CHAPTER 1

If someone had told Jillian that the night she celebrated her new job would also be the night that unraveled every piece of her carefully rebuilt life, she’d have stayed home. Brushed her teeth, and went to bed, maybe even prayed.

But instead, she let Ciara pour tequila down her throat in a smoky club on Boylston Street and convince her that she needed one wild night before she turned into a “corporate robot.” Her words.

She didn’t expect to meet him.

The music pounded hard through the high-quality speakers in the club.

Jillian Richards wasn't usually the clubbing type. Blaring music, packed rooms, and flashing lights weren't exactly her definition of a good time. But tonight was different. Tonight, she had something worth celebrating.

She spun the drink in her hand—a pale pink cocktail rimmed with sugar (not salt. That shit was irritating)—and laughed as Ciara dragged her toward the center of the dance floor.

"You just got a job with Pierre corp.," Ciara shouted over the blaring music, struggling against the bodies packed on the dance floor. Tonight was unusually crowded at the club. "You can't come in here looking like someone's retired schoolteacher. Move that ginger goddess ass, Jill!"

Jillian rolled her eyes but grinned, her green eyes glimmering in the dim light of the neon lights. She'd pulled back her ginger hair tonight, letting it cascade in soft waves to her shoulders, and had slipped into a deep emerald dress that hugged her curves perfectly and fell mid-thigh. Confidence didn't come naturally to her, but tonight she felt like a different person. She finally felt confident in her skin for once.

She let Ciara pull her into the beat, the rhythm pumping through her veins like pure vodka. They danced, laughed, and danced some more the way only two best friends could after fighting their way out of college and into the real world.

And then Jillian felt it.

Eyes.

Someone was watching her.

She turned slowly and saw him. He was standing near the bar, a drink in one hand, observing her. His dark blonde hair looked like he’d run his hand through them a lot, as if he'd intentionally done it but also, it looked very pricey. She couldn’t really see him, but his eyes seemed a bright blue, like a tempestuous ocean. He was tall with broad shoulders and wore a crisp black shirt with its sleeves rolled-up and showing his defined forearms. Something was deadly about his smile and she couldn’t help but be attracted to its savageness.

He tipped his glass in her general direction, taking Jillian by surprise. She blinked and couldn’t help but admire him. The man was… beautiful.

Ciara tracked her gaze and grinned. "Girl. That man is devouring you with his eyes. Go on. I’ll be here," she said with an exaggerated wink.

Jillian rolled her eyes. "I can't just—"

"You can and you fucking will. Now, shoo,” she said, not-so-subtly pushing her toward the man’s direction. “Go make your introduction or I swear I'll do it for you."

That did it for Jillian. With her heart lodged in her throat and an annoyed huff, she made her way to the bar. The man spun fully around to face her, his eyes sweeping over her with obvious interest.

Hi," she said, trying to sound normal and not out of breath like she’d just run a marathon. And maybe she did. She was so going to get Ciara for this.

"Hi," he said, his deep voice silky smooth like melted chocolate. "I was starting to think you weren't going to make it over."

"You were staring at me."

"Guilty," he said, not even looking embarrassed. "Want to have a drink with me?"

"I already have one," she replied, raising her glass and quickly feeling awkward about doing that.

"Then let me complete it for you," he told her, snatching the glass from her hand and savoring it deliberately, never breaking eye contact.

Jillian's breath froze

"Your name?" she asked. She couldn’t even speak in full sentences again. That was the effect of whoever this man was.

He grinned. "Let’s not focus on names tonight, shall we?"

Those words should have been a red flag, but rather than repel her, they lit a flame deep in her.

He extended his hands toward her, “A dance?”

She smiled in response and took his outstretched hand. They danced through the night and she admired how he was poised in a way most men weren't—confident without being controlling, playful but commanding at the same time. His hand settled easily at the small of her back, and when they brushed against each other, heat burst across her skin.

