Signed, Sealed,Sinful

If anyone ever tells you that tequila makes good decisions, they are lying.

Khloe slid a third shot glass across the table and the neon lights of the rooftop bar blurred at the edges of my vision. The Manhattan skyline sparkled behind her like a wall of diamonds, and the warm night air wrapped around us like a blanket we didn't ask for.

"Drink up, Lara. Tonight we are celebrating the fact that you are no longer unemployed and I no longer have to watch you cry into your cereal at two in the morning." Khloe grinned and clinked her glass against mine before tipping her head back and swallowing the shot like water.

Maya shook her head from the other side of the table. "Slow down, both of you. We just got here."

"Maya, my love, the girl got the job. THE job. At one of the biggest companies in the world. If that doesn't call for shots, I don't know what does." Khloe waved the waitress over and ordered another round before I could protest.

I laughed and pressed my hand against my chest. The knot that had been sitting in my stomach for months was finally gone. Five months of interviews, rejections, and doors slammed in my face, and today... today, everything changed.

"Tell us again," Maya said, leaning forward with her chin resting in her hands. "Tell us what he said."

"I already told you three times."

"Tell us again!" they both said together, and I groaned but smiled.

"Fine. So I walked in, right? And Mr Williams, the father, he was sitting behind this huge glass desk looking like someone's very handsome grandfather. Silver hair, green eyes, the whole thing. And he asked me what my greatest quality was."

"And you said?" Khloe raised an eyebrow.

"I told him I was stubborn."

Maya choked on her drink. "You told the CEO of Williams Group that you're stubborn?"

"I said it nicer than that. I said I'm the kind of person who doesn't stop until the job is done, no matter how hard it gets. And he looked at me for a long moment, like he was reading my soul or something, and then he smiled. He said, 'I like you, Miss Emmanuel. Can you start Monday?'"

Khloe slapped the table so hard our glasses jumped. "My girl! My girl got the bag!"

I pressed my lips together to stop the grin from splitting my face wide open. "It's just an assistant position, Khloe."

"An assistant position at Williams Group. Do you know how many people would kill for that? You're going to be working in one of the most beautiful buildings in Manhattan, surrounded by powerful people, learning from the best in the business. This is your way in, Lara. This is how you get back to doing what you love." Khloe reached across the table and squeezed my hand, and for a second, her wild energy softened into something gentle.

She was right. I had dreamed of being an interior designer since I was fourteen years old, sketching room layouts in the back of my school notebooks while my teachers droned on about math. I won a full scholarship to the design program at Parsons when I was eighteen, and for one beautiful year, my life had a direction.

Then my parents died.

A drunk driver, a rainy Tuesday night, one phone call that split my life into before and after. I was nineteen. My brother Samuel was twelve. My grandmother Evelyn, who could barely walk to the kitchen without losing her breath, became our only family. So I did what needed to be done. I dropped out of Parsons, picked up three jobs, and put my dreams in a box on the top shelf of my closet where I wouldn't have to look at them every day.

Seven years later, here I was, twenty-six years old, finally sitting at a table that felt like the beginning of something good.

"You deserve this," Maya said quietly, and when our eyes met, I could see she meant every word. Maya was the calm in our little storm. Khloe was the fire, I was the stubborn wind, and Maya was the steady ground that kept us both from flying off the edge. We had been living together in our tiny Brooklyn apartment for three years now, and without them, I'm not sure I would have survived.

"Now," Khloe announced, standing up and pulling me out of my chair, "enough with the feelings. We are going downstairs to the main floor, we are going to dance until our feet bleed, and you, Lara Emmanuel, are going to have fun tonight if it kills me."

The main floor of the rooftop bar was packed. Music pumped through the speakers, something with heavy bass and a melody that made your hips move on their own. Khloe was already in the middle of the dance floor, pulling moves that made people stop and stare. Maya and I joined her, and for a while, it was just us three. Laughing, dancing, drinking whatever Khloe kept handing us from the bar.

I was mid-spin, my head thrown back, my long braids whipping behind me, when I felt it. That strange, prickling feeling you get when someone is watching you. I slowed down and let my eyes scan the crowd until they landed on a pair of green eyes staring at me from across the room.

My breath caught.

He was sitting in a booth near the back, surrounded by people, but somehow completely separate from all of them. A glass of dark liquor rested in his hand. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, and his light brown hair was styled clean; shorter on the sides, longer on top. He wore a black shirt with the top two buttons undone, and even from this distance, I could see the outline of broad shoulders and a chest that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover.

