3

I bolted off his lap so fast I nearly tripped over my own heels a second time.

"I didn't mean to—the—how’s your jaw?" I deadpanned, forcing my voice into the most clinical, robotic assistant tone I could muster. 

Inside, my heart was hammering so hard it felt like a trapped bird in my chest, but I refused to let my brain spiral into standard romance-novel territory right now. 

Nope.

I would absolutely dissect every single micro-second of that physical contact later, wrapped in my own blankets, safe in my bed before I went to sleep.

For now, I was going to pretend absolutely nothing had happened. It was a glitch in the matrix. A workplace hazard. Nothing worth mentioning.

Then, I actually looked at his face. "Holy shit! Your nose is bleeding!"

Oh, it was red alright. A slow, bright streak of crimson was pooling from his left nostril, courtesy of my exceptionally hard forehead.

"Damn it, Lyka," Sean muttered, wincing as he threw his head back.

"Don't lean back! Tilt your head forward," I commanded, immediately shifting back into fixer-mode. 

The next twenty minutes became a chaotic whirlwind of me squeezing the bridge of his nose, pressing ice packs to his face, and managing both his fresh nosebleed and his preexisting headache. 

By the time the bleeding finally stopped and his nose was safely cleared, the RV ground to a halt. We had arrived at the second location for his evening magazine pictorial.

The rest of the day was a blur. Hours bled into one another under the blinding flash of photography lights and the low hum of production staff. 

But beneath the routine, an invisible line had been crossed. I could feel it, and I was certain he could too. 

We spent the entire afternoon and evening aggressively ignoring what had happened in the RV, our professional boundaries feeling stiffer, more forced, and completely unnatural.

Finally, the wrap call was made.

Now, the city lights were a smear of gold and neon outside the window as I sat in the passenger seat of his roaring, low-slung Ferrari. 

Sean drove in absolute silence, his long fingers gripping the leather steering wheel as we sped toward his secluded mansion in the hills. 

The tension in the sports car was suffocating, a heavy elephant sitting right between our bucket seats. 

We were both trying so hard not to talk about it, but as the iron gates of his estate loomed closer, I knew the real conversation of the night was about to begin.

Two hours later, the mansion had finally settled into its nightly silence. 

We had eaten a quiet, almost entirely wordless dinner, spent an hour sitting on the plush carpet of the playroom trying to coax a smile out of Leo with his favorite building blocks, and then I had tucked the sweet boy into bed. 

After reading him a story about a little bear who lost his roar, Leo had finally drifted off, his small hand slipping away from mine.

When I stepped out of the nursery, Sean was waiting by the door.

He didn’t say a word. He just caught my eye and motioned for me to follow him down the long, dimly lit hallway toward his private library-office.

Everything about his office was pristine, perfect, and wildly expensive. Decorated in shades of midnight dark and brushed gold, it was a luxurious, well-maintained sanctuary that smelled faintly of old books, rich leather, and Sean’s distinct cologne. 

He walked over to his massive mahogany desk and sat down in his heavy leather chair. With a tilt of his chin, he motioned for me to sit in the armchair opposite him.

Then, he unlocked his top drawer and took out a thick, stapled document.

"Read this before you say anything. I want you to understand that I’ve thought about this for a few months," he said, his dark eyes intensely serious, drilling into mine.

I frowned, taking the heavy bond paper from his hand. The moment my eyes scanned the top header, they nearly popped out of my skull. 

It was a legal contract. A meticulously drafted Contract for Marriage of Convenience, stamped by his high-powered personal attorneys.

It was long, dense, and entirely professional. I flipped past the first two pages, my jaw dropping lower with every bullet point detailing asset protection, confidentiality clauses, and public relations protocols. He was dead serious.

I stared at the pages, then looked up at his handsome, stone-faced expression, and I just burst out laughing.

I laughed so hard my stomach ached, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet, dignified library. I mean, this was absolutely ridiculous!

Sean just sat there, perfectly still, letting me finish my hysterical laughter. 

When I finally wiped a tear from my eye and caught my breath, I slammed the document onto his desk. "Are you freaking serious?"

"I am," he said, his voice level and entirely devoid of humor. "You don't need to worry about your freedom, Lyka. The marriage will be nothing but a piece of paper. You will still have your private life, and only Leo will benefit from this arrangement. I’m begging you to help me."

I stared at him like he had suddenly grown a pair of horns. 

"Jesus! You're serious? This is absolutely bollocks! And stupid! How can I marry my boss? And seriously—who on earth comes up with this kind of idea?"

"It was my idea," Sean said, his voice entirely devoid of his usual Hollywood bravado. He ran a hand through his hair, looking suddenly smaller in that massive leather chair. 

"And I know it’s selfish. I’m incredibly selfish for even thinking you’d agree. But it’s the only way I can think of to protect Leo."

"I’m not going to marry you, Sean," I said, my voice rising a fraction as the sheer absurdity of the room settled in. "We don’t even... I don’t..."

"Come on, Lyka," he pleaded, leaning forward over the mahogany desk, his dark eyes burning with a desperate, heavy intensity. "This isn't about us. This is about my son. Please."

I frowned, a sudden wave of restless energy forcing me to my feet. I stood up, abandoning the leather chair to pace the length of the pristine dark-and-gold office. 

"How about me, Sean? Don't you think I need to think about my own life as well? What about my private life?"

He tracked my movements like a hawk, his gaze following me as I groaned and tossed my hands in the air. Then, he raised a single, arrogant brow. "You haven't had a boyfriend for the past five years. You don’t—"

I stopped dead in my tracks, turning on my heel to glare at him, my brow snapping up to match his. 

“Oh, so now you’re an expert on my personal life? And for your information, of course I have my own—"

"You don’t have a boyfriend, Lyka."

Damn it!

Okay, fine, it was true. But he didn't need to say it with such absolute, maddening certainty.

"Do I look like I have the time for a boyfriend?" I fired back, crossing my arms over my chest and taking a deliberate step toward his desk. "When almost sixteen hours of my daily life is completely dedicated to being your personal assistant?"

Sean frowned, his jaw tightening as his eyes widened slightly. "Sixteen? How the hell..."

The genuine shock on his face would have been comical if I wasn't so irritated. I rolled my eyes so hard I was surprised they didn't get stuck. Heavens above, the brilliant billionaire was utterly clueless.

"Do you even know what my middle name is, Sean?" I challenged, leaning down slightly, pressing my hands against the edge of his desk.