, but no protest comes.
Because beneath the embarrassment and confusion, there’s pride.
Stupid, helpless pride that he noticed.
So I nod.
I swallow.
And I say softly, “Thank you.”
I can’t breathe.
He lingers for half a second too long once it’s secure. Then lets my hand go.
But his voice doesn’t waver.
“I’m going to HR this morning,” he says.
The bottom drops out of my stomach.
I blink up at him, throat tightening so fast I nearly choke. “What?”
A whisper. Fragile. Shattered.
He watches me, unreadable as ever.
I scramble to explain, to fix this. “I didn’t mean to, it wasn’t, please don’t—”
“It’s not a report,” he says, calm as glass. “It’s a notice.”
I blink, pulse roaring in my ears. My voice barely works. “A notice… why?”
He steps in.
Close.
Too close.
“Because that kiss,” he murmurs, gaze fixed on my mouth.
His hand lifts, fingertips brushing beneath my chin, tilting my face up to his.
The other settles on the arm of my chair, caging me in with quiet authority.
And then he’s kissing me.
No hesitation. No doubt.
His mouth crashes against mine, hot and commanding, like he’s claiming the air in my lungs.
The chair presses into my back. My fingers scramble for something, anything, but all I feel is him.
His lips, soft and warm. His breath, sharp and clean.
His scent, smoke and wealth and a danger I’ll never outrun.
My lips part on instinct.
He deepens it.
A low sound leaves me, helpless and soft.
He tastes like power. Like control wrapped in temptation. Like every rule I’ve ever tried to follow unraveling all at once.
His hand slides into my hair, gripping gently but firmly, keeping me exactly where he wants me. The other stays on the chair, anchoring us both, like he’s holding the whole world steady through the point of contact between us.
And just when I think I’ll forget my name, he pulls away.
Not far. Just enough.
His thumb grazes my bottom lip, swollen and tingling.
“And this one, will continue to happen,” he finishes, voice low and certain.
A sound escapes me. Half gasp, half stupid whimper. My throat constricts.
“Any interoffice relationships have to be reported,” he says, eyes dragging over me. “We’re just being… compliant.”
My lips part, but I can’t find a single word.
He straightens, steps back like he hasn’t just set my whole world on fire.
“You should start using your new pens today,” he says. “You’ll want to look sharp. Big client meeting at noon.”
Then he turns toward the door.
Just before he opens it, he glances over his shoulder.
“And Olivia?”
I swallow hard. “Yes?”
“That lipstick shade from the gala.”
His eyes flick to my mouth.
“Wear it again.”
The door clicks behind him, and I sit there, watch wrapped tight around my wrist, coffee gone cold on my desk, heart thundering like I just survived a car crash.
Only I didn’t survive.
I surrendered.