One Night With My Boss

LINA POV

I step into the Holt building, and suddenly my carefully rehearsed confidence feels like a joke.

The lobby is all glass and marble, polished to a blinding shine. People in sharp suits pass by like they're gliding. I grip my tote bag tighter, trying to convince myself I belong here. New city, new job, new me. No mistakes.

I walk up to the receptionist. "Hi, I'm Lina Hayes. Here for my interview."

She smiles, bright and professional. "Of course. Executive office. You'll meet Mr. Holt and the HR manager."

Her smile is polite, oblivious. I nod, follow her directions, and take the elevator to the top floor, telling myself this is just a job interview.

Then I see him.

Ethan.

I could never forget his name

My stomach twists into something ugly, and my lungs forget how to work. He's leaning casually against the wall by the conference room, hands in his pockets, looking like he just walked out of a magazine. Except he's not in a magazine. He's the man I slept with that one unforgettable night in Chicago. That one night that I told myself I would never remember.

And now he's my interviewer.

I stop in my tracks. My heels click against the floor, and I swear the sound is deafening. He turns toward me, and in that instant, all my carefully built walls crumble. Flashbacks hit me like wind, that night in his hotel room, I bent over the hotel desk, his palm cracking my ass, cock slamming deep. "Take it, you filthy little whore," I still heard his voice, yanking my hair, I didn't mind what he called me, as long as he was fucking me. He kept pounding until my knees buckled, thighs trembled, pussy clenching around his brutal thrusts.

My legs nearly gave way right there, slick heat flooding my panties.

I blink and shake my head, forcing my brain back to the present. Keep it together, Lina. It's just a job.

"Miss Hayes," Ethan says smoothly, his voice even. Too even. Like nothing in the world could make him flinch. My name rolls off his tongue, and it's wrong and right all at once.

"Hi," I manage, forcing a smile. My mouth feels dry, my hands clammy.

I notice the HR manager at his side, a stern woman with a clipboard, and another person, someone I assume is part of the interview panel. Both are watching now. Neither seems to notice the tension between Ethan and me, but I feel it like a live wire buzzing through my chest.

"Please, have a seat," Ethan gestures to the chair across from him, sitting with perfect posture. His composure is infuriating. How can he look so calm when I'm the one about to melt in the middle of the room?

I sit, placing my bag on my lap. I stare down at the polished wood of the table, pretending not to notice the way his eyes flick to me once, twice, before he settles back like he's completely unaffected.

I know he's petrified too. I can feel it. He doesn't let it show, not an inch. Not in front of HR. Not in front of anyone. He's the CEO. He doesn't lose control.

But I see it.

"You're applying for the position of Secretary to Mr. Holt?" HR manager asks, breaking the silence.

"Yes," I answer. My voice is steadier than I feel. "I've had experience managing schedules, travel arrangements, and confidential projects. I'm organized, detail-oriented..."

I glance at Ethan. His expression hasn't changed, still cool, still collected, but the way his gaze lingers just a beat too long makes me want to melt into the chair.

"Good," HR manager says. "We value efficiency and discretion here. Mr. Holt, do you have any questions for Ms. Hayes?"

Ethan leans back slightly, fingers steepled. "Tell me about a time you had to handle something urgent with very little notice."

I start talking, words coming easier now that I've begun. I tell them about a last-minute project at my previous firm, how I had to coordinate multiple executives, reschedule flights, and ensure nothing fell through. I watch Ethan as I speak. His eyes are sharp, evaluating, but there's something else there, something I can't name without my stomach flipping.

Every so often, I feel my mind drift. That night in Chicago flashes behind my eyes. The way he looked at me... the heat... the chaos... My cheeks flush, and I clamp down on the memories, shoving them away. I cannot, I will not, let this ruin my first impression.

Ethan clears his throat. "Impressive." His voice is low, just loud enough for me to hear. That single word sends a shiver down my spine.

HR manager nods. "Excellent. And how do you handle high-pressure situations where the executive may be... difficult?"

I lift my chin, forcing professionalism to mask the heat rising in me. "I stay calm. I stay organized. I focus on solutions, not problems. I make sure my executive looks good, even if it costs me a little stress."

