Chapter 20 Bree
Bree
Two weeks.
Two weeks of sneaking around like teenagers whose parents don’t approve of their relationship. Except my parents would probably love Nico. He’s rich, driven, and ridiculously handsome in that brooding way moms eat up.
It’s everyone else who’s the problem.
I step out of the elevator onto the 28th floor at 8:27 AM, coffee in hand, professional mask firmly in place. My concealer game has never been stronger. Seriously, I should publish a YouTube tutorial. “How to Hide Evidence of Your Boss’s Mouth on Your Neck.”
You’re a walking HR violation, Bree.
Congratulations.
Piper looks up from reception as I pass. Her smile is the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Never has, actually, but lately there’s been something sharper underneath it.
“Morning, Bree.” Her gaze slides down my outfit. Today’s choice is a navy blazer over a cream silk top and black slacks. Conservative and boring, which is how work outfits should be.
“Morning, Piper,” I reply.
“You look tired,” she comments.
I stop. Turn back. “Excuse me?”
“Just saying.” She shrugs one far-too elegant shoulder. “Late night?”
The question lands like a slap disguised as concern. My cheeks heat despite my best efforts to control them.
She knows.
She definitely knows.
We’ve been careful. Or at least we’ve tried to be.
He’s been staying at my apartment, true, but we arrive at different times, leave at different times.
Well okay, the last three days, we’ve been leaving at the same time.
But long after everyone else has already gone home. And in meetings, he barely looks at me.
But apparently we’re not careful enough.
“Board prep,” I say flatly. “Lots of documents to review.”
“Mmhmm.” Piper’s attention returns to her computer screen, but the damage is done.
I walk to my desk outside Nico’s office, setting down my coffee with slightly more force than necessary. Through the glass walls, I can see him at his standing desk, phone pressed to his ear, one hand raking through his dark hair in that frustrated way that means someone’s giving him bad news.
Even annoyed, he’s unfairly attractive. The scar tissue along his cheeks only adds to the intensity of his face rather than detracts from it.
Focus.
You have actual work to do.
I pull up my email and start sorting through the morning’s chaos.
At ten o’clock I’m grabbing a fresh coffee from the break room when I notice two junior staff members from accounting at the small table. They’re mid-conversation, laughing about something, but the second I walk in they go silent.
Not quiet.
Silent.
Like mid-sentence, as if someone hit the mute button on reality.
“Morning,” I say, forcing brightness into my tone.
“Morning.” One of them replies. I think her name is Madison. Or maybe Morgan. Something with an M.
I pour my coffee. The silence stretches.
“Beautiful weather we’re having,” I try.
Oh my god, did you seriously just comment on the weather? What are you, seventy?
M-name woman mumbles something noncommittal. Her colleague suddenly becomes very interested in her phone.
I take my coffee and leave.
The heat in my cheeks doesn’t fade until I’m back at my desk.
Noon. I’m halfway through a yogurt I don’t taste when Cressida materializes at my desk with a file folder. “Hey, Bree. Do you have the finalized headcount for the donor dinner? Elspeth’s asking.”
“Eighty-three confirmed, twelve maybes still pending.” I pull up the spreadsheet. “I’ll send you the updated list in five minutes.”
“Perfect, thanks.” But she doesn’t leave. Instead, she sets the folder down and perches on the edge of my desk, angling herself so anyone walking by would think we’re just two colleagues chatting. “So. Completely unrelated question.”
Oh no.
“I’m not sure how to say this.” She nods slowly, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “It’s just... and I’m only mentioning this because I like you and I’d want someone to tell me... there’s been some... chatter.”
Chatter.
That word.
That fucking word.
My hands go cold. “Chatter about what?”
“Nothing specific. Just—” She waves her hand vaguely. “People notice things. Late nights. Closed doors.”
The yogurt threatens to come back up.
I knew this would happen.
This is Kendrick all over again—
“There’s nothing to notice,” I say. “We’re working. That’s it.”
“Hey, I believe you.” She raises both hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, office gossip is like wildfire. And some people—” She glances toward reception, where I know Piper is probably watching. “Some people have stronger opinions than others.”
Translation: They think I’m sleeping my way to the top.
“Thanks for the heads up,” I manage. My face feels like it’s on fire.
“I’m not trying to freak you out.” Cressida’s expression softens. “You’re good at your job. Like, really good. Whatever Paloma’s getting paid, you should be getting paid more.” She picks up her folder. “Just... be careful, okay? Not everyone here is rooting for you.”
