Chapter 3

My vision spun while my heart played a hard rock inside my chest. I felt like puking everything I ate today, and my knees were seconds away from giving up on me.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I croaked, gripping the doorknob for dear life because if I didn’t, I’d be kissing the floor.

How did he know?

Did Tamara tell him? No, that’s impossible—unless he figured it out himself.

Is he spying on me? No way. He wouldn’t waste a second of his precious time on me. He’d rather be chasing some round, bouncy ass instead of keeping tabs on me.

Maybe he’s got eyes and ears everywhere. Or maybe it’s his mother. Typical billionaire power move. But I doubt it—he’s not that smart, in my opinion.

He scoffed, leaning in so close he sucked all the air from my lungs.

My eyes widened. My senses shut down.

“You were masturbating before I knocked on your door,” he whispered, then laughed in my face like a teenage boy who never mentally outgrew puberty.

Is this how he talks to women and they just drool all over him?

For a man as stupidly attractive as he is, his attitude stinks.

The nervous breakdown washed off of me, replaced by an utterly, burning irritation at the ridiculously handsome face just a thread away from mine.

Being a liar is exhausting—constant anxiety, constant overthinking. Thanks to his stupidity, I can actually sleep well tonight.

I shoved two fingers against his forehead and pushed him back with a shudder.

“Excuse me?” I spat.

“What else could you be doing in there?” He leaned against the doorframe, that boyish smirk still plastered on his face. “Maybe dry-humping a pillow? Playing with water? Or imagining me owning you, hard and rough, while putting those skinny little fingers inside you—was that it?” He asked, provocatively stroking his fingers in the air just right in front of my belly.

My legs quivered.

Guilty. Caught.

Not that I was doing anything miraculous in my place, but because of what he said last.

…I "did" think of him penetrating me.

Sometimes.

Just… "sometimes".

He ran his gaze from my head to my toes, stifling a chuckle—which he failed miserably at.

I looked down, even though I already knew I looked like a mess.

“What’s with the getup?” He pouted. “You look like you’re going to work, to Antarctica, or to bed at the same time.” Then he glanced at my bare feet. “Cute toes you got there, hotness.”

My eyes widened, and I yanked my gumboots on. Because no way was I giving him any more skin to look at.

“Now, where’s the flood?”

I scowled, my frown dug deeper on my face. “What do you want?”

Instead of answering, he grabbed my hand and pressed my palm flat against his rock-hard chest.

His smile stretched wide before he squinted at me, gasping like he just made a discovery.

What drugs did he take this time? I bet he sniffed someone’s butt before coming here.

“Can you hear what my heart is saying?” He tilted his head, listening dramatically. “Let’s fuck. Let’s fuck. Let’s fuck.”

He even popped his chest with each word.

“Do that with yourself,” I snapped, yanking my hand back and wiping it on my robe. “I’m busy. What kind of fart brought you here 'sir'? As far as I know, my job is done the moment I step out of your building.”

“And that makes you the superior of this place?” He spread his arms out dramatically, still blocking my door, he planted his hands on both sides of the doorframe, leaning in like he was trying to make himself look bigger—like some cocky predator towering over his prey.

I'm the prey.

My traitor eyes scanned him.

He was in his "whore clothes"—a white jacket over a sky-blue striped shirt with the first three buttons open, revealing his perfectly sculpted chest. Loose straight pants that barely hid his muscular thighs. And flip-flops. "Flip-flops".

Classic Johnny Miles.

He hummed, squinting at me. “I wish I could say you’re fired, but since you’re my favorite secretary, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you talk to me like that.” And with that, he brushed past me like he owned the damn place.

“I didn’t let you in,” I hissed, can't believe the manner of this man.

“Thanks for letting me in,” he grinned, looking around like my trashy apartment was a damn museum. “Nice place. I bet the mice and cockroaches throw parties here every night.”

The audacity of this man, when he himself doesn’t know the first thing about cleaning up after himself.

I sucked in my inner cheek, crossing my arms, already feeling hot. Not horny hot—just full-on sweaty armpits hot.

“I'm so sorry, but I don’t welcome any demonic entities here. I just had this place blessed last month,” I said flatly. “If you don’t want to burn and turn to ashes, leave. 'With respect'.”

Instead of listening, he flopped down on my couch, kicked his crossed feet up onto my coffee table, and spread his arms across the backrest.

“I need something…”

“You won’t find it here,” I said, referring to his entire phonebook full of women.

I marched toward him, grabbing his arm to haul him up and "out" of my place—

—except I ended up being the one pulled. He used my force against me.

One second, I was standing. The next, I was on his lap, his hand resting under my robe, caressing my thigh, while the other held my waist, keeping me still.

“Now 'this' is what I call a proper welcome,” he murmured, squeezing my thigh twice.

Every nerve in my body lit up. My muscles prickled. My sensitive flesh tingled.

Panicked, I rolled off him—like a dog showing off tricks—until I landed on the floor.

The first thing my hand could grab, I pointed it at him.

“One more time you touch me like that, I’ll end your happiness 'forever'.”

He just stared at me, unimpressed. Looking at me like I'm some kind of a big joke to him.

Then I looked at what I was holding.

…My vibrator.

Shit.

Why was this even here?!

Can the floor just eat me now?

“Is 'that' what makes you happy, Cassy babe?” He reached for it, but I quickly shoved it behind my back, letting out a distressed whimper. “My fingers can do better than that,” he smirked, wiggling his middle and ring finger in a quick, sensual rhythm that made me clench what's in between my thighs.

I nearly screamed. “Can you just please cut the crap, Johnny? Why are you here?”

Forgetting about the status, dropping formalities. My typical outburst.

But Johnny looked at me unfazed, like it was nothing for him. Well, it is.

“I need a woman,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I blinked at him, deadpan.

Before I could tear him apart, he lifted a finger, stopping me. Then, from his inner jacket pocket, he pulled out a small card.

A "very" familiar card.

Because I had the exact same one in my room. The one Tamara gave me this afternoon.

“This,” he said, placing it in my palm like it was a diamond I have to protect with my life, “is a ticket to paradise. And I’m giving it to you. Congratulations.”

I frowned. “I think I at least have a slim chance of going to heaven when I die, but thanks anyway. I don't need your ticket.”

Tamara already gave me a blueprint for Saturday night. Whether I want to accept his invitation or not, I can’t give him what he’s asking for.

“No doubt,” he muttered. “But I wasn’t talking about 'that'. I meant 'my' paradise.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “It’s this Saturday. It’s on me. Just show up for me, Cassy babe.”

Then he winked, clicked his tongue, and threw on that insufferable, remarkable, fuckable "I’m a sexy asshole and I know it" smirk.

Before I could respond, his guards entered, dropping a bunch of paper bags onto my table before leaving as quickly as they came. Without a word. Like robots. Mutes.

“What—”

“Everything you’ll need. Since your partner, boss, and sexy friend wants you to be his date for an important event," he recited like it's poem while fixing his shirt— no, more like revealing what's already revealing.

I scoffed, ready to decline—but then he yanked me up to my feet so fast, I slammed into his chest.

I forgot how to blink, to move, to breathe.

“Remember, I don’t like waiting. And I 'hate' being left hanging.”

Then, before I could process, he placed his hand behind my head, tilted his head—and 'softly' claimed my lips.

Shit.

The Great Wall I built around myself?

Turns out, it was the Berlin Wall.

And I just made the most beautiful mistake of my life.