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I can’t even think until I’m in my own office right next to his. Of all the men in this city, I had a one-night stand with my boss? When I walked into the office and saw him, I wanted to turn around and run away, but I forced myself to act like a professional. I thought he’d be upset that I didn’t want to discuss last night, but he seemed almost amused by my attempts to avoid it. The best way forward, maybe the only way forward, is to just pretend that never happened and that today is actually the very first time I’m meeting him. Otherwise, I don’t think I can handle working with my boss every day knowing that he’s seen me naked.

Oh my god. My boss has seen me naked! I put my head in my hands and force in a few slow, deep breaths until the threat of hyperventilation passes, but the deep embarrassment remains. I wonder if he was calling someone to see if he could legally fire me already, and that’s why he had me leave the room. Either way, I know he was talking about me.

“Okay,” I mutter to myself, lifting my head up out of my hands. “I’m not fired yet. Get it together, and we might just keep it that way.”

I don’t like the sound of a trial period at all. I need this job. I took a big risk by quitting my last job and moving out here for this one. It meant leaving behind a decent, rent-controlled apartment for whatever I could find here, and honestly, my living situation is far from ideal, but I’m making it work. If I lose my job, I’m completely screwed. I don’t have enough savings to last more than a few weeks. That means I need to do whatever it takes to keep this job.

It’s not like I have family to fall back on. My parents died in a car accident when I was just fifteen. The only aunt I had took me in until I was able to get into college at seventeen, but the moment I left her house, she basically washed her hands of me, running off to live with her latest boyfriend in Spain. Sometimes, I wish I had been more social in college and made the kind of lasting friendships that everyone else seemed to be making. Instead, I focused on school and barely spoke to anyone unless it was about assignments.

And all of that just to be left struggling to pay my bills. I might be moving up in the world with this job, but when I add up the rest of my life, the total is just pathetic. Somehow, Mr. Milov didn’t pick up on that last night, but it will become obvious if he gets even the briefest glimpse into my personal life, and the last thing I want is his pity. So, walls up. I want to climb the man like a tree, but this job is important to me. It has to be.

I open my laptop and start working on the task he assigned me, focusing until all my worries fade into the background. This is what I’m good at. The casino mostly runs itself at this point, so I dive deep into the ins and outs to familiarize myself with the day-to-day operations. Getting a new business started is one thing, and I know Mr. Milov intends to open multiple operations, but keeping them running is what truly matters, so that’s what I’m focusing on for now.

The morning passes by in a blur. My door is wide open so I can intercept anyone trying to talk to Mr. Milov without an appointment, but that means when Mr. Milov appears in the doorway, I don’t have a second to compose myself. He looks so good in a suit. Like it was made for him. The slightly tousled blond hair capping it off is like the icing on a cake, the only indication that he’s not as buttoned up as his suit makes him seem. But I already know that because I’ve seen what it looks like when he really lets loose. When he’s completely naked and—focus, please.

“Do you need something, Mr. Milov?” I prompt when he just stands there, leaning against the doorway with his eyes locked onto me. He’s testing me, and I know it. He wants to see if he can break through this flimsy facade of professionalism I’m keeping up to stop myself from melting around him.

“It's lunchtime,” he replies. “Take a break.”

It can’t be, I think. I feel like I've just started working, but the clock says otherwise. I turn back to my laptop and begin typing nonsense into my document, as if I’m too busy to take a break, even for lunch. “I have some things to finish up first. I’ll eat later.”

When he’s not on break, I’m sure he’s not eating lunch in the staff break room or anything. However, being on lunch at the same time only increases the risk of non-work-related fraternization, which I’m trying to keep to a minimum.

He runs a hand over his jaw. “You can’t work through lunch.”

His eyes go so dark when he’s being defied, the same color they flashed when I wouldn't give him my name last night.

“Is that a direct order from my boss? Are you saying I have to go on break right now?” I challenge, dropping my eyes back to my document because otherwise, the way I’m soaking in the sight of him in that suit is going to become super obvious. It’s just a suit. How does he make it look so good? Like I want him to wear it forever and also tear it off of him all at the same time.