He caught me staring and raised his glass slightly in my direction, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile that made my stomach flip.

I turned away fast.

"Who was that?" Khloe was suddenly right behind me, her mouth close to my ear.

"Nobody."

"Girl, that is not nobody. That is somebody's very fine son. Go talk to him."

"I'm not going to go talk to a random man at a bar."

"You're right. You don't have to." Khloe grinned and nodded toward something behind me. "Because he's coming to you."

I turned and there he was, cutting through the crowd like the music parted for him. People moved out of his way without even realizing it. He was taller than I expected. Well over six feet, and up close, those green eyes were even more striking; vivid and sharp, like polished glass catching the light.

He stopped in front of me and looked down, and for a second, neither of us said anything.

"Can I buy you a drink?" His voice was low, smooth, and it vibrated in my chest.

"That depends," I replied, crossing my arms. "Are you going to stand there looking at me like that the whole time?"

His eyebrows went up, and then he laughed. A real laugh, not a polite one. It was deep and warm and it crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Like what?"

"Like you've already decided how this night is going to end."

He tilted his head, his green eyes sweeping over my face with something that looked like surprise and curiosity mixed together. "I haven't decided anything. I just saw you dancing and figured anyone who moves like that probably has a good taste in drinks too."

I fought the smile tugging at my lips and lost. "Vodka cranberry."

"Boring choice for someone who dances like that." He signaled to the bartender without taking his eyes off me. "I'm Vincent."

"Lara."

"Lara." He repeated my name slowly, like he was tasting it. "That's beautiful."

"My mother picked it." The words came out before I could stop them, and a quick flash of pain shot through my chest. I pushed it down the way I always did and took a sip of the drink the bartender had just set in front of me. "So, Vincent, what brings you to a rooftop bar on a Friday night?"

"Celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

He smiled, and two deep dimples carved into his cheeks that nearly made my knees give out. "That's classified."

"Classified?" I snorted. "What are you, a spy?"

"Something like that." He stepped closer, and I caught a scent of cologne; something woody and warm that made me want to lean in. "What about you?"

"I got a new job today."

"Must be a good one to bring out that smile."

We talked for an hour. Then two. Khloe came by at some point, looked at Vincent, then at me, gave me two thumbs up and a grin wide enough to see from space, and disappeared back into the crowd with Maya. The drinks kept coming. We moved from the bar to the dance floor, where his hands found my waist and my back found his chest, and we swayed together to a song I couldn't name but would never forget.

His lips brushed my ear. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," I admitted, and he grinned.

"I know a place."

Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in the back of a black car that looked like it cost more than my apartment building. A driver in a crisp suit held the door open for us. I slid across the leather seat and let out a small laugh.

"You have a driver?"

"He makes sure I don't do anything stupid when I've been drinking." Vincent poured us champagne from a bottle that was already chilled and waiting. "Where to?"

I looked at him. He was watching me with those green eyes, his lips slightly parted, waiting. I don't know what came over me in that moment. Maybe it was the tequila, or the champagne, or the feeling of finally, finally having something go right in my life. Maybe it was the way this stranger looked at me like I was the most interesting thing in the room.

"There's a pizza place in Brooklyn that will change your life," I said, and he laughed.

"Pizza?"

"You thought I was going to say some fancy restaurant, didn't you?"

"Maybe."

"I'm not that kind of girl, Vincent." I took a sip of the champagne and pointed at his driver. "Brooklyn, please. Corner of Fifth and Atlantic."

We ate pizza on the curb at one in the morning, sitting on the hood of his very expensive car, our shoulders touching. He told me he worked in real estate, which I thought was funny because so did my new boss. I told him about my grandmother and my brother, about my dream to design spaces that made people feel at home. He listened in a way that most men don't; not just waiting for his turn to talk, but actually hearing me.

"You should go back and finish your degree," he said, wiping sauce off his chin.

"I will. One day. When I can afford it."

He looked at me with something soft in his eyes, and for a moment, the loud sounds of the city faded away. "I believe you."

The rest of the night blurred. More drinks at a late-night cocktail bar. Dancing in the street because a busker was playing guitar at three in the morning and Vincent grabbed my hand and spun me. Laughing so hard my stomach hurt. And then, somehow, standing on a private airstrip in New Jersey, staring at a sleek white jet with my mouth hanging open.