Ethan's lips twitch. Almost a smile, but not quite. That corner-of-his-mouth thing he does that reminds me too much of that night. I have to look away, pretend I'm analyzing the table. My pulse is pounding like a drum in my ears.

The HR manager makes notes. Ethan doesn't say anything, just watches me. And I can feel it, the tension, the electricity, the way it hums between us. It's unprofessional. Dangerous. And I love it.

"Thank you, Ms. Hayes," the HR manager says finally. "We'll be in touch."

Ethan leans forward just slightly, enough that I catch the faint scent of him, clean, sharp, intoxicating. My breath catches. I want to say something stupid. Something that'll ruin me, like: Do you remember Chicago?

But I don't. I can't. I smile, nod, and gather my bag. "Thank you for your time."

We walk toward the door, and the memory hits me again. The touch of his hand, the look in his eyes, the way he made me feel... I shove it down. Pretend It doesn't exist.

He holds the door for me. I pause, staring up at him, heart in my throat. His eyes are calm, unreadable, untouchable. But I know he's fighting the same thing I am. I see it in the flicker behind his gaze, the slightest catch in his breath I could swear is there.

I step through the doorway, walking out like I own my composure, but my legs feel like jelly.

"Good luck," Ethan says, voice casual again, calm as a boardroom meeting, completely normal. But my mind knows the truth, we are anything but normal.

I step into the hallway, trying to breathe. Trying to convince myself I didn't just spend thirty minutes sitting across from the man who haunted my fantasies, my regrets, my desires. Trying to remember that this is an interview, not a repeat of the night I'll never forget.

But deep down, I know this job, this city, and this man... are about to change my life forever.

ETHAN POV

I look up from my desk and almost choke.

I can't fucking believe it.

It's Lina. Fucking Lina Hayes.

And she's smiling like she belongs here. Like this is normal. Like she doesn't make my blood run hot just by standing there.

I remember. That night in Chicago. Every detail. The way she screamed my name, how she moved, how she made me lose all control. How I... almost...

I shake my head, forcing it down. Not now. Not here. Not in front of HR. Not in front of the other interviewer. I am Ethan Holt. I do not lose control. I do not.

Except I feel it. My dick hard against my trousers in a way I haven't felt since that night. And my hand twitches, my jaw tightens, and I fight to stay still.

I see her walking toward me, heels clicking, that nervous confidence I know too well. She looks professional. Polished. But I see the tiny tremor in her hand, the way her breath catches for a second. She's just as aware of me as I am of her.

HR clears his throat. "Mr. Holt?"

I nod, voice calm. "Yes. Go ahead."

She talks. She's sharp, smart, confident, but I can't focus. Every word she says just reminds me how much I want her. How much I want that night again. How much I want her body pressed against mine.

I almost... God, almost...

I shake myself again. No. I will not. I cannot. She is a candidate. She is applying for a job in my office. She will not be mine. Not now. Not ever.

And yet, every glance she gives me, every slight tilt of her head, every flicker of that old smirk, it hits me right in my bulging trousers.

I clear my throat. "Impressive," I say. Neutral. Professional. Just one word. But it's enough to make her pause. She's caught. I can see it. Relief? Recognition? Desire? Probably all of it.

HR nods. "Thank you, Ms. Hayes. That's all."

She stands. Smooth, controlled. But I catch the way her hand lingers on her bag. The way her hips move. The way she looks at me just long enough to remind me... everything.

I hold the door, trying to act calm. My heart is pounding. My body remembers. My mind remembers. The memory of her naked, of her heat, of her pussy, it's consuming me.

She steps out, and I exhale. I sit back down at my desk, trying to focus on anything else. Reports. Calls. Meetings. But none of it matters. She's here. She's in my building. And I can't stop thinking about what I shouldn't be thinking about.

I'm the CEO. I do not get distracted. I do not want an employee. I will not...

I try to shake it off, telling myself this is just temptation. She's beautiful, yes, but that night is over. I will not cross this line again. I cannot.

I glance toward the lobby again, pretending to check the security cameras. She's gone. But I know she'll be back, if she gets the job. And that thought should scare me. It should.

