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~*JUNE*~

“Can you go a little faster?” I ask the cab driver, voice low as I grip the edge of the seat.

“Sure,” he says, and presses the accelerator a little harder.

I glance at my watch. 7:45.

My heart hammers as I check it again. 7:46.

That’s what I’ve been doing since I got into this cab—checking my goddamn watch.

My head pounds so hard it feels like someone is knocking from the inside of my skull.

The cab hits a bump, and pain shoots through my head, pulling a quiet groan from my throat.

I press my fingers to my temple and close my eyes for a moment, hoping for relief.

But it does nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

If anything, the throbbing only gets worse.

I should not have gone out last night.

I should have stayed home.

I really need to stop listening to Tyler and letting him drag me to the club on Sundays.

A long line of traffic comes into view, and the cab slows to a crawl.

As I stare out the window, I watch the long queues of cars stretching ahead of us, brake lights glowing red in the distance.

I bite my lip, my fingers tightening around my bag as I silently hope the cab will start moving.

It’s no shock that the roads are this packed because Vegas is always busy, especially on a Monday morning.

The air outside shimmers with heat, and horns blare somewhere far ahead.

After what feels like forever, the traffic finally clears, and we start moving again.

I glance at my watch. 7:52.

Just eight minutes before I’m late for work.

Sighing, I lean into the seat, staring out at the early morning streets of Vegas, watching the early morning light creep over the beautiful city and let the morning air wash over me.

Two weeks have passed since that night—since I slapped a complete stranger across the face and ran out of that penthouse as if the devil were chasing me—and it still feels like yesterday.

I haven’t seen him since that night.

I went back to the club where we had met a few times, but he never showed up.

Part of me felt relieved because I didn’t know what I would say if I saw him.

Another part of me wasn’t, because I wouldn’t get to see his handsome face again.

Andrew, meanwhile, hasn’t contacted me since I broke up with him. Not a text, not a call—nothing.

He’s probably living his best life with Maddie, not giving a single shit about me, while I’m still trying to patch the shattered pieces of my heart he tore apart with nothing but duct tape and prayers, which I doubt I’m doing a good job of.

Still, I need to gather every ounce of strength and courage to go back to the house we used to share and get my things.

I’ve been crashing at Tyler’s apartment ever since the night I broke up with Andrew.

Was I scared to face him again? Maybe.

But I can’t put it off any longer.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve had to buy a few clothes from a secondhand shop and some pieces from the discount rack, but I can’t keep this up.

My savings are running out fast, and I haven’t even received my first paycheck, since I’ve only been at my new job for three weeks.

I need to get my things, and I need to get them soon. One way or another.

“We’re here,” the cab driver says, pulling me back to the present.

“Huh,” I mutter, peering out the window at the massive glass building, the bold letters of Macaulay Media Group gleaming in the morning sun.

I dig through my bag for cash, hand it to the cab driver, and step out. “Thank you.”

On the sidewalk, I pause, tilting my head back to take in the building.

Its sleek glass walls catch the early morning light, making it look almost untouchable.

The fifty-floor glass-and-steel building stretches high toward the sky.

It’s one of the largest media companies in Vegas.

I still can’t believe I landed a job here as a junior marketing assistant. It’s not a big role, but I’m still thrilled. It’s a start.

Besides, some people would kill for this job, especially at a company this renowned.

Who knows? I might get a promotion someday, as long as I don’t screw things up.

I check my watch. 8:15.

Shit.

I’m fifteen minutes late.

My team manager, Mr. Harrison, is definitely going to scold me for being late.

Rushing into the building, I cross the lobby in a hurry, and jab the elevator button, tapping my foot impatiently.

When the elevator dings, I step inside and watch the numbers climb.

My reflection stares back from the elevator glass—dark circles under my eyes, hair a mess, blouse wrinkled.

Great.

Just great.

I look like a complete mess on a Monday morning.

The elevator doors open on my floor and I step out, forcing myself to walk instead of run.

I move down the hallway until I reach the door to my department and pause, peering through the small crack in the office door.

Squinting, I try to make out Mr. Hawkins’s desk, but it’s empty.

His chair is pushed in, and there’s no coffee cup.

I glance around the room and see no sign of him.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slip inside, tiptoeing toward my desk like a thief.

“Miss Fontaine.”

The voice comes from behind me, and I freeze.

