2

Ten minutes later, the sleek black car pulled up near the intersection two blocks down from the high-rise office building. The sky was pitch black and pouring absolute buckets.

"Here's your stop, Mrs. Washington," Jerome said, pressing the door-unlock button with a smug, razor-sharp grin that practically screamed sabotage.

I looked out the window at the torrential downpour, then looked at him. "Where’s the umbrella?"

Jerome checked his pristine Rolex, completely unbothered. "Ah. Must have left it in the hallway. You'd better run, Miss June. You wouldn't want to be late for orientation."

"You are an absolute asshole," I gasped, horrified.

"Language, teacher," he smirked, flicking his wrist toward the door. "Out you go."

I slammed the car door shut, but not before seeing his insufferable, amused face through the tinted glass as he smoothly pulled away into traffic.

Five minutes later, I dragged myself through the sliding glass doors of Washington Enterprises.

My hair was plastered to my forehead, my boring gray suit was entirely soaked through, and my flats made a wet, squelching sound with every single step across the immaculate marble lobby.

I stood there, shivering, dripping rain onto the polished floor like a drowned duck, silently vowing to put a handful of itching powder in Jerome Washington’s expensive silk pajamas tonight.

So yeah, I squelched into the executive elevator looking less like a high-flying corporate professional and more like a drowned duckling that had lost a fight with a storm drain.

When the doors dinged open on the 80th floor, the atmosphere was suffocatingly sleek. A cluster of immaculate women in pencil skirts and high heels stopped mid-conversation, staring at my dripping hair and waterlogged shoes like I was a peasant who had accidentally strayed into a royal gala.

"Oh, sweet mercy. Did you swim here?"

A woman with a tight blonde bun and a sympathetic smile hurried over, pulling me toward a back breakroom.

Her name was Julie, and she was the team leader for the VIP Receptionist Department—a fancy title for the gatekeepers who managed the big boss's high-profile guests.

Bless her soul, Julie pulled an extra oversized yellow t-shirt out of her locker. I gratefully peeled off my soaked blazer and white blouse to hang them over a portable radiator, dried my hair with paper towels, and did my best to look human.

Within an hour, I was sitting behind a glossy marble desk in the VIP lobby, listening to Julie explain the office protocols.

Then, a sudden, thunderous roar erupted from the far end of the grand hallway.

Julie winced, instantly sitting up straighter. "Ah. Sounds like the big dragon is in a mood today."

I frowned. The big dragon was, of course, my smug asshole of a husband.

A second later, the double doors to the corner office slammed open. Jerome stepped out into the hallway, looking like a dark god of corporate destruction.

His eyes scanned the floor until they locked directly onto me. He stopped dead in his tracks, his gaze dropping from my damp hair down to the bright, ridiculous yellow t-shirt I was swimming in.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WEARING?" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the glass walls.

The entire floor went dead quiet. Heads slammed down. Keyboards stopped clicking. Terror hung in the air like a thick fog.

I sat up straight, crossing my arms, and met his furious dark eyes with a calm, sweet smile. "I'm drying my clothes, sir."

Jerome stared at me, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. Realizing he couldn't publicly berate his secret wife without causing a scene, he whipped around toward the rest of the floor.

"CAN SOMEONE GET ME A FUCKING COFFEE BEFORE I FIRE SOMEONE!" he roared, retreating into his office and slamming the door so hard the glass panels rattled.

Jeez. What an absolute drama queen.

Julie leaned over my desk, her face pale. "Alexa, you might want to take the dragon his coffee. Since it's your first day, he probably won't fire you. Probably."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Because he looked like he was five seconds away from choking me with my own yellow shirt."

"Just take it," Julie pleaded, pointing a trembling finger toward the breakroom. "None of us will survive until lunch if he doesn't get caffeine."

Sighing, I stood up and sauntered into the massive, hyper-modern breakroom. Resting on the counter was a state-of-the-art Italian espresso machine with a little label reading: RESERVED FOR THE CEO.