"Vincent. What is that?"

"My plane."

"Your plane. You have a plane."

He tugged my hand gently. "Let's go somewhere."

"Where?" I laughed, the world spinning around me in the most wonderful way.

"Miami. Have you ever been?"

"I've never been anywhere." The words left my mouth and they were true, painfully and honestly true. I had never left New York. I had never had the time, the money, or the reason.

Vincent squeezed my fingers and smiled. "Then let's fix that tonight."

I should have said no. Any sensible person would have said no. But I had been sensible for seven years. I had been responsible and careful and practical every single day of my life since I was nineteen years old, and just for one night, I wanted to be someone who said yes.

So I walked up those steps and onto that jet, and when the door closed behind us and Vincent handed me another glass of champagne, I looked into those green eyes and felt something I hadn't felt in a very long time.

Like anything was possible.

We played a drinking game somewhere over Virginia. By the time the plane touched down in Miami, I could barely see straight. The warm ocean air hit my face as we stumbled down the steps, and I threw my arms out wide and spun.

"I can't believe I'm in Miami!" I shouted, and Vincent caught me before I fell.

His arms wrapped around my waist from behind, his lips pressed against my temple, and he murmured, "What do you want to do, Lara? Tonight is yours."

The city sparkled ahead of us, and I was drunk and brave and completely out of my mind when I turned in his arms, looked up at his face, and said, "I dare you to do something crazy."

His eyes darkened. He dragged his thumb across my jaw. "Name it."

I don't know why I said it. I don't know what part of my brain decided that this was a reasonable sentence to put into the universe. But the word left my mouth before I could catch it.

"Marry me."

Vincent went still. His green eyes searched mine for a long, long moment. And then he smiled, slow and dangerous, and the look on his face made my heart stop beating.

"Okay."

Something was wrong with my pillow.

It was too soft. Way too soft. My pillow at home was flat and lumpy, the kind you flip over twelve times a night trying to find one comfortable spot. This pillow felt like a cloud. A very expensive cloud.

I groaned and pressed my face deeper into it, trying to ignore the hammer that someone was apparently using on the inside of my skull. My mouth tasted like something had died in it. My body felt like it had been through a washing machine, and the sunlight coming through my eyelids was so bright it burned.

Wait. My bedroom didn't get sunlight in the morning. My window faced a brick wall.

I forced my eyes open and blinked at the ceiling above me. White. Smooth. And... was that a mirror? I was staring at my own reflection, lying in a massive bed, tangled in white sheets, and very clearly not in Brooklyn.

My heart started pounding.

I sat up slowly, holding the sheet to my chest because oh God, I was naked. Completely, one hundred percent naked. I looked around the room and my breath got stuck in my throat. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of turquoise water and white sand. Marble floors. A crystal chandelier. Clothes scattered everywhere: a black shirt here, my dress there, shoes tossed in two different directions.

"Okay. Okay, don't panic," I whispered to myself, which is exactly what people say right before they panic.

I swung my legs off the bed and wrapped the sheet around my body like a makeshift dress. That's when I noticed my left hand. I lifted it slowly and stared at the ring sitting on my fourth finger. A diamond. A very large, very real diamond, catching the sunlight and throwing tiny rainbows onto the sheets.

"What the..." I peeled the ring closer to my face. No. No, no, no. This had to be fake. This had to be some kind of party favor or joke or...

My eyes landed on a piece of paper on the nightstand. I picked it up with trembling fingers and unfolded it. The words at the top punched the air right out of my lungs.

Certificate of Marriage.

And below that, two names written in sloppy, barely readable handwriting.

Xander Vincent Williams and Lara Emmanuel.

"Oh my God." The room tilted. I grabbed the edge of the nightstand and sat down hard on the bed. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God."

"Good morning."

I screamed. Actually screamed, loud enough to hurt my own head, and spun around. A man was standing in the doorway of what looked like a bathroom, leaning against the frame with a cup of coffee in his hand and a pair of grey boxer shorts hanging low on his hips. His hair was damp and messy, his chest bare and annoyingly perfect, and his green eyes watched me with a mix of amusement and exhaustion.

Vincent.

The events of the night before came back to me in pieces, like a shattered mirror slowly being put back together. The rooftop bar. The dancing. The pizza. The jet. Miami. A chapel on the beach with fairy lights and a man in a white suit reading from a book. Laughing. Kissing. A ring being pushed onto my finger.

