Chapter 4 One night with a stranger

A sharp blade of morning sunlight sliced through the curtains, stabbing Olivia right in the eyes. She groaned, her head throbbing with a rhythmic pulse that felt like a hammer against an anvil.

She tried to roll over, but she was pinned by a weight that was solid, warm, and terrifyingly familiar.

She froze.

Her eyes snapped open. The room was bathed in the kind of quiet luxury that smelled of high-end housekeeping and success. The sheets beneath her were Egyptian cotton, far softer than anything she owned or seen.

And the arm draped across her waist... It was heavy and masculine.

Where am I?

Then, the memories hit her like a physical blow. The red dress. The French menu. The wine, far too much wine. The way Damian had looked at her like she was the only woman in existence.

Her breath hitched in a ragged sob. She had babbled. She had told this stranger things she hadn't even told anyone except Mia.

I told him about Casper. I told him I was a mess. She squeezed her eyes shut, her face burning against the pillow. And then... the kiss.

She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Did we? Did I? She searched her memory for the act itself, but all she found was a blurred montage of his lips on hers and the feeling of being carried.

The movement stirred the man behind her. He shifted, his chest pressing against her back as he pulled her closer into the heat of his body.

"Are you awake?" he murmured. His voice was a deep, morning rasp that sent a traitorous shiver down her spine. "I've been waiting for you to wake up. Are you feeling any better?"

He pressed a lingering, soft kiss to the curve of her neck. Olivia felt like her heart was going to burst through her ribs.

Damian!.

She knew it was him without looking. Her body recognized his touch with a terrifying ease.

He sat up, the sheets falling to his waist, stretching with the effortless grace of a predator.

Olivia dove deeper under the covers, her face hot enough to cook an egg.

"I'm going to jump in the shower, gorgeous," he said, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

She didn't move. She didn't breathe. She just played dead until the click of the bathroom door signaled her window of escape.

Olivia bolted upright. Her body ached, her head was screaming, and her red dress was nowhere to be found. Panic rising, she scanned the room and spotted his discarded dress shirt.

She scrambled into it, the hem reaching her mid-thighs, the fabric smelling of him. Desperate, she unclipped the long leather strap from her purse and cinched it around her waist like a belt, creating a wrinkled, makeshift tunic.

She tiptoed out of the suite like a thief, her heart in her throat until she finally slumped into the back of a taxi. Staring at her reflection in the window, smudged mascara, wild hair, and a man's shirt-she whispered, "What have I done?"

***

Monday arrived with the subtlety of a train wreck. Olivia stood behind the sleek marble counter at Titan Energy Corporation, trying to focus on the digital logs.

Being a receptionist at the country's top oil and gas giant was her ticket to a real future, but today, every time the glass doors slid open, she jumped like she stole something.

"You're in early," a voice snapped, breaking her trance.

Olivia looked up to see Veronica. She was thirty-something, sharp-tongued, and the kind of woman who wore her ambition like armor.

"Good morning, Veronica," Olivia managed, her voice sounding thin.

"Did you watch the inauguration of the new chairman this weekend?" Veronica asked, her eyes searching Olivia's face. "It was all over the news."

Olivia's heart did a slow, painful roll. "No... I was busy."

"Busy doing what? It was posted in the company group four times," Veronica prodded, her tone dipping into annoyance. "Did you at least read your email?"

"Yes, I did," Olivia replied curtly. She didn't want to talk. She didn't like Veronica's tone either.

Before Veronica could dig further, Amelia Martin, the Departmental Head, marched into the lobby. "Assemble everyone in the lobby now!.

She ordered Olivia. Three minutes!"

The staff of that department shuffled into a semi-circle, the air thick with nervous energy. Amelia stood at the front, her expression tight and exaggeratedly solemn.

"As you all know," Amelia began, her voice echoing off the high ceilings, "Mr. Carrington is taking over as Chairman today. He is a man of... particular tastes. He expects perfection. If you aren't up to his standards, you won't last the week. Am I clear?"

She scanned the room, her gaze lingering on Olivia with a look that felt like a threat. Olivia felt a cold sweat break out on her palms.

The staff was moved outside to the entrance to form a greeting line. The heat of the sun was oppressive, but the chill in Olivia's blood was worse.

Minutes later, a convoy of black SUVs pulled up, the tires crunching on the gravel with menacing precision.

The door to the lead car opened, and a chauffeur stepped out to open the door for the man in the middle vehicle.

"Welcome, Mr. Carrington!" the staff chanted in unison.

Olivia was tucked behind a tall executive, trying to stay invisible.

She peered through the gap between shoulders, her breath hitching as a man stepped out of the car.

He was in a charcoal-grey tailored suit that screamed power. His hair was perfectly styled, his jawline clean-shaven and sharp. He moved with a quiet, commanding authority that made the executives around him look like children.

He turned his head slightly, his piercing blue eyes scanning the crowd.

Olivia's world stopped immediately when she saw him. The air left her lungs, and her knees turned to water.

It was him. The perfect stranger. And he is her boss.