Slowly, I turn.

Mr. Hawkins stands there, glasses perched on his nose, arms crossed over his chest.

He peers at me over the rims, and I can feel his gaze weighing me down.

He checks his watch. “You’re twenty minutes late.”

I plaster a smile on my face, the fakest smile I can manage. "Good morning, Mr. Harrison."

He adjusts his glasses. “Good morning, Miss Fontaine. Why are you late?”

My brain scrambles for an answer. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Harrison. It was the traffic.”

He looks at me like I’m lying.

Which I’m not.                           

 Okay… I am, but not entirely.

The traffic is one of the many reasons I’m late.

He stares at me for what feels like forever, making my heart pound in my chest in anticipation, each throb worsening my headache.

He sighs and finally says, “This shouldn’t happen again, Miss Fontaine. Next time, I won’t let it go.”

Relief floods through me so fast I feel dizzy. “Thank you, Mr. Hawkins. I promise it won’t happen again.”

He waves a hand. “Go to your desk.”

I turn around and hurry to my desk, sinking into my chair as soon as I reach it.

Tossing my bag onto the table, I lean my head back and close my eyes for a brief moment.

I take a few deep breaths and massage my forehead, trying to calm the pounding in my head so I can actually focus.

“Hey, good morning, June,” someone calls from behind me, and I don’t even have to look to know who it is.

“June, I really need your help,” Catherine says.

I roll my eyes.

What does she want this time?

Don’t get me wrong, I like Catherine. She’s sweet, but she bugs me a lot and is always yapping about things I barely even understand.

And today is one of those days I’m just not in the mood to listen to her.

I open my eyes and turn to her. “Good morning, Catherine. What can I help you with?”

“Can you please help me deliver this coffee to the CEO in his office? I really need to use the bathroom,” she says, wobbling slightly as she stretches the cup toward me, pressing her thighs together to keep her balance.

No. That’s what I want to scream.

No. No. No. I want to chant it over and over.

But instead, I smile. “Alright. Give it here.”

She smiles back, still wobbling on her feet, and shoves the coffee into my hand. “Thank you! I owe you!”

Then she’s gone, practically running toward the bathroom, her heels clicking against the floor.

The only reason I accepted the coffee instead of doing what I really wanted is because I’m trying to keep a good record here.

 That means playing the good coworker, staying on good terms with everyone, and doing my best to follow the company rules—even when I have to go out of my way to do it.

I can’t afford to mess this up and get fired, especially since this is my first job since I graduated from college.

I look down at the coffee cup in my hand, watching the steam curl into the air, then shift my gaze to the hallway leading to the CEO’s office.

It’s on the same floor as my department, just at the end of the hall.

I let out a long sigh and start walking, each step making my head pound harder.

This feels like punishment, as if the universe is paying me back for something I did.

I’ve never been to the CEO’s office before, and I’ve never even met him.

I have no idea what he looks like, though I’ve heard plenty about him.

Several people at the office say he's strict and doesn't tolerate bad attitudes. He's the kind of boss who can make people's legs shake with a single look.

He sounds terrifying, so I’ll just do my best not to get on his bad side. Easy enough, right?

I stop in front of the CEO’s office door, heavy wood with a gold nameplate, though I don’t bother reading it.

My hand shakes a little as I take a long breath, then another.

Standing there, I repeat the plan in my head: enter the office, say good morning, place the coffee on his desk, and leave.

With a heavy sigh, I push the door open and step inside.

 “Good morning, si—”

The words die in my throat.

My breath seizes instantly, and my jaw drops to the floor before I can catch it.

I blink five times, unable to believe what I'm seeing in front of me.

I shake my head. No. The universe must be playing tricks on me. It has to be.

Because why the hell is the person sitting behind the CEO’s enormous desk, with the Vegas skyline glittering behind him…

The same stranger from the club two weeks ago. The one I almost slept with.

I recognize those broad shoulders, that perfectly shaped jaw, and that intoxicating scent anywhere.

He raises his head from the tablet he was staring at, and his metallic grey eyes lock onto mine.

Everything stops.

He doesn't move. Doesn't blink.

He just watches me with an expression I can't read, can't name, can't even begin to understand.

The coffee cup trembles in my hand.

And somewhere, in the back of my fractured, panicking mind, one thought breaks through the chaos.

I'm fucked.

So, so fucked.