Mr. Milov pushes himself off the doorframe and steps into the room, pitching his voice for my ears only. My pulse thrums. “I know how much you like being ordered around, but no, it’s a polite request that my new assistant take care of herself. I don’t need you burning out in the first week.”

Heat rushes to my face, and I know I’m bright pink from the way the corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. Bastard. He knows just how to get under my skin.

“I’m fine,” I insist, flashing him my blandest smile, trying to ignore the need building low in my belly. My traitorous body has other ideas about how this interaction should go, and it involves this desk and his hands. “I’ll eat later.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, turning on his heel and walking out of my office.

I listen to his footsteps recede down the hall, and my body relaxes. When he's around, it’s on high alert, ready to jump when he says so, practically purring every time he looks at me. Just then, my stomach grumbles with a pang of hunger. I’m starving, but there’s no way I’m walking out to grab lunch now with my tail between my legs. It will just have to wait until dinner.

Diving back into work takes my mind off of Mr. Milov, barely. I manage to finish the report he’s requested and am just starting on tomorrow’s tasks when he’s back, darkening my doorway. He’s unbuttoned the top of his shirt and taken off his tie, leaving a patch of skin at the top that I’m dying to touch. I know with just a few more buttons undone I’d be able to see that patch of golden hair in the center of his chiseled chest, the one I rested my cheek on just last night while we were still panting and sweating after our second round.

Get it together. I cross my legs beneath my desk and look up at him, aiming for prim and proper. “Yes, Mr. Milov?”

He stalks closer, his long legs eating up the distance in just a few strides, and sets a brown paper bag down on my desk. “Call me Anton. We know each other better than that, don’t we?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Milov ,” I say, with a sarcastic emphasis. If he’s going to break the unspoken rule of not talking about our night together, things are going to get messy.

Anton moves around the desk, coming to stand beside my chair, close enough that the smell of his cologne hits me hard. Suddenly, I’m back in his bed, breathing in this smell straight from the source at the base of his neck. He pushes closer, using his foot to spin my chair around so I’m facing him, and grips either side of my chair with his arms so I’m caught between them.

The door is still wide open. Anyone walking by could see what’s happening in here with a single sideways glance, but he doesn’t seem to care. Which tells me he knows he’s the king of the place and that whatever he says goes.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” he says, catching my chin with his fingers so I can’t look away, his eyes pinning me in place.

It’s hard to breathe, hard to think, with him this close to me, with his hands on my skin. All I want is to lean forward and steal another kiss, just to taste him again. I force my hands to stay at my sides, digging my nails into the leather of the chair.

He’s living for this. Watching me fight to resist. Tormenting me with little reminders from our night together. I can only hope I’m putting on a good show because if he got even a glimpse of what’s happening inside me right now, he’d know that I’m putty in his hands.

Then he stands, back in boss mode so fast it gives me whiplash. “I brought you lunch. I wasn't sure what you’d like, so I got a few things.” He taps the paper bag. “Take a break and eat.”

He stands there waiting for a response, and I can tell he’s not going to take no for an answer. At this point, I’d do anything just to create some distance between us—I’m not sure how long I can maintain this unaffected act when every nerve in my body is crying out for his touch. Even if I didn’t know what a monster he is in bed, Anton Milov is incredibly hot, and I’d want him. Unfortunately for me, I know exactly how good he is, and that makes the whole not sleeping with my boss thing ten times harder. I’m going to need the restraint of a monk to make it through this. The thought of a comfortable life, not struggling every month to come up with the money for bills, is the only thing that keeps me from giving in.

I can’t help just one more dig. I’m stubborn, and he looks like he’s winning. “I’m not hungry. You can take that with you when you leave.”

My stomach, the great betrayer, lets out the loudest grumble yet, and Anton raises one eyebrow in response. “You’re a terrible liar, Ella Matthews.”

The way he says my full name sends a shiver down my spine. I watch every step he takes out of my office, unable to look away from the way his suit hugs his back muscles. I can’t believe the material can even contain them.

I’m so screwed. Every time he leaves the room, I’m like a puppet with my strings cut, collapsing from the knot of tension he winds me into. How am I going to survive this every single day? Anton Milov is going to be the death of me.