I stepped up to the machine, and a slow, wicked smirk spread across my face.

Having spent the last two mornings watching him across a dining table, I knew his exact routine: dark roast, black, with precisely one spoonful of raw sugar.

So, naturally, I poured the rich, dark liquid straight into a porcelain mug and deliberately skipped the sugar entirely. Pure, bitter, unadulterated petty revenge for dropping me in the rain without an umbrella.

Carrying the mug like a trophy, I pushed open his heavy mahogany doors. The CEO's office was absurdly huge, filled with expensive leather furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a dramatic view of the Manhattan skyline, currently framed by dark clouds and sheets of rain.

Jerome was standing by the glass, his hands shoved deep into his trousers pockets, looking like a brooding villain in a movie.

"Here is your coffee, boss," I sang out, stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind me.

Jerome turned slowly, his dark eyes narrowing as I strutted over in my oversized yellow shirt, placing the piping-hot mug of pure bitterness directly in front of him.

"Drink up," I added, offering him a sugary-sweet, entirely fake smile. "You look like you need it."

Jerome grabbed the mug and took a deep, aggressive gulp—expecting his usual hinted-sweet black coffee.

The moment the scalding, pure-bitter liquid hit his tongue, his dark eyes widened in absolute shock.

I was already halfway across his massive office, stepping toward the double doors, when I glanced out and noticed his primary secretary’s desk was completely abandoned. The woman had literally fled the premises or was fired.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" Jerome rasped, slamming the porcelain mug down on his mahogany desk so hard a splash of dark liquid sloshed over the rim.

I stopped, turning around with my hands tucked neatly into the pockets of my oversized yellow t-shirt, a satisfied smirk plastered across my face.

"Coffee, sir," I said smoothly. "Black. As black as your soul."

"Where the fuck is the sugar?" he growled, glaring at me like he wanted to combustion-combust me on the spot.

"Oh, no sugar today," I replied, giving a careless shrug. "And honestly, you should be thankful anyone was willing to bring you anything. Everyone outside is huddled together in sheer terror, terrified of getting fired."

I turned back toward the exit, my hand reaching for the metallic door handle.

"Alexa," he barked, his voice dropping an octave into a low, dangerous warning. "Get me a fucking sugar or I am going to fire you right now."

I paused, slowly looking over my shoulder, and let out a sweet, dripping-with-sarcasm gasp. "Oh, really? Should I call Grandfather right now then, dear husband?"

The look on his face was priceless. Pure, unadulterated rage flashed behind his dark eyes. The cat-and-dog war was officially declared, and I was loving every single second of pushing his buttons.

Before he could snap back, his sleek corporate phone buzzed loudly against the desk, breaking the tension like a glass bottle shattering on tile.

Jerome glanced down at the caller ID, and his entire posture froze. He swiped the screen to answer, lifting the phone to his ear.

"Jerome?" a high, light female voice chimed through the speaker, accompanied by the background sound of ocean waves and playful giggling. "Jerome, hi! Collin just dropped my sunglasses in the ocean, you won't believe how silly he's being—"

Instantly, the fierce, arrogant rage draining from Jerome’s face was replaced by something far more pathetic: a raw, darkening look of deep pain and intense jealousy.

It was Anna.

His precious childhood friend and the absolute love of his life, currently giggling on a beach somewhere in the Caribbean on her honeymoon with his best friend.

Jerome stood there, holding the phone, his jaw locked tight as he forced a tight, polite tone to answer her.

I stood by the door, watching the mask crack on the mighty CEO. The dragon's terrible mood suddenly made total sense. Poor, brooding billionaire, watching the woman he adored live happily ever after with someone else while stuck in an office with a temporary wife in a yellow shirt.

I gave him one last, pitying smirk, slipped out the door, and let the heavy mahogany close softly behind me.