Divorced By The Boss I Slept With

Arnetta opened her eyes.

A sharp, throbbing pain spiked behind her temples, radiating down to the base of her neck. The light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows was blinding. She squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach pitching violently. The dry taste of stale alcohol coated her tongue.

She pressed her palms against the mattress. It was too soft. The sheets were too smooth. This was not her bed in Brooklyn.

She opened her eyes again, letting her vision adjust to the harsh morning sun. The room was massive. Expensive. A luxury hotel suite in Manhattan.

Her gaze dropped to the floor. A trail of clothing led from the doorway to the edge of the king-sized bed. A man's black tie. A discarded suit jacket. And her own expensive silk slip dress, pooled like a dark stain on the pristine white carpet.

The memories of the industry gala hit her like a physical blow to the chest. The endless glasses of champagne. The suffocating heat of the ballroom. The stranger with the piercing eyes at the bar.

She turned her head slowly.

A man was sleeping next to her. His broad, bare back was exposed to the cool air of the room. The muscles in his shoulders shifted slightly as he breathed. Dark hair fell across his forehead. He was undeniably handsome, but the sight of him made the blood drain from Arnetta's face. Her fingertips turned ice-cold.

She had made a catastrophic mistake.

She held her breath. Her chest tightened so much it hurt to pull air into her lungs. She carefully lifted the heavy duvet, sliding her bare legs out from under the covers. Her toes touched the cold, thick carpet.

She bent down, her knees popping slightly in the quiet room, and snatched her silk dress from the floor. The fabric felt cold against her clammy skin.

She stepped into the dress, pulling it up over her hips. She reached behind her back to pull the zipper. It moved halfway up and then jammed.

She tugged at it. The metal teeth grinded together. She pulled harder, but it refused to budge. Panic flared in her chest, making her heart race against her ribs. She left the back of the dress half-open and turned to scan the room for her shoes.

She spotted one black stiletto near the nightstand. She took a step toward it.

The man on the bed shifted. The heavy duvet rustled loudly in the silent room.

Arnetta froze. Her muscles locked up. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails biting hard into the palms of her hands. She prayed to a god she didn't believe in that he would go back to sleep.

"Where exactly do you think you are going?"

The voice was low, raspy from sleep, and completely devoid of warmth.

Arnetta's eyes snapped open.

Brennan was already sitting up against the headboard. The white sheet pooled around his waist. His dark eyes were locked onto her, sharp and calculating. There was no trace of sleepiness in his expression.

He looked at her half-zipped dress, his gaze dropping to her bare feet, and then back up to her face. A cold, mocking smile twisted his lips.

"Leaving so soon?" Brennan asked. "I suppose you got what you wanted. Another notch on your belt to secure a deal for whatever mediocre firm you work for."

The words felt like a slap across the face. Heat rushed up Arnetta's neck, burning her cheeks. The humiliation twisted her stomach into a tight knot.

"Excuse me?" Arnetta said, her voice shaking with sudden, violent anger.

"You heard me," Brennan said. He threw the covers off and stood up.

He was tall. Too tall. The sheer size of him in the open space of the room was suffocating. He took a step toward her, his jaw ticking.

"I know exactly what you are," Brennan said, his voice dropping an octave. "You hover around those galas, looking for the biggest target. You use your body to climb the corporate ladder."

"You arrogant bastard," Arnetta snapped, taking a step back. "You don't know anything about me."

Brennan took another step forward. The space between them vanished. The scent of his expensive cologne and the lingering smell of last night invaded her senses.

Arnetta backed up until her bare shoulder blades hit the cold, hard glass of the floor-to-ceiling window. There was nowhere else to go.

"I know enough," Brennan said, stopping inches from her face. He reached out, his long fingers brushing the exposed skin of her back where the zipper was stuck.

Arnetta flinched, slapping his hand away. The contact sent a jolt of electricity up her arm, but she masked it with pure rage. She needed to end this. She needed to get out of this room before she lost her mind.

"I'm married," Arnetta blurted out.

