"Senior Marketing Director," I continued, still processing. "Corner office. Fifteen percent raise."
Riley's jaw dropped. "But Marcus just got that job!"
"Apparently Marcus is being reassigned." I sank into my chair. "Adrian Mr. Hartley reviewed the personnel files and decided I should have gotten the promotion in the first place."
"Holy shit, Emma. That's amazing!" Riley hugged me, squealing. "You deserve this so much. But why you specifically? Did he say?"
Because I slept with him three days ago and he can't stop thinking about me.
"He said my performance reviews stood out," I said instead.
Marcus appeared at my cubicle, his face mottled red. "This is bullshit. My uncle"
"Your uncle made a mistake," I cut him off, standing to my full height. "And the new CEO corrected it. If you have a problem with that, take it up with Mr. Hartley."
Marcus glared but said nothing. Everyone knew challenging the CEO on day one was career suicide.
As he stalked off, I caught sight of Adrian through his office windows. He was watching, and when our eyes met, he nodded once a gesture of approval.
My phone buzzed with an email notification.
From: Adrian Hartley
Subject: Dinner Meeting
Miss Carter,
I'd like to discuss your new role in detail. Dinner tonight, 7 PM, my place. We have much to cover regarding your team, budget, and upcoming projects.
This is business. Mostly.
- A
I read it three times, my heart racing.
This was crazy. Dangerous. Probably the worst decision I could make.
I hit reply.
Mr. Hartley,
I'll be there.
- E
His response came seconds later.
Excellent. I'll send a car.
And Emma? Wear something comfortable. It's going to be a long night.
I was definitely, absolutely, completely screwed.
And I couldn't wait.
The black town car arrived at Riley's apartment at exactly 6:45 PM.
"This is insane," Riley said, watching me check my reflection for the tenth time. "You're going to your boss's penthouse for 'dinner.' Emma, this is how romance novels start."
"It's a business meeting," I insisted, smoothing down the emerald wrap dress I'd borrowed from her. Professional but flattering. The kind of thing that said "Senior Marketing Director" not "woman who can't stop thinking about her boss naked."
"Right. Business. At his apartment. At night. Alone." Riley handed me my purse. "Just promise me you'll text me if he turns out to be a serial killer."
"He's not a serial killer."
"How do you know? You spent one night with him!"
The most incredible night of my life, but I wasn't about to admit that out loud.
The driver held the door open. "Miss Carter? Mr. Hartley is expecting you."
The penthouse looked different in the evening light. More intimate. The city sparkled below, and smooth jazz played softly from hidden speakers. The dining table was set for two with candles and wine glasses that probably cost more than my weekly salary.
Adrian emerged from the kitchen actually cooking in dark slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. No tie. Top button undone.
It should be illegal for a man to look that good doing something domestic.
"Emma. Right on time." His eyes traveled over me slowly, appreciatively. "You look stunning."
"Thank you. You said this was business."
"It is." He gestured to the table. "Sit. I hope you like salmon."
I settled into the chair, hyperaware of how alone we were. "You cook?"
"One of my few domestic skills. I find it relaxing." He poured wine something red and probably expensive. "Besides, restaurant reservations come with photographers and gossip columns. I prefer privacy for important conversations."
"And this conversation is important?"
"Very." He sat across from me, his gaze intense. "First, business. Your team starts tomorrow. I'm giving you Sarah Chen, David Rodriguez, and three junior associates.
Sarah's brilliant but underutilized. David's creative but needs direction. I trust you'll bring out the best in them."
I took a sip of wine, trying to focus on work and not the way his forearms looked. "What about the Riverside account? That's been my baby for two years."
"Still yours. In fact, I'm expanding it. Riverside wants to launch a new product line. Fifty-million-dollar campaign. I told them my best director would handle it personally."
My breath caught. Fifty million. That was career-defining territory.
"Adrian, that's… that's huge."
"You can handle it. I've seen your work." He stood, retrieving plates from the kitchen. The salmon looked restaurant-quality, plated with asparagus and some kind of sauce that smelled incredible. "You're wasted in that cubicle, Emma. You should have been running campaigns like this years ago."
"Why are you doing this?" The question came out softer than I intended. "Really. Is it guilt? Obligation? Because of Friday night?"
He set his fork down, leaning back. "Do you want the professional answer or the honest one?"
"Both."
"Professionally? You're the best asset this company has in marketing. Gerald was an idiot for overlooking you. Promoting you is good business." He paused, his eyes darkening. "Honestly? Friday night showed me something I haven't felt in years. You were real. No agenda, no games. You didn't know who I was or what I could do for you. You just… wanted me."
My throat tightened. "And now?"
"Now you know exactly who I am. What I can offer. What complications I bring." He stood, moving around the table until he was beside my chair. "So I need to know, Emma. When you look at me now, what do you see? Your boss? Your ticket to the top?"
I stood too, turning to face him. "You want honesty?"
"Always."
"I see the man who made me feel beautiful when I felt like my life was falling apart. I see someone who looked at my work and saw value when others saw an inconvenience." I stepped closer, my heart pounding. "And yes, I see my boss. I see complications and risks and a thousand reasons this is a terrible idea."
"But?" His hand found my waist, warm through the thin fabric.
"But I haven't stopped thinking about you either."
The kiss was inevitable, explosive. His mouth claimed mine like he'd been starving for it, and I responded with equal hunger. Four days of tension, of wanting, of trying to pretend Friday night hadn't changed everything it all poured into that kiss.
"Emma," he breathed against my lips. "Tell me to stop."
"Don't you dare."
He lifted me onto the dining table, scattering napkins, his body pressing between my thighs. His hands were everywhere my hair, my back, sliding up my thigh.
My phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.
"Ignore it," Adrian murmured, his mouth on my neck.
But the buzzing continued, insistent. With a groan, I fumbled for my purse.
Seven texts from Riley: EMMA. EMERGENCY. CALL ME NOW.
"I'm sorry, I have to" I pulled back, dialing. Riley answered on the first ring.
"Thank God. Emma, listen. Marcus is at Mooney's Bar getting drunk and telling everyone who'll listen that you slept your way into the promotion. He's posting about it on the company Slack channel."
My blood ran cold. "What?"
"It gets worse. He's saying Adrian only promoted you because you two have 'history.' He doesn't have proof, but people are talking. This is bad, Em."
Adrian saw my face and immediately shifted into CEO mode. "What's wrong?"
I put the phone on speaker. "Riley, you're on with Adrian Hartley."
A pause. "Oh. Um. Hi, Mr. Hartley, sir."
"Riley, what exactly is Marcus Fleming saying?" Adrian's voice was ice.
"That Emma got the promotion through… personal means. He's implying an affair. The Slack channel is blowing up. Some people are defending Emma, but others…"
"I understand." Adrian's jaw tightened. "Thank you for informing us. I'll handle this."