"Please tell me this is a joke," I said, holding up the marriage certificate.

He took a sip of his coffee and rubbed his forehead. "I wish I could."

"We got married."

"It appears that way."

"To each other."

"Unless there was someone else in that chapel I don't remember."

"This isn't funny, Vincent!"

He winced. "Could you bring the volume down about three levels? My brain is trying to escape through my ears."

I pressed both hands against my temples and squeezed. This was a nightmare. A full, complete, absolute nightmare. I had gotten on a private jet with a stranger, flown to another state, and married him. Who does that? Who in their right mind does that?

Nobody in their right mind. That was the point.

"How did this happen?" I asked, pacing the length of the enormous bedroom. "How did we go from pizza in Brooklyn to married in Miami?"

Vincent set his coffee down and crossed his arms over his chest, which I was trying very hard not to look at. "I've been trying to piece it together. From what I can remember, and it's not much, you dared me to do something crazy."

"I what?"

"You dared me. On the jet. You said, 'I dare you to do something crazy,' and I said... well, apparently I said yes."

The memory hit me like a punch. I had said that. I remembered saying that. I also remembered the word that came after it, the one that had fallen out of my mouth like it was nothing.

Marry me.

I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

"I need to find my dress," I muttered, looking around the room. "I need my phone. I need to call my friends. They probably think I'm dead."

"Your phone is on the dining table. It died sometime around three in the morning." He walked past me and I caught a whiff of soap and something deeper, something warm that made my stomach tighten even though I was furious. "I had the hotel send up some clothes for you. They're in the bathroom."

I stopped and looked at him. "You ordered me clothes?"

"You can't exactly walk through a hotel lobby in a bedsheet." He glanced at the sheet wrapped around me and his lips twitched. "Although you're making it work."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't be charming right now. There is nothing charming about this situation."

He held up both hands in surrender, and that's when I noticed the gold band on his ring finger. So he had one too. We had actually done this. We had stood in front of someone and said vows and exchanged rings and signed a legal document. While drunk out of our minds.

I grabbed the clothes from the bathroom and got dressed as fast as I could. Jeans and a simple white top, both of which fit perfectly, which was both impressive and irritating. When I came out, Vincent was dressed too, in dark jeans and a grey shirt, and he was on his phone speaking in a low voice that sounded all business.

He hung up and looked at me. "I called my lawyer. He's going to start working on an annulment immediately."

"Your lawyer. Of course you have a lawyer on speed dial."

"I also have a pilot, a jet, and apparently a wife. It's been a productive twenty-four hours." The sarcasm was dry enough to start a fire.

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing because I was angry and laughing would ruin that. "How soon can the annulment happen?"

"He's looking into it. A few days, maybe a week. We were both drunk, so there are grounds to dissolve it quickly."

"Good." I grabbed my phone off the dining table and plugged it into a charger he handed me. "Good. That's good. We get the annulment, we go back to our lives, and we never speak of this again."

"Agreed."

We stood there looking at each other in the middle of this ridiculous penthouse that was bigger than my entire apartment building, and the silence was thick enough to swim in. He cleared his throat.

"Our flight back to New York leaves in two hours. I've arranged a car."

"Of course you have." I sighed and pushed my braids out of my face. "Thank you, by the way. For the clothes. And for sorting out the flight. I'll pay you back."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm serious. I'll pay you back. I don't like owing people."

Something flickered across his face. Interest, maybe, or respect. He nodded once. "Understood."

The flight back was quiet. I sat by the window and stared at the clouds, trying to process the fact that I had a husband. A legal, documented, ring-on-my-finger husband. A man I had known for less than twelve hours. My grandmother would have a heart attack if she found out. Samuel would never let me live it down.

I must have fallen asleep at some point because I woke up with my head on Vincent's shoulder and his jacket draped over me. I sat up fast, embarrassed, and he just smiled a little and looked out the other window. Neither of us mentioned it.

When we landed in New York, a car was already waiting. He gave the driver my address, which I had told him at some point during our wild night, and we rode through the city in silence. When we pulled up outside my building, I stepped out and stood on the sidewalk, unsure of what to say.

Vincent got out too and walked around to face me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small white card. "Here. My details. My lawyer will have the annulment papers ready in a few days. I'll reach out."

I took the card and looked at it.

