07. Under him. Really?

Scarlett:

I had slept with Lucien Whitmore.

Lucien Whitmore was my new boss.

Oh my god.

Oh my fucking god!

The realization sent my stomach sinking endlessly. Every sensible thought I had scattered like startled birds, especially when his gaze slid over me slow and deliberate, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle and my face heat.

He had been staring at me since the moment Marla walked me in and by the time he’d asked Marla to leave, my body was hyper aware of his presence.

All the memories rushed in like it was an event of the previous night. His eyes. That stare. His hands. Everything.

Fuck.

A whole week of trying and failing to forget his mouth, his voice, him. A week of trying to convince myself that it was just one reckless night I’d never have to think about again. Despite that, the universe chose to laugh in my face.

Recalling that I’d been thinking about how endowed he was a moment ago whilst outside his office, an embarrassed and horrified squeal almost left me.

Then, as if to add to my misery, he asked Marla to leave, leaving the two of us. For a second, I had considered following the woman.

He’d called back my attention, and I couldn’t form a coherent word in my head at first. When I did with all the formal confidence I could muster, he hit me with:

“We’ve gone way past appropriate, haven’t we?”

Heat spread quickly from my face to my neck and pooled low in my stomach. My brain scrambled for a response but there was none. My mouth opened and closed like a fish.

He leaned back into his chair, watching me with a knowing glint in his eyes. He knew what he was doing.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly not knowing what to do with my hands, my body, my existence. Every instinct screamed at me to bolt.

“You don’t have to say it if you’re not comfortable, Scarlett. I like to have a cordial relationship with my staff — especially my executives as they work the closest with me,” He explained like that calmed the wave of embarrassment in my chest at all. “You can go with what you like, but I believe our relationship will grow as we keep working together.”

I hated the way my body tensed at the dip of his voice as he said that. But I couldn't run from this. He was my boss after all — clad in a dark charcoal suit tailored to fit his sinful build with a face too perfect to exist and may have wrecked me a week ago.

Get out of your head, Scarlett!

I nodded, politely. “Hopefully so, Mr. Whitmore,”

I clutched my bag tighter, biting the sides of my cheek as his brows lifted slightly.

“Have a sit, Scarlett,” He said, his tone calm like he wasn’t aware he was detonating my sanity.

I moved forward and sat down, careful, eyes fixed on the polished table instead of him, because I knew if I looked up, I’d see that same knowing glint in his eyes. The one that said he remembered everything.

“Relax, Miss Bennett, I don’t bite.” His eyes dropped to my lips, and my heart skipped a beat.

Awkward, I cleared my throat and his eyes shifted to the file in front of him, his fingertips brushing lazily over it.

“I went through your résumé last night,” His eyes flicked up to mine briefly before dropping back to the papers. “Impressive. Your interview scores were very good too.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, clasping my hands in my lap.

His thumb paused against the edge of the file. “You studied interior architecture, correct? Top of your class?”

“Yes.”

He closed the file halfway, like he didn’t need to look at it to remember what was inside. “How did you end up with both a PR and marketing background on top of architecture?”

I shifted in my seat. “I interned at various firms while I was in college. It was… easier to navigate both while studying than it sounds.”

He made a quiet sound of acknowledgment, then flipped the page. His gaze skimmed until it caught on something. “You co-designed the Marrow Estate in Tennessee?”

The word co-designed landed bitter in my chest. I nodded once. “Yes.”

Not only had I designed the estate by myself, but I’d also fought for the project’s production, only to be tucked safely behind the bigger names when it was finished. Too young, too naïve, they’d said. Mostly, too much of a young woman to handle the attention that would have come with the credit.

Mr. Brantley wasn’t the CEO then. If he were, maybe my name would’ve been on the first page instead of buried on the fourth or sometimes the fifth. It alternated but I doubt anyone cared.

Lucien’s gaze lingered on me like he’d caught the edge of that unspoken truth. “Impressive work,” he said finally.

I managed a dry smile.

He went on. “You’re divorced?”

My spine stiffened at the question.

“Yes.” I nodded slowly.

There was a pause.

Then he leaned forward. “If I may ask...why?”

I blinked, taken aback. Why? As in explain your failed marriage to your boss?

I swallowed hard.

I couldn’t tell him I was cheated on. That my ex-husband replaced me with the woman he called his childhood friend. That was too much to give away, especially to him. What would he think of me then? A gullible, lovestruck fool that couldn’t make out a cheating man?

For some reason, I didn’t like that.

So instead, I said, “We… grew apart.”

It was vague but true.

He studied me for a beat, then his lips curled slightly not unkind, but knowing — like he could count the layers of my vague response.

“Good to know,”

“Pardon?”

“That you’re divorced,” He said simply, like he was stating the weather. “Otherwise, I’d have to feel guilty about certain things I might've imagined.”

Oh my—

My eyes met with his, and he looked like he meant every word he said.

I looked away first, taking a sharp, flustered breath. His tone was cool but I could feel the heat behind his words everywhere.

Would I survive this?

The next few minutes that followed was him talking like a CEO. His voice was sharp and focused as he briefed me on my work here, making it clear that I was here to make him money. A lot of money. It didn’t take long for me to see why people spoke about him as if he were a hybrid of a god and the devil. The man was brilliant and very clear on what he wanted.

Also, very, very hot.

My eyes kept wandering to him the whole time, shamelessly checking him out. All the while wondering what the things he had imagined about me were.

I hated that I was this distracted but I couldn’t help it.

Suddenly, he spoke, his voice low and smooth snapping me out of my thoughts.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Ms. Bennett...you’ll have to remind me that this is a professional setting.”

My breath stuttered.

Heat rushed up my neck so fast I was sure I was red from chest to forehead. The number of times I’d blushed here was not normal. Fuck!

“I...I wasn’t—” I scrambled, blinking rapidly, desperate to regain footing. “I wasn’t looking at you.”

He finally looked up, amusement dancing at the edges of his eyes.

“No?” He folded the file with deliberate calm. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair. “Marla will complete the other procedure with you. From our conversation, I believe you're capable.”

“I won’t disappoint,” My voice sounded smoother than I felt.

He scanned me for a moment before extending his hand. “Welcome to Eden.”

“Thank you, Mr. Whitmore,” I reached out to take it, and the moment our palms met, his grip tightened, just slightly, but enough to send a jolt up my spine.

“I’m honored…” The words rushed out before I could stop them, “…to work under you.”

His eyes met mine, a flicker of something sharp passing through them. My own widened slightly. What the hell did I just say?

Under him. Really?

The corner of his mouth twitched and I knew he heard the same other meaning I did. When he finally responded, I wished to die on the spot.

“Work-wise, of course. Right, Miss Bennett?”

My pulse spiked and my heart raced, skin tingling under his touch.

Right there, I realized with every cell of my very turned-on body that this job was going to be more than what I’d bargained for.