Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
sam
I reapplied my lipstick in the hotel bathroom like I hadn’t just been ruined by the CEO of Hayes International.
Again.
I fluffed my hair, smoothed my dress, and checked for any signs of well… misbehavior. There were a few, reddened lips, flushed cheeks, a barely-there wobble in my knees, but nothing a confident stride and a glass of champagne couldn’t mask.
By the time I walked back into the gala, Theo was already on the floor, speaking to a senior board member and a man I vaguely recognized from a European subsidiary. He looked cool, composed, and untouched. Of course he did.
Meanwhile, I felt like my skin was still vibrating from the feel of his mouth on me. From the way he’d taken control, how he whispered filthy things with that deliciously calm voice of his. From the way he’d made me come so hard, I forgot what planet we were on.
I spotted Rose before I spotted a drink, which said a lot about my priorities. “You’re glowing,” she whispered, barely hiding her smirk. “And not from a highlighter.”
“Shut up,” I hissed, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing tray.
“I’ll debrief you later,” I said, giving her a wink.
We rejoined Elena and Nico near the stage, and Harper gave me a small nod from across the room.
Cool, polished, as always. If she thought anything of my brief disappearance with Theo, she didn’t show it.
He caught my eye a moment later, and for a second, the world faded. The way his mouth twitched in the slightest smirk. The way his gaze dropped to my lips, then back up. The way he looked at me was like he was still undressing me with his eyes. God help me.
I turned away first. Not because I didn’t want to look. Because if I didn’t, I’d melt into the carpet and start round three in front of the press. The rest of the night was a balancing act full of small talk, toasts, and strategically timed smiles.
Naomi looked pleased with herself, no doubt thinking her little optics lecture earlier had actually sunk in. Little did she know I had just had the most unprofessional, utterly inappropriate, absolutely mind-blowing sex of my life, and walked back into the ballroom like nothing had happened.
The car ride was quiet. Not the kind of awkward silence, but the kind that only comes when the adrenaline fades, and your body finally remembers it’s tired. Rose pulled her heels off and sighed dramatically. “Remind me why people throw these things?”
“To be photographed looking richer than everyone else,” I muttered. “And so, Harper can prove herself by executing an event flawlessly without blinking,” I added.
“Okay, she’s terrifying. In a sexy, Olivia-Pope-on-steroids way.
” I smirked, letting my head rest against the window.
“Yeah. And she knows everything.” There was a pause before Rose said, “Including what happened in a hotel room a couple of hours ago?” My eyes slid shut. “God, is it written on my face?”
“No, but I can smell Dom Pérignon and guilt from a mile away.” I turned to face her.
“It’s not guilt. Not really. It’s more…” I searched for the word, “It’s more like whiplash.
He’s so good at making me feel like I’m the only person in the room, and then in the next moment, he’s all boardroom and brass tacks. Like he didn’t just—”
Rose nodded, understanding too well. “I don’t know what this is,” I admitted. “It’s not nothing. But it’s not exactly something. And I can’t afford to be stupid about this.”
“Do you want it to be something?” I hesitated. “I think… I want him to want it to be something.”
“Well, you’re not stupid. You’re just a woman who got tangled up with a very complicated man in a very complicated job situation.” The car pulled up outside our building. I didn’t move right away. “I think I just need to sleep,” I said. “And not think about Theo or Hayes or optics or power plays.”
“Done,” Rose said. “Tomorrow, we’ll have brunch. We’ll wear sunglasses, order too many mimosas, and pretend to be women with far less baggage.” I laughed softly, grabbing her hand. “Thanks for being there tonight.”
“For you? Always.”
We walked inside together. Two tired women in heels, holding secrets we weren’t ready to unpack just yet. I was already in bed, makeup wiped off, hair tossed in a bun that still smelled faintly of champagne and expensive perfume, when my screen lit up.
Theodore Jones: You looked stunning tonight. Hope you made it home safe.
Goodnight, Samantha.
It was the first time he’d texted me. The first time he used my full name outside of a moan or a meeting.
I stared at it for longer than I should have, rereading the words, letting them settle under my skin like warmth from the inside out.
It wasn’t a novel. It wasn’t even a paragraph.
But it was him. And it was real. I tapped a reply.
Me: Got home safe. Thanks for the champagne. And the… rest of it.
Goodnight, Mr. Jones.
I hit send before I could overthink it.
I turned my phone face down and let myself smile into the dark.
The clink of coffee cups and the low hum of Sunday chatter filled the tiny café near our apartment.
My gear was simple. Oversized sunglasses, a vintage tee, a light coat, and jeans that had seen better days. Rose looked unfairly flawless in a sundress, a cardigan, and lip gloss, sipping her mimosa like she hadn’t taken tequila shots with the whole Hayes International team twelve hours earlier.
She looked at me over the rim of her glass. “You’re being suspiciously quiet.”
“I’m hungover.”
“Still, you’re glowing. Which is weird.”
“I’m sweating the alcohol.” Rose narrowed her eyes. “You got a morning text, didn’t you?” I raised a brow. “What makes you think that?”
“Because you haven’t stopped checking your phone, you look like your head is a mess, and you are barely touching your food, which means you’re nervous.” I sighed, then slid my phone across the table like it was Exhibit A in my emotional trial. She read the text and gasped.
“Oh, a goodnight text? Oh my God. That’s even better than a morning text.” I nodded, sipping my iced coffee to avoid smiling. “First time he texted me.”
“And he used your government name?” Her eyes widened.
“Sam, that’s… something? I mean, it’s CEO-appropriate but also, like, low-key swoony.
” I shrugged, but the blush was creeping up my neck.
Rose leaned in. “Okay, but do we think it’s just post-coital etiquette, or are we entering the land of feelings? ”
I stared at the bubbles in my mimosa. “That’s the million-dollar question.
” She reached over and squeezed my hand.
“You don’t have to answer it today. But I’m here for every chapter of this love story, bestie.
” I laughed, finally relaxing for the first time since slipping out of Theo’s hotel room.
“Thanks,” I said. “Also, next time I even consider sleeping with someone I technically report to, slap me.”
“Oh, I will,” she said sweetly. “But I’ll also bring wine and ask for every single detail.” I smiled, knowing she meant it. And knowing, deep down, I’d already decided to keep writing this story, mess and all.
I kicked off my sneakers by the door, my apartment still smelled faintly of dry shampoo, last night’s perfume, and the citrus candle I forgot to blow out. My phone buzzed. I reached for it without thinking, thumb already swiping the screen.
Theodore Jones: Good morning.
Did you sleep well? How are you feeling today?
I blinked at the words. Good morning? Sleep well? How was I feeling? Was this him being cute? I grinned, sinking deeper into the couch and stretching my legs out.
Me: Are we texting now? Is this a thing?
His response came almost instantly.
Theodore Jones: We are.
Is that a problem?
Me: Not at all. Just want to make sure this is part of our… updated terms and conditions.
A little late-night sin, followed by polite morning follow-up?
Theodore Jones: You forgot something.
Also includes: ongoing anticipation, occasional professional tension, and the promise of more.
I laughed softly. God, he was good at this.
Me: Is that in the fine print?
Theodore Jones: No.
That’s in bold. Underlined. Red ink.
I could picture him as I read it, smirking, composed, leaning back somewhere with that damn confident look he wore like a second suit.
Me: Then I guess I’ll read the full document next time. Thoroughly. Line by line.
Three dots blinked for a long moment.
Theodore Jones: Careful, Samantha. I might hold you to that.
I set my phone down for a second, staring at the ceiling with a stupid grin on my face.
What were we doing? Whatever this thing we had was, it was getting addictive.