Xander Vincent Williams. CEO. Williams Group.

My heart dropped to my feet. I read it again. And again. The name. The company. Williams Group. The same Williams Group I had just been hired at. The same company where I was starting work on Monday morning.

"Xander?" I looked up at him. "Your name is Xander?"

"Vincent is my middle name. I use it when I'm... not at work."

I stared at his face and tried to breathe. "You're the CEO of Williams Group."

He frowned slightly. "Yes. Why?"

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Khloe: WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU ALIVE? I SWEAR TO GOD LARA.

I took a step back. "I have to go."

"Lara, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine. I just... I need to go. Send me the papers. I'll sign them." I shoved the card into my pocket and turned toward my building, my hands shaking, my mind screaming.

I got through the front door, up the stairs, and into my apartment where Khloe and Maya were standing in the hallway with matching looks of fury and relief.

"Where the hell have you been?" Khloe grabbed my shoulders. "We were about to call the police!"

"I was in Miami."

They both blinked.

"Miami," Maya repeated slowly.

"Yes. Miami. I got on a jet, flew to Miami, and married a stranger." I pulled the ring out of my pocket where I had slipped it during the car ride and held it up. The diamond sparkled under the kitchen light.

Silence. Complete, absolute silence. And then Khloe snatched the card from my other hand and read it. Her eyes went wide. She looked at me, then back at the card, then at me again.

"Lara." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Xander Williams. THE Xander Williams?"

"You know who he is?"

"Everyone knows who he is! He's one of the richest men in the country!" Khloe shoved her phone in my face. A photo of Vincent... Xander... stared back at me from a magazine cover. Same green eyes. Same jawline. Same devastating smile.

Maya sat down on the arm of the couch. "Lara, you married a billionaire."

"I know."

"And you didn't even know who he was."

"I know!"

"Well," Khloe said slowly, a grin spreading across her face that I did not trust at all, "at least you have good taste."

"This isn't funny, Khloe. He's not just some random billionaire." I sank onto the couch and buried my face in my hands. "He's the CEO of Williams Group."

"So?"

"So that's where I start working on Monday."

The grin fell off Khloe's face. Maya's mouth dropped open. The room went so quiet I could hear the clock ticking on the wall.

"My husband," I whispered through my fingers, "is my new boss."

I didn't sleep.

Not a single minute. I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, running through every possible version of Monday morning in my head, and each one ended in disaster. I imagined walking into the office and him being there. I imagined the look on his face when he saw me. I imagined everyone somehow knowing; the receptionist, the other assistants, the janitor; all of them whispering, "That's the girl who married the CEO in a drunken haze in Miami."

By the time my alarm went off at seven, I had already been awake for hours. I dragged myself to the bathroom and stared at my reflection. Red eyes from no sleep. My braids needed redoing. My skin looked dull and tired. Lovely. Just the impression I wanted to make on my first day.

"You can do this," I told my reflection. "You are smart. You are capable. You got this job because you earned it. Whatever happened over the weekend is a mistake that will be fixed, and it has nothing to do with your ability to do this work."

My reflection did not look convinced.

I showered, drank two cups of coffee strong enough to dissolve a spoon, and put on my best outfit. Black trousers, a fitted burgundy blouse, and the only pair of heels I owned that didn't make my feet want to cry. I pulled my braids into a neat bun and put on just enough makeup to look alive.

Khloe was leaning against the kitchen counter eating toast when I came out. She looked me up and down and nodded. "You look good."

"I feel like I'm walking to my execution."

"Drama queen. Listen to me." She set down her toast and grabbed my hands. "You are going to walk in there with your head high. You are going to be professional, calm, and amazing. If he's there, you treat him like any other boss. You do your job, you learn everything you can, and you remember why you took this position in the first place."

"Because I need the money?"

"Because you're going to be the best damn interior designer this city has ever seen one day, and this job is the first step. Don't let some pretty-eyed billionaire mess that up for you."

I squeezed her hands and nodded. "You're right."

"I'm always right. Now go before you're late."

I made it to the office with four minutes to spare. Williams Group headquarters sat in the middle of Midtown Manhattan, a tower of glass and steel that stretched so high into the sky it looked like it was trying to touch the clouds. I stood on the sidewalk and tilted my head back, staring up at it, my stomach doing backflips.

