Hunter Crawford doesn't say it like advice. He says it like a fact. When he walks into a room, everyone stops breathing. Except me. I breathe louder.
Four things you shouldn't do when you deliver catering to a billionaire meeting: walk into the wrong office. Correct the hellishly attractive COO. Let him pin you against the elevator wall. And three months later, end up pregnant by him.
I managed all four.
First he throws me out. Then he kisses me. We go our separate ways—until two lines turn positive and he brings me back as his assistant. No isn't an option.
Every day my boss looks at me like an unsolved problem. I break his rules. Then a steamy photo lands in his chat by accident.
"And you're the one to do it?" I needle.
"Yes."
Hunter doesn't kiss. He takes. Slow. Controlled. A hand at my nape. A voice that makes me forget glass walls aren't soundproof.
The man who controls everything is facing the one kind of chaos that won't fit in a spreadsheet. And I'm facing the secret that carries his name.
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