The words hung in the air.

Brennan's hand stopped mid-air. The mocking smile vanished from his face. His dark eyes narrowed, scanning her face for a lie. A flash of pure disgust crossed his features.

"You are married," Brennan repeated, his voice flat and dangerous.

"Yes," Arnetta said, her heart hammering against her ribs. "So back off."

Before Brennan could respond, a sharp, shrill ringing shattered the tension.

It was his phone on the nightstand.

Brennan did not break eye contact with her. He slowly stepped back, walking over to the nightstand. He picked up the phone and looked at the screen. His jaw tightened.

He answered the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

"What do you want, Peck?" Brennan asked, his tone instantly shifting into a cold, corporate drawl.

Arnetta watched him, her chest heaving. She bent down and grabbed her single stiletto from the floor.

"No, I am not interested in your counter-offer," Brennan said into the phone. "You are wasting my time."

The voice on the other end was loud enough for Arnetta to hear the muffled, frantic tone of a competitor trying to dig for information.

Brennan's eyes flicked to Arnetta. A dark, calculated look crossed his face.

He suddenly reached out, his large hand wrapping around Arnetta's wrist. He yanked her forward.

Arnetta stumbled, her bare foot catching on the carpet. She crashed hard against his bare chest. The impact forced a loud, startled gasp from her lips.

"I am currently occupied," Brennan said into the phone, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. He made sure the person on the other end heard her gasp.

He hung up the phone and tossed it onto the bed.

Arnetta shoved him away with both hands, her breathing ragged. Her skin burned where he had touched her.

"You are a disgusting piece of trash," Arnetta hissed.

Brennan adjusted his posture, completely unfazed. He looked at her with absolute indifference.

"We both got what we wanted," Brennan said coldly. "Now get out."

Arnetta did not say another word. She turned on her heel, clutching her single shoe, and ran toward the heavy oak door of the suite. She yanked it open and slammed it shut behind her.

She ran down the carpeted hallway, her bare foot slapping against the floor. She hit the elevator button repeatedly, her fingers trembling.

The doors opened. She threw herself inside and pressed the lobby button. She watched the numbers drop, her chest tight with panic and humiliation.

The doors slid open at the lobby. She kept her head down, her half-zipped dress exposing her back, and sprinted across the marble floor. She pushed through the revolving glass doors and hit the freezing morning air of Manhattan.

She threw her hand up. A yellow cab screeched to a halt at the curb.

Arnetta yanked the door open and threw herself into the backseat.

"Brooklyn," she gasped to the driver.

She pulled her phone from her small clutch. Her hands were shaking so badly she dropped it on the floor mat. She picked it up and dialed her best friend's number.

Gillian answered on the second ring.

"I messed up," Arnetta whispered, her throat tight. "I really messed up."

Arnetta ended the call with Gillian. She dropped her phone into her bag and stared blankly at the back of the cab driver's head.

The yellow cab pulled up to the curb in front of her Brooklyn apartment building. She shoved a twenty-dollar bill through the plastic divider and pushed the door open.

She ran up the concrete steps, her bare foot aching against the rough surface. She fumbled with her keys, her hands still shaking from the adrenaline of the hotel room. She shoved the key into the lock, twisted it, and pushed the door open.

She locked the door behind her and leaned against the wood, closing her eyes. The silence of her apartment did nothing to calm the racing of her heart.

She pushed off the door and walked straight into the bathroom. She stripped off the silk dress, letting it fall to the tile floor like a discarded skin. She stepped into the shower and turned the water on as hot as she could stand it.

She scrubbed her skin until it turned red, trying to wash away the scent of expensive cologne and the memory of Brennan's hands on her.

Twenty minutes later, she stepped out of the bathroom. The panic was gone, replaced by a cold, hard focus.

She walked to her closet and bypassed the designer clothes hidden in the back. She pulled out a drab, shapeless gray suit. It was cheap, stiff, and completely unremarkable. She put it on, buttoning the jacket all the way to her collarbone.