Inside, the lobby was all marble floors, high ceilings, and the kind of quiet that said "rich people work here." I gave my name at the front desk and was directed to the thirty-second floor. The elevator ride felt like the longest of my life.

When the doors opened, a woman with warm brown skin and a bright smile was waiting for me. "Lara Emmanuel?"

"That's me."

"Welcome to Williams Group. I'm Mirabel. I'll be showing you around today and getting you settled in." She shook my hand with both of hers and squeezed. "We are so excited to have you. Mr Williams handpicked you himself."

My stomach turned. "Mr Williams... you mean the CEO?"

"Oh no, sorry. Mr Richard Williams, the founder. He handles the hiring when his son is out of town." She started walking and gestured for me to follow. "The CEO is his son, Xander. You'll meet him shortly. He just got back from a trip."

I bet he did.

Mirabel walked me through the open-plan office, explaining everything as we went. She showed me the design department, which made my heart ache because it was full of massive screens displaying building plans and 3D models of hotel interiors. She showed me the conference rooms, the break room stocked with every snack and drink imaginable, and finally, my desk.

"This is you," she said, gesturing to a sleek glass desk positioned right outside a large corner office. "And that," she pointed to the office behind me, "is where Xander works. Your main job is to keep his schedule running smoothly, manage his calls, handle his correspondence, and basically make sure his day goes the way it should."

"Got it." My voice sounded normal, which was a miracle because my heart was beating so fast I could feel it in my fingertips.

Mirabel lowered her voice and leaned in. "A little tip between us? He's brilliant, but he can be... intense. He works around the clock. He barely eats if you don't remind him. He hates small talk, doesn't like surprises, and if you see him loosen his tie and lean back in his chair with his eyes closed, leave him alone. That means he's stressed and he needs five minutes."

"Noted."

"Oh, one more thing. His coffee. Black, no sugar, with a small glass of cold water on the side. Have it on his desk by seven forty-five every morning. That's non-negotiable."

"Seven forty-five. Black coffee. Water on the side. I can handle that."

Mirabel beamed at me. "I have a feeling you two are going to work well together. Let me go check if he's out of his meeting and then we'll pop in and introduce you."

The second she walked away, I gripped the edge of my desk and breathed. In through my nose, out through my mouth, the way Maya had taught me during my panic attacks in college. This was fine. Everything was fine. Maybe it wasn't even him. Maybe there was some huge misunderstanding. Maybe Xander Williams was a common name.

"Lara?" Mirabel's voice floated across the office. "He's ready for you."

My legs moved on their own. One step. Two. Three. Down the short corridor to the corner office. Mirabel pushed open the glass door and stepped inside, and I followed her because turning around and sprinting to the elevator was not an option, no matter how badly I wanted to.

"Mr Williams, this is your new executive assistant. Lara Emmanuel."

I lifted my eyes.

He was standing behind his desk, his back to us, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window at the city below. He wore a charcoal grey suit that fit like it was sewn onto his body, and his shoulders were broad and tense. When he turned around, those green eyes met mine, and the world stopped.

It was him.

Vincent. Xander. The man from the rooftop bar, the dance floor, the pizza on the curb, the jet, the chapel, the penthouse. The man whose ring I had worn on my finger less than forty-eight hours ago. The man whose last name was on a marriage certificate currently sitting in the bottom of my handbag.

My husband was standing five feet in front of me, and he was my boss.

His expression didn't change. Not a flicker, not a twitch. He looked at me the way you'd look at a stranger, calm and professional, but his jaw tightened and I saw his fingers curl slightly against the desk.

"Miss Emmanuel," he said, and his voice was smooth and controlled and nothing like the warm, loose voice that had whispered in my ear on the dance floor. "Welcome to Williams Group."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Mirabel looked between us, her smile still bright and oblivious.

"Have you two met before?" she asked, tilting her head.

"No," Xander said quickly. Too quickly. "We haven't."

I found my voice. "No. Never."

Mirabel clapped her hands together. "Wonderful. Well, I'll let you two get acquainted. Lara, you'll be sitting right outside, so if you need anything, just buzz me." She squeezed my arm and walked out, closing the glass door behind her.

The silence that followed was so heavy it could have cracked the floor.

We stared at each other. His green eyes searched my face, and for one brief second, the mask slipped and I saw it; the same shock, the same disbelief, the same silent screaming that was happening inside my own head.

"You," I said.

He exhaled slowly and pressed his fingertips against the desk. "Me."