5. Red Dress Revenge
FIVE
RED DRESS REVENGE
Bella
The Chicago deal changes everything and nothing.
We’ve been back for three weeks, pretending that night never happened. Pretending he didn’t kiss me after the deal was saved. Pretending we didn’t share a hotel suite in Chicago, where we went far but not too far. Pretending I don’t catch him watching me, his eyes dark with memories I’m trying to forget.
I adjust my skirt at my desk, fighting the ache of arousal and need that’s become my constant companion. Since Chicago, my body has developed a Logan Fraser-shaped craving no cold shower—or toy or use of my own fingers—can cure.
When I’m alone, I replay his words, his touch, and the sound of my name in that velvet, whiskey-smooth accent. It’s maddening.
Every time he speaks, that accent pulls me back to that night in his penthouse, whispering Gaelic against my skin.
“The board meeting starts in five,” I tell him through the intercom.
“Okay. Thank you, Bella.” His voice is professional despite the heat in his gaze when I glance through the glass partition.
I grab my tablet and notepad, deliberately taking my time walking to the conference room.
The meeting drags, mostly because I can’t focus on anything except how Logan’s hands move when he talks. Those hands that slid under my dress in Chicago. That made me mad with desire?—
“Ms. Levine?”
I blink. The entire board is staring at me.
“The Q3 projections?” Logan prompts, his accent thicker than usual. He knows exactly where my mind went.
Bastard.
Later, as I’m sorting through RSVPs for tonight’s charity gala, a delivery arrives. A garment bag from Neiman Marcus.
“You’ll need something appropriate for tonight,” Logan says, passing my desk. “The board expects a certain standard at these events.”
I wait until he’s in his office before unzipping the bag. Inside is a stunning black designer gown, undoubtedly from a luxury brand.
Nice try, Fraser.
Opening my bottom drawer, I pull out the dry-cleaning bag I picked up yesterday. Inside is a very familiar red dress—freshly altered to be even more devastating than the night of Audrey’s wedding.
He won’t see what’s coming.
The gala transforms our office building’s ground floor into something from a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, Manhattan’s elite in their finest. I time my entrance carefully, waiting until Logan’s deep in conversation with major donors.
His reaction is worth every penny of the alterations.
He stops mid-sentence, his glass freezing halfway to his lips as I descend the stairs. The red dress clings in all the right places, showing just enough skin to be sophisticated rather than scandalous. But Logan’s eyes darken like I’m wearing nothing at all.
“Ms. Levine.” His accent wraps around my name like silk when I join his group. “I believe I sent you something more... appropriate to wear.”
“Did you?” I accept a champagne flute from a passing waiter. “Must have slipped my mind.”
For the next hour, I walk around the room, socializing with the staff and guests, but I feel Logan’s eyes on me the whole time.
“That dress is entirely unsuitable,” he growls when we end up alone by the bar.
“You didn’t think so the night of Audrey’s wedding.” I lean closer, ostensibly reaching for a napkin. “In fact, if I remember correctly, you quite enjoyed removing it.”
His fingers flex around his whiskey glass. “Careful, love.”
“Or what?” I whisper, close enough to smell his cologne. “You’ll punish me like you did in Chicago?”
His eyes darken. “You mean like how you punished yourself later that night?” His voice drops lower. “Those thin walls didn’t hide much, love. I heard every delicious sound you made in that sitting room. God knows what you were doing with yourself.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I hold his gaze. “Funny. I heard you too. Those Scottish curses got particularly creative around midnight.”
“You know what, I’d rather you hear those sounds up close this time—without walls between us. Walk with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just checking on the silent auction displays,” he says loud enough for others to hear, but his hand at the small of my back burns through the thin fabric of my dress.
“The MacAllan went for fifteen thousand,” I say, playing along as we pass the auction tables where various luxury items are displayed, including an expensive bottle of whiskey.
“The one from Audrey’s wedding was better.”
We’re in a quieter hallway now, away from the main event. The coat check room is ahead, but the attendant is nowhere to be seen. Logan’s hand tightens on my waist, pulling me through the door and pressing me against the wall, his body caging mine.
“Logan—”
“You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs.
“Maybe I want to get burned.”
He looks at me like he already knows he’s won, but not in that smug, possessive way that used to drive me mad. It’s quieter now, and hungrier, like he’s hurting too, like every inch between us is a punishment he can’t take anymore.
I came here to rattle him, to make him want me and not have me. But somewhere between his gaze dipping to the neckline of my dress and the way his jaw clenches like he’s barely holding it together, I stop wanting revenge.
I want relief .
I want the way he made me feel in Chicago, when the rest of the world fell away and there was only this heat between us and it was complicated, messy, and real.
His kiss is bruising and desperate. My hands find his pants zipper, fumbling until I feel him hard and ready. I rub his cock, and he groans against my lips. His hands are already under my dress, bunching the fabric at my waist as his mouth trails down my neck, his stubble dragging across my skin in the best way. Each kiss erases the distance I tried to build. Each breath I take is him.
“I’ve wanted this since you walked down those stairs,” he admits, his voice raw.