She walked over to the mirror. She pulled her dark hair back into a tight, severe bun at the nape of her neck. She opened her top drawer and pulled out a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses.

She slid the glasses onto her face. The lenses were non-prescription, but the frames instantly changed her face. They hid the sharpness of her eyes and made her look like a tired, overworked junior employee.

She grabbed her scuffed briefcase from the chair and walked out the door.

The subway ride to the financial district was suffocating. Bodies pressed against her in the crowded car. The smell of damp wool and stale coffee filled the air. Arnetta stared at the scrolling LED sign, her mind already shifting into her operational persona.

She walked out of the subway station and looked up.

The Vanguard Capital building towered over the street. It was a massive structure of glass and steel, a monument to wealth and power.

Arnetta walked through the revolving doors into the expansive lobby. The floors were polished marble. Men and women in tailored suits moved with frantic purpose.

She walked up to the security desk and pulled a printed email from her briefcase. She slid it across the counter.

"Arnetta Oliver," she said, keeping her voice soft and timid. "New junior analyst."

The security guard checked her ID against his computer screen. He printed a temporary visitor badge and handed it to her.

Arnetta clipped the badge to her gray lapel. She walked through the security turnstiles and joined the crowd waiting for the elevators.

The elevator shot up to the Human Resources floor. Arnetta stepped out and walked to the front desk.

Eleanor Fletcher, the HR director, looked up from her monitor. She was a stern woman with a tight smile.

"Miss Oliver," Eleanor said, handing her a thick stack of paperwork. "Sign these. Non-disclosure agreements, confidentiality clauses, standard corporate policy."

Arnetta took the pen. She scanned the dense legal jargon with practiced speed. She signed her name on the dotted lines, her handwriting neat and unassuming.

Eleanor took the papers back and handed Arnetta a permanent plastic ID badge.

"Follow me," Eleanor said.

Eleanor led her down a long hallway to the junior analyst bullpen. It was a massive, open-plan room filled with rows of identical desks. The noise was deafening. Keyboards clattered, phones rang, and people shouted over each other.

Eleanor pointed to a tiny desk shoved into the far corner of the room. It was next to a humming printer and stacked high with empty cardboard boxes.

"This is you," Eleanor said, turning and walking away without another word.

Arnetta set her briefcase down on the cheap laminate desk. She sat in the uncomfortable chair and booted up the desktop computer.

She immediately opened the company intranet. She bypassed the welcome pages and started digging into the organizational charts. She was looking for one name. The Maverick. The legendary rainmaker of Vanguard. The man she was sent here to investigate.

Before she could click on the executive directory, a heavy stack of manila folders slammed onto her desk.

Arnetta jumped, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Her department manager, a balding man named Davis, stood over her. He looked at her gray suit and tight bun with obvious disdain.

"Welcome to Vanguard," Davis sneered. "Since you are at the bottom of the food chain, you get the garbage. These are rejected client files. Dead ends. Find a miracle in there, or you'll be fetching coffee by tomorrow."

Arnetta kept her face blank. She nodded submissively. "Yes, Mr. Davis."

Davis scoffed and walked away.

Arnetta waited until he was out of sight. She reached out and pulled the top folder from the stack. It was a thick, red file.

She flipped it open.

The bold black letters at the top of the page read: Kirkland Industries Merger Acquisition.

Below that was the client's name. Brennan Kirkland.

Arnetta's breath hitched in her throat. Her stomach dropped like a stone.

An image of the man in the hotel bed flashed behind her eyes. The broad shoulders. The dark, mocking eyes. The arrogant smirk.

The man she had slept with. The man who had called her a corporate climber. He was not just some Wall Street executive. He was Vanguard's top-tier client.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the folder. The paper crinkled under her grip.

A cold, sharp thrill shot through her veins. This was not a disaster. This was an opportunity. Brennan Kirkland was her direct ticket to the top floor. He was the key to finding The Maverick.

She closed the red folder and stood up. She grabbed the red folder and a few loose printouts from the stack, then walked straight across the bullpen, ignoring the stares of the other analysts.