I run a hand over my face. Focus, Holt. Professionalism. She is an applicant. A candidate. That's it. She is not yours.

But my cock doesn't care. It remembers. It wants her. And that memory is sharp, so fucking sharp, it feels like a punch.

I lean back in my chair, close my eyes for a second, and let the memory flood me again. Her hands on me, the way she moaned, the way she didn't stop moving until she had me at my limit... Fuck. God, fuck.

I bite my lip. The room is silent except for the low hum of the AC and the occasional typing from my assistant down the hall. But inside me, it's chaos.

I remind myself again: She is not mine. She is not mine. She is not mine.

I open my eyes. My reflection in the glass of my office shows a calm, composed CEO. Nothing betrays the storm inside me. But I feel it. Every pulse. Every thrum of blood. Every twitch of my body. She does that to me. Lina Hayes does that to me. And she has no idea.

I shake my head and pick up a file to flip through. Try to look busy. Try to act normal. But I can feel my cock straining in my trousers again, and I have to clench my thighs together to keep it under control.

God, she's going to drive me insane.

I keep thinking about the next day after Chicago. How I tried to find her. Tried to call. Text. Social media. Nothing. And now here she is, in my office, trying to get a job as my secretary. My employee. The one person I absolutely cannot fuck.

And I want to. More than anything.

I run a hand down my face again, lean back, and close my eyes. This night, this temptation... it's going to be the hardest thing I've ever resisted. But I will. I have to.

I open my eyes when I hear footsteps again. It's my assistant. She drops off a report on my desk. I take it without looking up, focus on anything else to drown out the memory of Lina. The scent of her hair. The feel of her skin. The way she looked at me.

I remind myself again. She is a candidate. She is not mine. Not in Chicago. Not here. Not anywhere under this roof. I cannot let her make me forget that.

But God... my cock remembers. My mind remembers. My body remembers. And I know, deep down, she will haunt me every single day if she gets this job.

I run my hand over the desk, trying to ground myself. Focus, Holt. Professional. You are the CEO. You do not act on temptation. You do not lose control.

But I also know the truth. I will never forget her. Never.

And I still want her anyway.

Lina POV

I wake up before my alarm.

I don't even know if I actually slept. I spent half the night staring at the ceiling, replaying yesterday's interview. The way Ethan looked at me. The way he said impressive in that deep voice that did something terrible to my body.

And now... I'm hired.

I still don't know how to feel about it. Excited, nervous, terrified, all of it. But mostly, it's him. The man I thought I'd never see again. The one I had one insane, reckless night with in Chicago. The one who made me forget who I was.

Now, he's my boss.

I get to the office almost an hour early. HR told me I start at eight, but I wanted to look eager, professional, ready. Turns out, I'm not early enough.

Because when I step into the hallway leading to his office, his door's already open. And I see him sitting there.

He's behind a huge glass desk, sleeves rolled up, typing something on his laptop. His jaw's tight, expression hard. There's no trace of the man who once smiled against my neck, whispered filthy things in my ear.

He looks up.

"Morning," I say, forcing a smile.

His eyes flick up and down my outfit, a fitted black pencil skirt, a cream blouse, heels I can barely walk in. His expression doesn't change.

"You're late," he says flatly.

I blink. "It's..." I glance at my watch. "It's 7:45."

He leans back in his chair. "Exactly."

I swallow. "I was told to start at eight."

He stands up, slow. The chair creaks a little under him. And suddenly, he's walking toward me. Step by step.

God. He's taller than I remember. Broad shoulders. That same calm, quiet dominance that made me melt once.

"You should've come in earlier," he says, voice low, eyes locked on mine. "You want to impress me, don't you?"

"I...yes. Of course. I'm sorry."

He stops in front of me. Too close. I can smell him, wood, spice, something warm and expensive that makes my knees go weak.

He tilts his head slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make me forget how to breathe. "Next time," he says, "you'll add sir when you talk to me."

My lips part, but no sound comes out. I can feel my heart pounding so hard it hurts.

