He Called Me Mama in Bed yesterday , Now He’s Boss Today

I stood there, completely frozen, as his voice echoed through the gathering.

Jason Hale is his name.

I didn’t even know his name when I handled him roughly in that hotel on Saturday night till Sunday morning.

Now he is back as my boss.

My new boss—the man now standing confidently on the podium, in his sleek suit, with the kind of presence that silenced an entire room—was the same man I had drunkenly told to be calling me “mama” in the dark hours of a hotel room.

The same man whose voice had groaned into my neck, who had pinned me to the mattress like he owned me.

All I thought this morning was to end this as just a tequila mistake, now my mistake has fully come to rule me as my boss.

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

It was him.

My knees nearly gave out.

How could life be this wicked?

How could I be this unlucky?

I didn’t even realize I was backing away from the gathering until I found myself in the ladies’ bathroom, gripping the sink as though it could stop my world from spinning.

“Emery,” I said to the mirror, tears stinging my eyes. “You have to quit. Resign. Disappear. Just vanish. Because how could you face him? Your boss now was the son alcohol gave you on Saturday. The handsome guy you made call you mama. The man you rode all Saturday night till Sunday morning. Noooooo.”

I stared at my reflection, chest heaving, lips trembling.

How was I supposed to breathe the same office air as the man who—

No. Nope.

I need to resign.

Yes, I need to sack myself before he sees me and gets me arrested for assaulting him under the influence of alcohol.

I couldn’t even finish the thought without my face flushing.

I stayed in that bathroom for what felt like half an hour, pacing, arguing with myself, hating myself. Then I dried my face, walked back into the office. Everyone was back from the general meeting and conference they had.

I sat at my desk like a woman walking herself to her own funeral.

With trembling fingers, I drafted my resignation letter.

It was emotional, professional, and filled with lies. I wrote about “family emergencies” and “mental health” and “reassessing priorities.” What I didn’t write about was sleeping with the new CEO in a drunken mess after turning myself into his mom at a bar on Saturday.

I printed the letter, folded it neatly, sealed it in a plain white envelope, and stood.

This was it.

I was leaving Valentine Beauty Group with what little dignity I had left.

But the universe wasn’t done humiliating me yet.

As I stood from my seat, ready to make my way to HR, still debating if I should turn back or just throw the envelope into the nearest trash bin, someone ran past and slammed into me.

Hard.

The collision was quick and sharp that I lost my balance. The envelope flew from my hand, skidding across the floor, and my bag that I was holding in my hand flipped, spilling its contents all over the office.

“Shit—sorry!” the co-worker mumbled, already halfway gone.

I dropped to my knees, scrambling to gather everything.

Lip balm.

Pen.

A hair band.

Hand sanitizer.

Two envelopes.

Wait—

Two?

I didn’t think twice. I grabbed the nearest white envelope and stuffed it into my bag, thinking it was the resignation letter. The other had disappeared beneath someone’s desk, and I didn’t even notice.

I got to HR and handed over the envelope, cheeks flushed, heart pounding. My head was too fogged to care.

I just wanted to leave.

I handed over the envelope and went back to my seat, waiting for my resignation to be approved.

The HR department was in chaos mode. The new CEO had just taken over, and everyone was in WorkDaddy overdrive—shuffling papers, fielding emails, and sending documents to Jason Hale’s office like their lives depended on it.

My envelope, plain and anonymous, was just one more piece of the madness.

They didn’t even ask me any questions. One of the assistants just took it and said, “Okay, we’ll handle this.”

I turned and walked away, ready to go back to my desk and gather my things.

But the real nightmare hadn’t even started.

A few hours later, I went to HR to confirm that my resignation had been processed.

The woman at the front desk squinted at me like I was speaking Greek.

“Resignation? You mean, like, today?”

“Yes,” I said. “I dropped off the letter this morning.”

She frowned. “No, we haven’t received any resignation letter from your department today.”

I was about to pour down cartons of angry words when another male assistant walked in and said, “I remember seeing you this morning. You submitted a white envelope. But… we didn’t see anything like resignation in the envelope you gave us. So we sent it to Mr. Hale’s office with the other documents.”

I blinked. “You… what?”

“It had no name or subject, and with the handover going on, we assumed it was one of the internal files from your department that you guys wanted us to send to his office.”

Internal files?!

My stomach dropped.

“No,” I said, trying not to scream. “I put my name on that resignation letter!”

She gave me a patient, polite smile. “Maybe you should check your desk again. If you typed it this morning, maybe it’s still there. The one you sent was sealed—no name, no subject.”

My legs were already moving before she finished her sentence.

Back at my desk, I ripped open drawers, lifted folders—nothing.

And then—

“Emery?”

I turned to see Josh, one of the assistants, holding up an envelope.

“This fell under my desk earlier. I thought it was trash, but I saw your name on it. Just found it again.”

He handed it to me with a lazy smile and walked off.

I opened it.

It was my resignation letter.

Then what the hell did I submit to HR?

I dropped into my seat, heart racing.

Think, Emery. Think.

What else was in your bag?

Then I remembered.

The envelope.

The other one.

The one I had stuffed all the mess from that night into—the hotel receipt from Whispers & Whiskey Lounge, the unused condom, the room key card.

No.

NO.

My lungs froze.

That Sunday morning when I woke up in the hotel, I was rushing, trying to run away before Jason Hale—the man I slept with—woke up.

So I was just packing everything I saw. That was how I packed the hotel card key, the receipt of the hotel payment, and even unused condoms that were given to us before my stupid drunk ass went raw.

And when I got home, I separated all into a white envelope. I just squeezed it in that envelope and slid it in my bag, thinking I would throw it away on my way to work this morning.

But I forgot.

And now, due to the collision, it was sent to HR. And now that damn envelope—

That envelope.

That envelope was now in the hands of the very man I was trying to hide from.

The man whose name was on that hotel receipt.

The man who might recognize the damn room key.

Jason Hale.

I couldn’t even scream.

My body started trembling.

I had handed a freaking time bomb to my boss.

I didn’t know whether to run, cry, or throw myself off the building.

Forget resigning.

I needed that envelope back.

Right now.

Even if it meant sneaking into the boss’s office, crawling through air vents, or setting off the fire alarm—I had to get it.

Because if he read that receipt…

If he saw the condom…

If he recognized the room…

I was finished.

Utterly, completely finished.

Before, I may still have had the choice of lying to him that it wasn’t me that night…

But now?

With that envelope…

I had used my own hands to submit my criminal records to the government.