She stopped in front of Davis's glass-walled office and knocked twice. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed the door open.

Davis looked up, his face turning red with anger. "What do you think you are doing?"

Arnetta dropped the red folder onto his desk.

"I want this case," Arnetta said, her voice cold and precise. "Section 355(e) of the tax code-the 'anti-Morris Trust' rules. If you proceed with the current structure, Kirkland faces a thirty-five percent tax hit on the spin-off. I have the workaround."

Davis's fury froze on his face. The color drained from his cheeks. He stared at her, his mouth slightly open, the sheer audacity of her claim warring with the undeniable logic of the tax code she just quoted.

"Talk is cheap," Davis sneered, recovering his composure and slamming his hand flat on the desk. "Draft a one-page memo outlining this loophole strategy. I'll give you exactly one hour. If it holds water, I'll consider it. If it's garbage, you are fired."

"I can draft the preliminary model in forty-five minutes," Arnetta said, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Sign the conditional authorization now."

Davis swallowed hard. He looked at the file, then back at her unwavering gaze. Intimidated by her sudden, terrifying display of sheer competence, he grabbed his pen and scribbled his signature on the transfer line, sliding it back with a scowl. "Forty-five minutes. Not a second later."

Arnetta snatched the folder back. She turned and walked out of the office.

She returned to her desk and pulled her personal phone from her pocket. She opened a secure, encrypted messaging app.

She typed a message to Ira Gardner, her adoptive brother and the head of Aegis Ventures.

I have the Kirkland file. Moving to the top floor.

She hit send.

She shoved the phone back into her pocket and grabbed the red folder. The private elevator banks reserved for executive access were heavily guarded by a secondary glass security baffle. Arnetta noticed a senior vice president approaching the scanner. She quickened her pace, deliberately dropping a supplementary file right at his heels. The man pause, picking it up for her with a distracted nod. "Thank you so much," she murmured submissively, seamlessly stepping through the glass partition right behind him before the sensors could close, her cheap gray suit rendering her entirely invisible to his corporate radar.

The private elevator glided upward with a soft, mechanical hum.

Arnetta watched the digital floor indicator climb higher and higher. Her stomach tightened with every passing second. She adjusted her black-rimmed glasses, making sure they sat perfectly on the bridge of her nose. She smoothed down the front of her shapeless gray jacket.

The elevator chimed. The metal doors slid open.

Arnetta stepped out. The difference between the junior bullpen and the top floor was staggering. The air up here was cool and smelled of expensive leather and citrus polish. Her cheap heels sank into the thick, sound-absorbing carpet. The walls were lined with modern art encased in glass.

She walked down the wide, silent corridor. At the end of the hall stood a massive set of double walnut doors.

Arnetta approached the doors, her grip tightening on the red Kirkland file.

Before she could reach the handle, a woman stepped into her path.

It was Alexis Ware, Vanguard's senior executive. Alexis wore a sharp, tailored suit. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a flawless ponytail. She looked Arnetta up and down, her eyes lingering on the cheap gray suit with obvious disdain.

"You are lost," Alexis said, her voice dripping with condescension. "The mailroom is in the basement."

Arnetta did not flinch. She held up the red folder.

"I am not lost," Arnetta said evenly. "I am here to deliver the preliminary modeling for the Kirkland Industries merger."

Alexis scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "A junior analyst? Absolutely not. Hand me the file and get back to your cubicle before I have security escort you out."

Arnetta tightened her grip on the folder. "My manager authorized me to deliver this directly to the client."

Alexis reached out to snatch the file. "I said, give it to me."

Before Alexis's fingers could touch the cardboard, the heavy walnut doors clicked open.

"What is the problem out here?"

The deep, resonant voice sent a violent shiver down Arnetta's spine. Her breath caught in her throat.

Brennan Kirkland stood in the doorway.

He wore a custom-tailored navy suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. He had one hand casually tucked into his trouser pocket. He looked exactly as he had in the hotel room, radiating an aura of absolute dominance and control.