He's so close I can feel his breath on my cheek, warm and steady. His cologne wraps around me, thick and heavy. He looks down at me like he's remembering too. Like he's fighting it the same way I am.

I try to speak. "E...Ethan..."

He raises a brow. "That's Mr. Holt to you."

I nod quickly. "Yes... sir."

The corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smirk, but it's gone before it forms. He steps back just enough for me to breathe again.

"Good," he says. "You'll report directly to me. You'll assist with scheduling, communication, and any additional tasks I assign. Understood?"

I nod again. "Yes, sir."

"Say it clearly."

"Yes, sir."

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, like he's testing me. Then he turns, walking back toward his desk. The air between us feels electric, heavy, like something's been set on fire.

He sits down, not looking up again. "You can start by reviewing the quarterly reports on my desk. Make notes of any inconsistencies. Don't make mistakes."

"Yes, sir," I manage, even though my voice sounds like it's barely holding itself together.

I move toward the corner of the office where a smaller desk has been set up for me. My hands are shaking, so I clutch my bag to keep them steady. I can still feel his eyes on me, even though he's not looking.

This is fine, I tell myself. You're here for work. You can do this. It's just a job.

Except it doesn't feel like just a job. Not when every breath I take smells like him. Not when I can still feel the heat from where he stood. Not when my skin still remembers the feel of his hands from that night.

I sit down, open the folder on my desk, and try to focus. Numbers, charts, lines of data. It's useless. My brain is fried.

I sneak a glance at him.

He's focused on his screen, fingers moving fast on the keyboard, sleeves rolled just high enough to show strong forearms. His tie's loosened a little, and I remember what that used to mean. That night, when his tie ended up on the floor...

Stop.

God, I need to stop.

I force my eyes back on the papers, but my body doesn't listen. I can feel every nerve awake, every inch of me too aware of him.

I hear his voice suddenly, calm but sharp. "You're distracted."

I jerk my head up. "No, sir."

He studies me for a second, that unreadable expression still on his face. "You'll need to be better than that."

"Yes, sir."

He goes back to typing, but my cheeks are on fire.

It's ridiculous. I should not feel like this. Not after all this time. Not when I promised myself that night was a mistake.

But standing this close to him again, hearing that voice, smelling that cologne, it's like my body's betraying me.

Every second that passes feels too long. I can hear the faint hum of the AC, the clicking of his keyboard, the thud of my own heartbeat.

At one point, he stands again. He walks past me, just close enough that his sleeve brushes my shoulder. My breath catches.

He stops by the window, adjusts his cufflinks, then turns slightly toward me.

"You'll find I have high standards," he says, his tone softer now but still firm. "Don't make me regret hiring you."

I look up. "You won't, sir."

He holds my gaze again, and something flickers there. Something dangerous. Something that says he remembers too.

And maybe I imagine it...but for a second, it feels like he wants to say something else. Something he shouldn't.

Instead, he nods. "Good."

The silence after that feels endless. I keep pretending to read the files, but all I can think about is how his voice sounds when he says sir. How close he was. How easy it would be to reach out, to close that space, to kiss him like I did once.

But then I blink, and the fantasy fades. He's my boss. My untouchable, intimidating, insanely hot boss.

And I'm sitting here with my stupid heart racing like I'm seventeen again.

I press my pen to the paper, forcing myself to breathe. Be normal, Lina. Act normal.

But it's useless. Every time he moves, every time he speaks, my mind goes right back to him. His hands. His mouth. That night.

I almost laugh at myself. God, I'm so screwed.

He glances up again, probably noticing the smile I'm trying to hide.

"Something funny, Ms. Hayes?"

"No, sir," I say quickly, biting my lip.

He leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing just slightly, like he's trying to figure me out. Then he nods toward the papers. "Get to work."

"Yes, sir."

I drop my eyes back down.

He starts typing again, and the room fills with that soft rhythm...keyboard clicks, low breaths, silence.

And all I can think is how unreal this feels. How I'm supposed to act like a normal assistant when the man sitting a few feet away once made me lose my mind.

How I'm supposed to pretend I don't still feel him.

I exhale slowly, letting the words slip out under my breath, barely above a whisper.

"I have a crush on my boss."