She walks away, and I sit there staring at my computer screen, yogurt forgotten, heart hammering against my ribs.
They’re talking about you. All of them. Just like before.
The thought makes my stomach turn.
Afternoon. Major donor meeting in the main conference room.
I’m there to take notes, which has become my permanent state of existence at these things.
The client is a hedge fund manager named Robert Brown who’s considering a substantial contribution to the foundation restructuring proposal.
Paloma is presenting the governance structure, the one I put together three weeks ago and left on Nico’s desk with a sticky note. Elspeth is providing operational context. Nico is doing his controlled intensity thing that makes clients feel like they’re the most important person in the room.
And I’m in the corner, laptop open, typing notes.
After the meeting, I’m gathering my things when I hear it.
Piper’s voice, carrying from the reception area with the kind of volume that’s definitely intentional.
“I’m just saying, she wasn’t qualified for the position. Everyone knows I should have gotten that job. And now suddenly she’s in every important meeting?”
A pause. Someone else’s murmur, too quiet to hear.
Then Piper again: “Have you noticed how late they both stay? Like, every night?”
My face burns. Like someone’s holding a match to my cheeks.
Don’t react.
Don’t let her see you react.
I walk past reception toward the executive area with my head high. Piper’s eyes meet mine for half a second. Her smile is poison wrapped in politeness. “Have a good afternoon, Bree.”
I don’t respond.
Five thirty. The floor is emptying out. Normal people going home to normal lives where they don’t have to wonder if their coworkers think they’re sleeping their way to the top.
Except you are sleeping with him.
So technically they’re not wrong.
The thought makes me want to throw up.
I wait until most everyone’s gone. Then I stand up, smooth my blazer, and walk into Nico’s office.
He looks up from his laptop. God, he’s gorgeous in this light. The fading afternoon sun catches the sharp lines of his face, throws shadows across those scarred cheekbones, and makes his dark eyes seem even darker. And that mouth, which has been on me so many times—
Focus, Bree.
“People are talking,” I say simply.
He leans back in his chair. “About?”
“About us.” I close the door behind me. The click sounds louder than it should. “About me. About why I’m suddenly in meetings I wasn’t in before. About why we both stay late every night.”
He shrugs. “Let them talk.”
The dismissiveness in his voice makes something snap inside me.
“Easy for you to say.” My voice comes out sharper than intended. “You’re the billionaire CEO. You could have a different woman in here every night and people would high-five you in the break room. I’m the secretary they think is sleeping her way to the top.”
His jaw tightens. “You’re more than that. A lot fucking more.”
“But they don’t know that.” I step closer, feeling the frustration build in my chest. “And neither do you, apparently, since you still treat me like furniture in front of them.”
He frowns. “That’s not fair.”
“Really? In that donor meeting earlier, Brown asked about the governance structure. The one I designed three weeks ago. And Paloma credited ‘the team.’ You sat right there and said nothing.”
Nico’s silent for a long moment. His fingers tap once against his desk. Twice.
“If I start giving you public credit,” he says slowly, “it’ll only make the rumors worse. You know that, right?”
“So either way I lose?” I shake my head. “I stay invisible and my work gets credited to everyone else, or you acknowledge me and people assume it’s because we’re screwing?”
“I didn’t say that,” he tells me.
“You didn’t have to.” I’m shaking now. “This isn’t sustainable,” I continue quietly. “Something has to change.”
Nico stands up from his desk. Moves toward me. “What do you want me to do, Bree?”
“I don’t know.” My voice cracks slightly. I hate that it cracks. “Acknowledge that this is harder for me than it is for you, maybe. That I’m the one whose reputation is being shredded while you get to stay the powerful CEO who everyone’s afraid to question.”
He reaches for me, but I step back.
“Later,” I say. “You haven’t even set the glass to opaque.”
“Your place tonight?” he asks.
I should tell him this is over, that the cost is too high, that I can’t become the story I fought so hard to escape.
But as I look at him standing there, with his scarred face and the vulnerability he only ever shows me, I can’t.
“Yes, of course,” I say softly. “But at some point we need to figure this out. Whatever this is. Is it all just sex and lust? Or something more?”
I leave his office without looking back.
At my desk, I gather my things with shaking hands. My reflection stares back at me from the darkened computer screen.
You’re probably going to get destroyed by this, you know.