Brennan's gaze swept over Alexis and landed directly on Arnetta.

Arnetta's spine went rigid. Her fingernails dug into the cardboard folder. She stared back at him through her thick glasses, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Brennan's dark eyes locked onto hers. For two agonizing seconds, the air between them vanished. A flicker of dark amusement crossed his eyes. He recognized her. He knew exactly who she was beneath the terrible clothes.

But his face remained a mask of cold indifference.

"She is a junior analyst, Mr. Kirkland," Alexis said quickly, trying to regain control of the situation. "She is confused about protocol. I will take the file."

Brennan ignored Alexis completely. He kept his eyes fixed on Arnetta.

"Bring the file here," Brennan commanded. His voice was flat, betraying nothing.

Alexis reached out again, assuming the order was for her.

Arnetta sidestepped Alexis entirely. She walked straight up to Brennan, stopping mere inches from his chest. The scent of his cologne hit her, bringing back a visceral flash of the hotel bed. Her stomach flipped.

She held the red folder out to him.

Brennan reached for it. As he took the file, his long fingers deliberately brushed against hers.

The physical contact was like a spark of static electricity. The heat of his skin burned against her cold fingertips.

Arnetta yanked her hand back as if she had been burned. She shoved her hand into her jacket pocket, her fingers curling into a tight fist.

Brennan's lips twitched upward into a microscopic smirk. He opened the folder and flipped through her financial models. His eyes scanned the numbers with terrifying speed.

He closed the folder with a sharp snap.

"Alexis," Brennan said, not looking away from Arnetta. "I need a new executive assistant."

Alexis blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Sir, we have a pool of highly qualified candidates from Ivy League-"

"I don't want them," Brennan interrupted. He raised the red folder and pointed the corner of it directly at Arnetta's chest. "I want her."

Alexis's eyes widened in shock. "Mr. Kirkland, she is a junior analyst with zero administrative experience. She is entirely unqualified for-"

"I decline," Arnetta cut in, her voice sharp.

Both Brennan and Alexis looked at her.

"I am an analyst," Arnetta said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I belong in the analytics department. I have no interest in being an assistant."

Brennan took a slow step forward. The sheer physical presence of him forced Arnetta to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. He lowered his voice so only she could hear.

"You don't get to decline," Brennan whispered, his tone laced with a dark threat. "You work for me now. Or you don't work in this city at all."

Arnetta's jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to slap the arrogant look off his face. But the mission flashed in her mind. Ira needed her on the top floor. She needed access to Vanguard's core secrets.

She swallowed the bitter taste of humiliation. She forced her tense muscles to relax.

"Fine," Arnetta said through gritted teeth.

Brennan straightened up, his expression instantly shifting back to a cold, corporate mask. He turned to Alexis.

"Get my legal team on the phone immediately," Brennan ordered.

Alexis scrambled to pull out her tablet. "Yes, sir. Regarding the merger?"

"No," Brennan said, his voice turning vicious. "Regarding my divorce."

Arnetta stood perfectly still, her face blank.

"Tell the lawyers to draft the most aggressive settlement possible," Brennan continued, his tone dripping with venom. "That wild, party-girl wife of mine has been bleeding my accounts dry for three years. I want her cut off. Completely. Make sure she walks away with absolutely nothing."

Arnetta listened to him tear into his wife. She felt absolutely nothing. She had no idea that the greedy, wild woman he was describing was her. She just thought he was a miserable, cruel man taking his anger out on a woman he hated.

"I want the papers on my desk by tomorrow," Brennan finished. He turned on his heel and walked back into his massive office, leaving the door open.

Alexis let out a long, stressed sigh. She turned to Arnetta, her eyes filled with venomous hatred.

"Don't think you've won anything," Alexis hissed. "He will chew you up and spit you out in a week."

Alexis pointed a perfectly manicured finger down the hall.

"Your desk is in the corner outside his door," Alexis ordered. "Get to work."