“Then do it,” I challenge, because if I don’t say it now, I’ll fall apart.
I know this is a terrible idea. We’re steps away from a gala filled with half of Manhattan. But when his fingers slide between my thighs and find exactly where I need him most, every reason to stop disappears.
He turns me around and presses me against the wall of coats, his hands gripping my hips as he positions himself behind me. His movements are fast but precise, his urgency matching my own as he slides his thick cock into me with one powerful thrust.
I bite my lip to stifle the cry that escapes, but he’s relentless, his pace quick and demanding. Each movement sends waves of heat through me, my body molding to his as he pulls me closer, deeper.
“Still think the dress is unsuitable?” I manage to say, my voice receding to a low whimper.
“Absolutely,” he growls, his teeth grazing my shoulder. “But I’m beginning to see its merits.”
The sound of our heavy breaths fills the small space, the world outside completely forgotten. His hands slide up my body, one wrapping around my waist while the other cups my breast, his fingers teasing until I’m trembling in his arms.
“Logan,” I gasp, the tension building to a crescendo that I can’t control.
“Let go, Bella,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice sending me over the edge. “Let me have you.” And that’s all I want right now. My body tightens around him as I shatter, my cries muffled by the thick silence of the coatroom.
He follows seconds later, his grip on me tightening as he finds his own release, a guttural sound escaping his lips as he buries his face in my neck.
We stay like that for a moment, our breaths mingling as we come back to ourselves. Slowly, he steps back, his hands sliding down to fix my dress.
“You’re dangerous,” he says, his voice laced with both exhaustion and satisfaction.
“You started it,” I reply, turning to face him with a flirty smile.
His eyes darken, but instead of responding, he brushes a kiss against my temple.
“We should get back,” he says, his voice rough. “Separately.” He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that feels more intimate than what we just did against the wall. “Take the private elevator up to my office first,” he says. “Fix your lipstick. I’ll see you up there in ten minutes.”
I should say no. Should go back to the party and pretend this never happened.
Instead, I find myself walking toward his private elevator, my body still humming from his touch, craving more.
The elevator feels too quiet after the gala. I check my appearance in the mirrored walls, grimacing. The red dress is wrinkled in suspicious places, but there's nothing I can do now.
The doors open to the dark executive floor. City lights cast long shadows through the windows, making it eerie being up here alone while the party goes on below.
I head to the washroom, grateful for the motion-sensor lights. Under the harsh fluorescent glow, the aftermath of our coatroom activities is clear: ruined lipstick, messy hair, and a suspicious mark below my collarbone. Damn him.
I grab my emergency makeup kit and clean up what I can, using the bathroom’s fancy towels and expensive toilet paper to finish the job.
Afterward, I carefully reapply my lipstick and fix my slightly smudged eyeshadow. The wrinkles in my dress are hopeless. I do my best to smooth them out. My hair takes longer, but I manage to restore some semblance of elegance to the style.
Looking presentable again, I step out of the restroom.
Ten minutes feels like forever.
When the elevator dings, Logan steps out looking perfectly composed—except for the hunger in his eyes when he sees me.
“You fixed your lipstick,” he notes, walking toward me. His voice is quiet, but his eyes are shining, and the way he speaks with that snarky, lopsided grin tells me he’s mentally replaying everything he just did to me in the coat closet.
I hate that even the simplest things he says manage to undo me. My body betrays me before I can think, warmth unfurling low in my belly, everything softening at the edges. I shift where I stand, subtly pressing my thighs together as if that might quiet the ache. “You’ll just mess it up again.”
His smile is wicked, sending a ripple through my chest and making my breath catch before he even moves. “That’s the plan, love.”
He steps in, closing the space between us, and before I can stop him—or myself—he backs me into the elevator. My spine meets the mirrored wall with a soft thud, cool glass against the heat radiating off my skin. His hands are already on me, sliding beneath the hem of my dress like they belong there, like they never stopped.
His mouth finds the side of my neck, and the world tilts. I gasp, tipping my head to the side as his breath fans over my skin, warm and unsteady, the rasp of his stubble sending sparks down my spine.
“Logan…” My voice fractures as his fingers skim the inside of my thigh. “We should?—”
But the rest never leaves my mouth.
Suddenly, a voice cuts through the tension. “Excuse me.”
We freeze. My heart stalls for a breathless second before crashing back to life, hammering against my ribs as a cold rush sweeps through me, my stomach plummeting with the weight of recognition. Then—slowly, inevitably—we both turn toward the voice, dread tightening like a noose around my spine as we face her standing there in a gown without a single crease, her posture regal, her expression carved from glass, and her eyes filled with cold, silent judgment. Victoria Hawthorne—head of our board of directors—stands there in her designer gown, looking like judgment personified.
Logan doesn’t step away. Instead, his arm tightens around my waist.
“Victoria. This isn’t what it looks like.”
Her brow arches as she looks at the both of us. “Really? Because it looks like our CEO is engaging in highly inappropriate behavior with his executive assistant.”
“Bella isn’t just my assistant,” Logan says, the words rushing out. “We’ve been together for years.”
