Chapter 17
Seventeen
ZOE / VICTORIA
I woke up to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, momentarily blinded and very confused about where I was.
This definitely wasn’t my tiny apartment with its questionable heating and view of the neighboring brick wall.
The silk sheets sliding against my skin felt foreign, yet familiar—Victoria’s body was used to this luxury, even if my mind wasn’t.
Then it hit me. Everything.
Oh. My. God.
I was in Jason Everett’s bedroom. In his bed. In his wife’s body. The same wife who was supposed to be cold and calculating, who was supposed to drive him away and into Sophia’s arms. The same wife who was absolutely not supposed to be having mind-blowing sex with the hero of The CEO’s Bargain.
The hero who’s supposed to fall in love with Sophia, my conscience helpfully reminded me.
I groaned and buried my face in what had to be the softest pillows known to mankind. The room screamed masculine luxury with its clean lines and rich textures in shades of gray and navy.
My treacherous mind kept replaying highlights from last night like some sort of X-rated greatest hits compilation. His mouth on my skin. His hands pinning my wrists above my head. That thing he did with his tongue that made me forget I wasn’t even in my own body.
What kind of body snatcher ruins the perfect romance novel plot? I thought miserably.
“You’re thinking too loud,” a deep voice said from the doorway.
I peeked out from behind my pillow fortress. Jason was leaning against the doorframe, looking like he’d just stepped out of a casual menswear catalog. Dark jeans that fit him criminally well, a simple gray t-shirt that did nothing to hide his impressive physique, and damp hair that made me want to…
No. Stop objectifying the hero. The hero who should be at his office right now, buried in financial reports with Sophia bringing him coffee, not looking at you like you’re breakfast.
I suddenly felt very aware that I was naked under these sheets. Which was ridiculous because last night I’d been more than comfortable with my nakedness. Very, very comfortable. Multiple times. In various positions that made me blush just thinking about them.
“Coffee?” He held out a steaming mug like a peace offering.
I clutched the sheet tighter to my chest. “My hero,” I mumbled, trying to figure out how to sit up and maintain my modesty at the same time. As if he hadn’t already seen—and thoroughly explored—everything underneath.
His lips twitched. “Tired?”
I accepted the coffee with slightly trembling hands, not daring to meet his eyes.
Last night felt like a dream—or maybe a fever-induced hallucination.
My cheeks burned as fragments of memories flashed through my mind: my hands clutching his shoulders, my voice begging for more, completely forgetting I was supposed to be the ice queen in this story.
“It’s Saturday,” I realized suddenly, which explained his casual attire and why he wasn’t rushing off to run his corporate empire.
“Very observant,” he teased, sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and I tried not to remember how it had felt when he’d pressed me into these same sheets, whispering things that made both Victoria’s body and my soul burn.
This isn’t your happy ending, I reminded myself. This is Sophia’s story. You’re just the body-snatching waitress who’s royally messing up the plot.
“Hungry?” he asked, and there was something in his tone that made me think he wasn’t just talking about food.
I pulled the sheet higher, suddenly shy under his intense gaze. “Um, yes. Hungry,” I managed, my cheeks burning as memories of last night flashed through my mind again.
He laughed—a real, genuine laugh that made my heart skip several beats. This wasn’t the Jason from the book. That Jason had been cold, distant, especially with Victoria. This Jason looked at me like I was something precious, something worth keeping.
“Brunch?” he suggested, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face.
“Yes, please.” I clutched my coffee mug like a lifeline. “Though I should probably shower first. I’m pretty sure I still have evidence of last night’s activities all over me.”
His eyes darkened at that, and I immediately regretted my choice of words. Or maybe I didn’t, because the way he was looking at me made my body hum with recognition and desire.
“Shower sounds good,” he said, his voice rough. “Need help?”
Oh boy.
I was in so much trouble. Because I wasn’t supposed to be having shower fantasies about the hero. I wasn’t supposed to be in his bed at all. I was supposed to be the cold, calculating wife who drove him into Sophia’s arms with my frigid attitude and sharp tongue.
But as I watched Jason’s eyes darken with renewed desire, I realized I might have already fallen. And that wasn’t just derailing the plot—it was rewriting the entire story.
“I, uh, should probably use my own bathroom,” I said quickly, gathering the sheet more securely around me. “You know, where all my… stuff is.”
