Page 23 of Wolfish Player (Steamy Latte Reads Collection #2)

THE CEO

ADRIAN

T he following weeks slide by faster than I expect.

Days are all business—Heather and I moving through meetings, author calls, release schedules, acting like we’re nothing more than boss and employee. She’s sharper than most of the executives I’ve ever hired, quick with ideas I actually keep, relentless when she believes in something.

But when the office clears out at night, the pretense vanishes.

She locks the door. I drag her across my desk. We ruin each other in ways that would make HR combust if they had the faintest clue. And somehow, when she slips out hours later, I still want more.

Weekends are spent at the retreat house.

She writes in one room, I write in the other, and sometimes we switch—reading each other’s words in the quiet.

She tears into my pages without hesitation, pointing out weaknesses no editor has ever dared to name.

I mark up hers with equal brutality. Neither of us holds back, and I’ve never liked the process more.

It’s different with her, dangerously different.

I catch myself watching her when she’s bent over her laptop, chewing her pen cap, brows knit as if she’s carrying the weight of every world she’s creating.

I tell myself I like her discipline, her fight, her talent.

But the truth is more insidious. It stirs something in my chest I don’t want to name.

I don’t do feelings.

Not for women. Not for employees. Not for anyone.

Yet every time I sleep with Heather, it’s like she’s dismantling me piece by piece, leaving me hungry to know what comes next.

And that—more than any late manuscript or missed deadline—terrifies the hell out of me.