Marla’s POV
Hangovers are hell. Hangovers with a side of bad decisions? Pure damnation. I woke up still tasting him, and my brain kept flashing through last night in 4K: me storming out, him dragging me into the cold, that fight-turned-kiss that shouldn’t have happened, but did. And the worst part? I kissed him back like it meant something.
I groaned into his pillow. “Kill me now.”
My legs were tangled in a shirt that didn’t belong to me, his. Button-down, linen, probably overpriced. Definitely dangerous. I dragged myself to the kitchen, mentally praying he left for work already. Of course, he didn’t.
There he was, shirtless, hair a mess, flipping eggs like we were some married couple in a Sunday morning rom-com. Except this was no rom-com, this was a PR stunt with unresolved sexual tension and public humiliation on speed dial.
“You cook now?” I asked, voice scratchy as I shuffled to the counter.
He didn’t even flinch. “Only when the drunk fiancée passes out on my couch.”
“You didn’t carry me, did you?”
“Dragged,” he said.
“Like a sack of regrets.” I gave him a death glare and grabbed the Advil and water he had already placed on the counter. Black coffee, too. Damn him for being thoughtful. Then I checked my phone. Another headline popped up.
Double Trouble: Ava’s Red Carpet Return Sparks Tension with Ex Ives Mercer.
I snorted. Ives was just casually making pancakes like I didn’t read any other headlines for him. “So...” I started, tone casual. “Ava huh?”
His jaw didn’t move. “What about her?”
“Engagement? She’s your ex fiance?”
“Hmm,” he hummed like exactly he’s saying yes. “What about that?”
“Does she always show up uninvited or just on nights I publicly spiral?”
He flipped a pancake with too much grace for someone supposedly annoyed. “Let’s not talk about her. She’s irrelevant.”
The next morning at work, I walked in ready to fake normal. Fresh blowout, killer heels, and an attitude fully reloaded. I stepped out of the elevator, head high, spine straight, until I saw her. Ava. In Ives’s office.
She was perched on his desk like it still belonged to her. Laughing, leaning in, hair tucked behind one ear with practiced ease. Every inch of her said: I never really left. And maybe she hadn’t.
I froze in the hallway, stomach knotting. She looked too comfortable, too effortless, like she had a plan and the smirk to back it up. And I? I was just the placeholder, the warm-up act, the girl with a contract. She looked too comfortable. I didn’t think, I just moved. Burst into the office like it was mine. I need to introduce myself more huh?
“Hello darling! Good morning! I missed you!” I smiled sweetly.
“Marla-” Ives stood halfway, surprised.
I didn’t let him speak. I dropped my bag and walked over to him, then straddled on his lap. Then I kissed him. Hard. It’s too late to backout and I don’t want to look defeated in front of Ava. I don’t fucking care if it’s pretend, he is my fiance. I won’t let some snake steal it.
His lips didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second. One hand went straight to my waist. The other fisted the back of my hair, pulling me closer like he’d been waiting to lose control. The kiss was hot, messy, completely unprofessional, and I didn’t care. Not with Ava watching, not with every part of me screaming mine. When I finally pulled back, I turned to her.
“Oh,” I said, sugary sweet, casually adjusting the collar of Ives’ shirt as I looked up at her. “Didn’t realize we had company.” Ava stood frozen, eyes wide like she’d seen a ghost, and then slowly, deliciously, her expression dropped. Stunned turned into pissed in less than three seconds.
“I didn’t know you were... entertaining,” she said, voice clipped, eyes zeroing in on my legs tangled with Ives’.
“Oh, this?” I said, gesturing between us. “We were just… debriefing. You know how intense these events get.” Ives didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to. Ava’s jaw tightened, she clutched her designer purse so hard her knuckles turned white.
“Wow,” she muttered. “Didn’t take you long.”
I tilted my head. “Took him long enough, actually.” She blinked, then stepped forward like she wanted to throw her bag, or herself, at someone.
“You’re really gonna let her talk to me like that?” she asked Ives, eyes burning.
Ives didn’t even flinch. “You’re the one who walked in uninvited.”
Ava’s nostrils flared. “I was returning something.”
“Return it through security next time,” I said, standing and smoothing down my dress, like I hadn’t just wrecked her entire day.
She stared at me, one second, two, then spun on her heel. Her stilettos stabbed the hardwood like murder weapons as she stormed out. The door slammed, and I smirked to myself. Honestly? I was proud. That was a solid move. Ava’s face? Wrecked. Her exit? Cinematic. Her ego? Bruised and bleeding. I pissed her off, and it felt damn good.
But just as I started to shift off Ives’ lap, ready to reset whatever this was, his hands gripped my waist, holding me in place. “Seriously?” he said, voice low. “You’re just gonna leave after that?”
I blinked. “What?”
He leaned in, his tone dropping into something darker. “You kissed me. Pissed off by your little audience. Shooed the ex away like you were claiming what’s yours.” He looked at me, really looked at me. Like I was a puzzle he couldn’t wait to solve. “And now you’re bailing?”
“I- I was just protecting you,” I said quickly, trying not to trip over my words. “From her. You saw her, Ives. She still wants you.”
“You sure about that?” he asked, his grip tightening slightly. My breath caught. His eyes were darker now, hungrier. “You didn’t kiss me like someone playing defense.” I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. “Feels like you liked it,” he added, dragging his thumb across my lower back. “A little too much.”
I hated how hot my face got. “I just-” His mouth was so close I could taste the words before he even said them.
“You're gonna finish what you started,” he murmured, dragging me back down and kissing me again.
This time was worse. Worse because it felt so real, his hands slid under my blouse, rough and warm. My fingers yanked his tie, pulling him deeper into the kiss. My legs wrapped around him like instinct, and he stood, carrying me with ease, slamming my back against his desk like it belonged to us. I gasped when his mouth found my collarbone.
My skirt rode higher. His hand gripped the back of my thigh like he didn’t care where we were, who might hear, what came next. I know it’s a bad idea to give in but hell, I want it.