A cocktail became two. Two became a kiss on the sidewalk outside under the club lights. Then a cab ride. And before she knew it, they were a tangled mess on the sheets.

His lips were on hers before the door to the hotel room had even shut. Their clothes fell to the floor with furious haste—her heels, his shirt, her dress, his belt. She inhaled sharply as he lifted her up, like she weighed a feather, and wrapped her legs around his waist, his lips following every line of her skin, as if he was trying to memorize it.

Their night was a blur of gasping whispers, pulsing touches, and an intensity that made her question her sanity. He made her feel seen. Desired. Like the world had shrunk to this room, this bed, this instant.

She woke with the sun rising, painting the unknown room walls gold.

The mystery man was no longer there.

He left without a trace. No message or sign he’d been there. Only the lingering scent of his cologne on the pillow and the lingering warmth of his body beside hers.

Jillian stared at the empty space for a long while, reality crashing in on her.

She had just slept with a complete stranger. Something she’d never done before.

She pulled herself out of bed, still trembling, still numb, and quickly dressed before calling a cab home.

Ciara was waiting for her when she got to their shared apartment.

She pushed the door open with arms folded and an eyebrow raised. "Well, well, well. Look who thought they'd stumble home."

"I know," Jillian muttered, walking past her. "I'm sorry."

"You left me hanging."

"I met someone."

Ciara's eyes went wide. "You met someone?"

Jillian flashed her a guilty smile. "It was…” Jaw-breaking good, out of this world, “…intense."

"Wait—did you sleep with him?"

"Don't judge me."

Ciara blinked, then threw up her hands. "Girl, I'm not judging. I'm shocked, impressed, and a little proud, honestly."

Jillian fell onto the couch and breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't even know his name."

"Well, I hope it was worth it because your first day at your new job is in two hours."

"Two hours?!"

“Yup,” Ciara said, enunciating the last letter.

Jillian jumped up and ran to the shower.

____________________________________________

Pierre Corp's halls glittered under morning sun. Jillian patted down her blazer the third time, tension coursing through her. She hadn't expected to be late but managed to put herself together—hair immaculate, make-up immaculate, all her documents professionally printed and ready in her handbag.

The elevator chimed as it reached the top floor, and Jillian stepped out into the executive suite. She was early, just as she planned. First impressions mattered after all and she was going to make a hell of an impression today.

A woman waited just outside the office—tall, elegant, and intimidating. Her blonde hair was in an elegant chignon, her eyes a reminder of the nameless man of last night. 

Stop, don’t go there, she told herself.

“Ms. Richards?” she asked, her voice calm yet firm.

“Yes. That’s me.”

“I’m Eloise Pierre, CEO of Pierre Corp. You’ll be my personal assistant.”

Jillian almost fell. The Eloise Pierre?

"I… Thank you for the opportunity."

"You were chosen because I expect the best," Eloise said, touching her on the shoulder and leading her into the main office. "Come on in. I'd like you to meet my son. You’ll be seeing a lot of him as he works on this floor too. Gerald—"

Jillian's feet were rooted to the floor. She wished at that moment the ground would open and swallow her up.

Walking into the room with dark pants, a fitted blazer, and that same tousled blond hair and ocean-blue eyes that actually matched her new boss, was him.

The guy from last night.

And she’s just learning his name is Gerald. Fucking Gerald Pierre.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her heart just kept beating like an incessant drum in her ears.

At that moment, the reason for her current tachycardia stopped in his tracks, and stared at her.

A look of recognition flickered in his eyes, then a slow, patronizing smile spread across his annoyingly handsome face.

"Well," he drawled, his tone filled with dark humor, "this is… unexpected."

Eloise raised an eyebrow. "You two know each other?"

Jillian tried to say something. "We... may have met."

Gerald's eyes twinkled. "Briefly."

Jillian's feet seemed unsteady on the floor as she struggled to manage a closed smile. Her heart pounded in her chest like a war drum.

She had slept with her boss's son.

No. Her boss's vice president son as she was later informed by Eloise.