Page 67

“Nope. I’m in love with the best thing that’s ever happened to my game,” Chase says, zero shame, zero filter.

The silence that follows is thick and uneasy as they all glance at each other, unconvinced. So I speak, because someone has to bring this circus home.

“Chase’s stats are up and his discipline’s better. He hasn’t thrown a punch in weeks—almost a record. And yes, I held this campaign together. I handled the press and took the heat. I wrote every line of spin that kept this idiot from tanking his image.”

I look around the room, making sure they hear me.

“But let’s be very clear,” I say, eyes sharp now. “I will not be collateral damage.”

No one interrupts, not even Neil.

“I was stalked and assaulted. And through it all, I kept showing up. I protected your player, your brand, your bottom line. So if anyone here was planning to use what happened to me as the tidy little ending to your campaign arc, think again. I’m a professional.

I gave you everything you asked for, and now I’m protecting myself .

Which means being with someone who’d burn the whole damn narrative before he’d ever let it cost me again. ”

Chase squeezes my knee under the table.

“So unless anyone’s got a legal objection?” I glance around. Smile. “Sign the damn paperwork.”

Neil clears his throat. “Right. Yes. Okay. I suppose that resolves… everything.”

Chase leans toward me, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “I want that entire speech framed and hung above our bed.”

I roll my eyes. “Only if I get to highlight the part where I called you an idiot.”

“That’s slander, but I do love when you talk dirty.”

***

The second the boardroom door shuts behind us, Chase grabs the crook of my elbow.

“Where are we—”

He doesn’t answer, just pivots and steers me down the hallway of my own damn workplace, cutting through Pulse employees with his signature grin and zero shame.

“Chase,” I hiss, heels clicking. “What are you doing?”

“Executing an urgent priority.”

“We are in my place of work—”

“Exactly. And I just told a table full of executives that I’m in love with you, so this feels wildly appropriate.”

He swings my office door open, kicks it shut behind us, and pins me to it before I can even form a comeback.

“You’re out of your mind.”

Humming softly, he tilts his head to mine. “And you’re the only one who’s ever made me grateful for it.”

His mouth crashes to mine, and his hands are everywhere—one gripping my jaw and stroking my cheek, the other anchoring my hip, fingers splayed wide to claim me.

I moan against his mouth, and it only makes him worse.

“You’re trouble,” I murmur, dizzy from the rush.

“You walked into that boardroom and told a room of suits you wouldn’t be their collateral damage. I nearly proposed on the spot.”

“Be serious.”

“I am,” he breathes. “I’m always serious about you.”

His mouth drags down my neck, tongue tracing the pulse hammering beneath my skin. I gasp as his teeth scrape gently over the spot, then bite down just hard enough to make my knees buckle. I clutch at his hoodie, dragging it up his back and raking my nails over bare skin, greedy for the heat of him.

He groans into my throat, one hand fisting the hem of my blazer to tug me closer. His hips press into mine, and I can feel everything—every inch of him, hard and aching and entirely mine.

I push back, fast and breathless, grabbing his face in both hands and kissing him hard enough to bruise. His lips part beneath mine, and I don’t wait, I take. Tongue, teeth, the soft grunt he makes when I suck his bottom lip between mine.

“Fuck, Zo,” he mutters. “You keep doing that and I’m gonna bend you over your desk.”

I shove him back toward the couch, but he barely stumbles before spinning us, grabbing my waist and lifting me onto the edge of the desk. Pens scatter and note paper flies like confetti. My blazer slides off one shoulder as he wedges himself between my thighs, hands everywhere.

“I’m still at work,” I pant.

“Then consider this an official workplace wellness check.”

He drops to his knees like he’s the sinner and I’m the altar. Like he’s never known a more natural position than worshipping at my feet, hands braced on my thighs, head tilted up with a devastating grin.

But I grab his collar and tug him back up, lips inches from his, breath hot and ragged. “Not here.”

“Mm, thank fuck,” he groans, crashing his mouth back to mine, one hand braced behind my head, the other sliding up my thigh. “Because I was about to make us both a problem for HR.”

“You already are.”

“And you love it.”

“I love you.”

He stills, just for a second. Then he kisses me deeper. Slower, this time. The kind of kiss that brands, staking his claim all over again, sealing it with heat and reverence. When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.

“I meant every word,” he whispers. “I’ve loved you since the first time you rolled your eyes at me and told me I wasn’t funny.”

“Tell me again.”

His grin curves up on one side, hands framing my face as if I’m something fragile and holy. “I love you, Zoe Carlson. You make everything else make sense, even the chaos. Especially the chaos.”

I lean in and nip his lips. “This is really real now, huh?”

“Reality squared, baby,” he says, bumping my nose with his. “The realest fucking real.”

My hands slide over his shoulders and into the hair at the nape of his neck. I pull him in and kiss him again, moaning as he presses closer and nudges a knee between my thighs.

And then—

click

The door swings open.

Logan freezes in the doorway, blank-faced, holding a PR folder and wearing the expression of a man who just walked in on a crime scene.

There’s a long, heavy pause.

“I swear to God,” he mutters flatly. “This is why I don’t leave my house. I’m here for a sponsorship meeting, not an exorcism.”

Chase doesn’t move. “We’re having a feelings moment!”

“You’re dry-humping a desk and three seconds from a felony,” Logan replies, backing out.

“I told you we needed a lock,” I mutter, burying my face in Chase’s hoodie.

“Mm, don’t worry. This was just foreplay.”

From the hallway, Logan yells, “You’re both banned from furniture!”

“Rude,” Chase calls back. “You walked in on love , Pookie!”

“I walked in on trauma !”

Chase lifts a brow, nuzzling my neck. “That went well.”

I snort. “HR’s gonna need therapy.”

He grins, tugging me close by the hips. “I’m absolutely getting banned from this building.”

“Good. Less paperwork.”

He leans in to kiss me again, but I plant a hand on his chest and push him back.

“Go. Before someone else walks in and has an aneurysm.”

He backs out slowly, his stupidly beautiful face locked on mine. “Reality squared, baby.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” He winks. “Specially when it got me the girl.”

The door swings shut behind him, and I stare for a second, lips still tingling, heart still punching through my ribs.

And I can’t help it. I laugh.

Because somehow, I’m in love with a man who licked my shoulder in public and made it romantic. Who dedicated a celly song about age gaps to me just to piss me off.

Who taped my name over his own jersey, and sends me white carnations every week now to match the one he tattooed on himself.

Who isn’t even a little afraid of how devastatingly in love he is with me.

And I’m not fixing that. Not polishing it, or packaging it, or forcing it to make sense.

I’m keeping it. That stupid, beautiful face who loves me through the wreckage.

And I’m going to love him for the rest of my fucking life.