Breath catches in my throat.
I blink up at him, stunned, my body still pressed lightly against his as the full weight of what he just said sinks in. Years. Not weeks. Not months. Years.
“What?” Victoria’s disbelief is sharp enough to flay skin.
“We met when she was studying in Edinburgh,” Logan adds quickly, his arm holding me tighter. I have to hand it to him for making this up on the fly and doing such a good job at it because I’ve never been to Edinburgh, not even for a layover. “Before I moved to New York. Before all this.”
For a second, all I can do is stare at him, the panic rising swift and hot behind my ribs because I know what this is. A lie, a lifeline, and a trap, all at once.
Victoria’s gaze shifts to me, piercing in its expectation. My immediate instinct is to run, but that won’t save me. And it definitely won’t stop Logan from launching himself into a full-blown HR nightmare with a side of scandal. If this goes sideways, neither of us walks out with a job or a shred of dignity. So, I do the only thing a woman can do when she’s caught between a mirrored elevator wall, a CEO who just kissed her, and the ice queen of the board.
I swallow down every frantic thought, lift my chin an inch higher, and lean into him—not just physically, but in every way that matters. My shoulder brushes his chest, and when I speak, my voice is calm, almost tired, like I’ve told this story a hundred times before.
“We kept it quiet,” I say, my eyes fixed on Victoria’s, willing them to believe. “Because of my friendship with his sister Audrey. We didn’t want it to complicate things.”
“And you’re working here?” Victoria asks sharply.
I feel the question land before she even finishes it. It isn’t really a question. It’s an accusation dressed in couture.
Logan’s voice stays even, but I can feel the tension in the way his arm curls tighter around my waist.
“I didn’t hire her,” he says. “HR did. When we realized... we tried to keep it professional.”
He glances down at me, and for a second, there’s something unguarded in his eyes. It’s not part of the performance, not part of the lie, and it makes me warm and cold all at once.
“Did you, indeed,” Victoria says dryly, glancing at his hand, which is still distinctly under the hem of my dress.
“She’s brilliant at her job,” Logan continues, his voice taking on a protective edge that makes my heart skip. “I won’t have anyone suggesting otherwise. The CyberMind deal proves that.”
Victoria studies us for a long moment. I hold my breath, trying to look like someone in a long-term relationship rather than whatever mess Logan and I actually are.
“The board needs to be informed,” she says finally.
Logan nods, controlled, diplomatic, still the CEO even with lipstick marks probably stamped on his neck. “Of course. I’ll prepare a formal disclosure.” He pauses, then softens his voice just slightly. “But I’d appreciate your discretion until then. For Bella’s sake.”
Something in his tone must convince her because she nods slightly. “Monday. Let’s talk in my office. Both of you.” She turns to leave, then pauses. “Next time, try to keep your... closeness... out of the company elevator.”
The doors close behind her, and we both exhale.
“Logan—”
“Not here.” He guides me toward his office, checking to make sure Victoria’s really gone. “We need to talk about this.”
My head is spinning, caught somewhere between the feel of him still on my skin and the sound of him rewriting our entire history in front of the most powerful woman we work for. Moments ago, all I could think about was the way he felt inside me, the way his hands owned every part of me without asking. And now? Now none of that matters because apparently, we’ve been in a secret, years-long relationship I wasn’t informed about until two minutes ago. “About how you just told the head of our board we’ve been secret lovers since Edinburgh?”
He purses his lips and gives me a rueful look. “Sorry about that. But it’s important we plan how we’re going to make her believe it.” He runs a hand through his hair. “The board’s been pushing me to settle down, show stability. This could work in our favor.”
Okay, this is making me slightly mad. More so since now it feels like he’s actually serious about this fake dating gig. I fold my arms in front of my chest and stare up at him. “You want us to fake a relationship?” This is classic Logan; somehow, he just manages to make everything that much more complicated.
“I want us to...” He stops and shakes his head frustratedly. “We don’t have too much of a choice right now. Look, we need to discuss terms. This could favor us both in a good way.”
Terms . Like this is just another business deal. Like I had any say in it, and he isn’t doing this just for his PR image. All of a sudden, a wave of sadness washes over me. Tears rush to the surface, but I bite down on my lower lip and push them back. In a lot of dreams, I pictured what it’d be like if Logan and I dated. None of them went like this.
“Fine.” I look away from him and straighten my dress, needing distance from his intoxicating presence. “But not tonight. I need... I need to think.”
He nods but catches my wrist as I move to leave. “Bella?”
I still can’t meet his gaze so I settle for staring at the wall in front. “What?”
“Keep the dress I got you.”
If I stay any longer, I’ll either kiss him or slap him. And right now, neither of those things would help. So, I offer a tight, noncommittal nod and extricate myself from him, escaping quickly to the regular elevator. Only when the door shuts do I let a tiny groan slip. I mean, what could possibly go wrong, right? Pretending to be in a long-term relationship with Logan Fraser? The man who makes me forget my own name with just his accent? The man I’m already in danger of feeling too much for?
“Yeah, it’s going to be great,” I mutter to myself.