His expression softened with amusement. “Right. Your stuff.”
“Very important stuff. Like face wash. And… other things.” I was babbling. Why was I babbling? “I’ll see you at brunch?”
God, could we sound any more like awkward teenagers arranging a date? We literally live in the same penthouse.
He nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. “Don’t take too long.”
The moment he left, I gathered the silk sheet around me like a toga and made my not-so-graceful escape from the scene of my literary crime.
I was basically a book criminal at this point—derailing plots, seducing heroes, and destroying carefully crafted story arcs.
If there were Romance Novel Police, they’d be breaking down the door with a warrant for my arrest.
Because the universe loves a good comedic timing, I nearly collided with Maria in the hallway, who was carrying fresh towels. Perfect. A witness to my felonious flee from the hero’s bedroom.
“Oh!” Maria jumped back, barely managing to keep hold of her stack. Her eyes widened as she took in my sheet-wrapped form and obvious walk of shame.
“I, uh…” I clutched the sheet tighter, feeling my face burn. “Good morning?”
Maria’s lips twitched as she tried to maintain her professional composure. “Good morning, Mrs. Everett. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Lovely. Yes. Very… lovely.” I sidled past her, trying to maintain what dignity I could while essentially wearing Jason’s bedding. “I’ll just… go now.”
I could have sworn I heard a muffled laugh as I practically sprinted the rest of the way to Victoria’s suite. Once safely behind my closed door, I leaned against it, letting out a long breath. Well, if the staff didn’t know about last night before, they certainly do now.
Victoria’s shower was calling my name. As hot water cascaded over me, I breathed in the familiar scent of her French body wash.
The original Victoria would never have spent the night in Jason’s bed.
She wouldn’t be sneaking back to her own room wrapped in nothing but a sheet.
And she definitely wouldn’t be humming while washing her hair with her imported shampoo.
Twenty minutes later, I emerged from Victoria’s closet wearing the most casual outfit I could find—a cream cashmere sweater and designer jeans. My still-damp hair fell in waves down my back, and I’d skipped Victoria’s usual full face of makeup.
When I reached the informal dining room, I found Gregory setting out an impressive spread that made my inner foodie gasp in delight.
There were delicate dim sum baskets steaming with various dumplings, a colorful array of fresh tropical fruits, and what looked like perfectly grilled unagi on rice.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the exotic spices in the air.
“Good morning, Mrs. Everett,” Gregory said, his tone carefully neutral but his eyes twinkling. “I trust you slept well?”
I felt my cheeks heat up. “Very well, thank you, Gregory.”
“I thought you might enjoy something different this morning,” he said, gesturing to the spread. “The green tea is from a special reserve.”
“You’re a saint,” I told him fervently, making him cough to cover what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.
“I aim to please, madam.”
Jason walked in just then, and my heart did that annoying flutter thing again.
“Something smells amazing,” he said, taking a seat next to me.
Gregory quietly brought in more coffee and slipped away, leaving us alone with our feast. As Jason’s knee brushed against mine under the table, I found it hard to care about anything except the way he was looking at me over his coffee cup.
“Try this one,” Jason said, picking up a crystal-clear shrimp dumpling with his chopsticks and holding it out to me. The gesture was so casual, so intimate, that it made my heart do a little somersault.
This is how they get you, I thought, even as I leaned forward to accept his offering. The billionaire hero feeds you dim sum, and suddenly you forget all about the plot you’re supposed to be following.
The dumpling was perfect—delicate and flavorful. I couldn’t help the small sound of appreciation that escaped me.
“Good?” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled like that, and it was doing dangerous things to my ability to remember why this was all wrong.
“You know it is.” I reached for another dumpling, trying to ignore how he was watching me. “Stop looking so pleased with yourself.”
“I’m not allowed to be happy that my wife is enjoying breakfast?”
“Brunch,” I corrected automatically, then froze. Wife. Right. That word shouldn’t make my stomach flutter the way it did. “And you’re just showing off your chopstick skills.”
He laughed, reaching across me for the soy sauce. His arm brushed against mine, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t entirely accidental. “I’ll have you know these skills were hard-won. There was an incident in Tokyo that nearly caused an international crisis.”
“Oh?” I perked up, recognizing the playful glint in his eye. “Do tell.”