005

DAMIEN

I couldn’t sleep when I got home. Every time I shut my eyes, the image replayed in high definition: Macey in her office chair, head tilted back, lips parted, her body trembling as she came undone. For me. I knew it was for me. The way her eyes found mine, hungry and desperate, like she wanted me just as badly as I wanted her—it wrecked me.

I tried to fight it. Tried to throw on some music, scroll through my phone, hell, even check emails. But all I could see was her, breathless and spent in that chair.

By the time I stumbled into my office at home, I’d given up pretending I could sleep.

My hand was already on my zipper. I jerked off like a starving man, replaying the sound of her moans in my head, the way her body tensed, and the way her lips shaped my name even if she didn’t say it out loud. I came harder than I had in months, head pressed against the desk, chest heaving like I’d run a marathon.

But it didn’t help. Not really. Because when the release was over, she was still there in my head. I was still buzzing, restless, and half-crazed like some addict who’d just gotten a taste and needed more.

I lasted maybe ten minutes before I admitted it—sleep wasn’t happening. I paced the length of my bedroom until the sky started bleeding pink outside the windows.

By morning, I was frustrated and wired at the same time, strung out like a kid on Christmas morning who couldn’t sit still.

I pulled into the office earlier than usual. Way earlier. Earlier than Zinna, which never happened. She looked up from her desk the second I walked in, eyes wide behind her glasses, like she couldn’t believe I was upright before ten.

“Morning,” I said, breezing past her with a coffee I didn’t even want.

She blinked. “You’re in early.”

“Yeah.” I shrugged, already heading toward my office. If she only knew the real reason I was pacing like a man with an infection.

But then her voice carried after me, “Oh, by the way—Macey won’t be in today. She’s sick.”

I froze mid-step. Sick? My lips twitched. Right. Sick. More like hiding.

Turning back casually, I leaned against her desk like it was just another Tuesday. “Oh? What happened?”

“She texted me this morning,” Zinna said, still typing away. “Said she caught a cold from staying late last night.”

A cold, my ass. I could practically hear Macey’s voice saying it, all stubborn denial, as if avoiding me was as simple as faking the flu.

I wanted to laugh, but instead, I gave Zinna my most polite smile. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Inside, I was already plotting.

The day crawled, and every tick of the clock was another reminder that Macey wasn’t here. My head was full of her anyway. Her laugh. Her sharp little comebacks. The sound she made when she let go in that chair.

By noon, I was done pretending I could focus. I walked out of my office, leaning on Zinna’s desk like I had a hundred other times. She didn’t even look up, just kept typing.

Getting her address out of Zinna was tricky. I had to slip it into conversation like it was nothing, like I just wanted to send flowers to check on her. Play it cool, like I wasn’t already plotting to show up at Macey’s doorstep uninvited.

Zinna didn’t suspect a thing—thank God—because if she had, I’d never hear the end of it.

By the time I had what I wanted, I was practically vibrating with anticipation, halfway out the door and ready to head straight for Macey.

I could already picture her face when she opened the door, the shock in her eyes, the inevitable spark of irritation when she realized I hadn’t given her space.

Of course, that’s when Zinna came barreling toward me, panic flashing in her eyes. “Damien, wait. You need to meet a client. Urgently. The investor from last year’s pitch—he’s here now.”

I stopped dead. Of course. The universe had the worst timing.

I bit back my frustration because as much as I wanted to blow her off and go straight to Macey, I couldn’t. It had taken us years to land this deal. Years of chasing, begging, and proving ourselves. If I screwed it up because I was too obsessed with one woman, I’d regret it forever.

So I went. I sat through the meeting, smiled when I needed to, nodded at the right times, signed papers, shook hands. The whole time, my brain wasn’t in it.

My body was sitting in that conference room, but my head was already somewhere else—standing outside Macey’s apartment, ringing her bell until she had no choice but to open the door.

I pictured her expression, the way her eyebrows would shoot up, how she’d probably cross her arms and glare at me like I was the biggest mistake she’d ever let into her life. And God help me, even that thought made me want her more.

The second I was free, I didn’t waste a second. I was in my Range Rover, cutting through traffic like a man on a mission. Every red light felt like torture, every minute stretched like an hour. My pulse picked up the closer I got, not from nerves but from something else—hunger.

Because here’s the truth: Macey Carter wasn’t like other women I’d known. She didn’t care about the car I drove, the watch on my wrist, or the way money usually solved my problems. She’d grown up with all of that, and it bored her. She was immune to the games that worked on everyone else.

If anything, she looked at me harder because of it, like she was daring me to prove I was more than a paycheck and a cocky grin. Like she wanted me to strip away every façade and show her something real.

And for some insane reason, I wanted to.

Not because she asked me to. Not because she needed me to. But because I wanted her to see me—really see me—in a way no one else had bothered to.

So I drove faster, gripping the wheel tighter, knowing exactly what I was about to do.

By the time I reached her building, my hands itched with nerves. I rang the doorbell once. Then again. And again. Five times total before I finally heard movement on the other side.

The door swung open, and there she was.

Macey.

Her eyes went wide, her lips parting in shock. She looked like she’d seen a ghost, and honestly, I liked that reaction more than I should have.

“Damien?” Her voice cracked on my name, soft, hesitant, like she wasn’t sure I was real.

The corner of my mouth pulled up. God, she was beautiful—messy hair pulled into a loose knot, oversized sweater hanging off one shoulder, bare feet peeking out from leggings. No makeup. Just her.

“Hey, Macey,” I said softly.

She blinked. “What—what are you doing here?”

I leaned against the doorframe like I owned the place. “You weren’t at work. I got worried.”

Before she could argue, before she could tell me to leave, I reached out, slid a hand around the back of her neck, and kissed her.

Hard.