There are lines you don’t cross. And then there’s whatever the hell that was.
“Ives…,” I gasped, my back slamming against his desk as his mouth traced a line down my neck.
“Tell me to stop,” he muttered, voice rough, hands gripping my thighs tighter. “No. Change my mind.”
“I don’t want to stop.” He growled low in his throat, like the sound was dragged from his chest. His lips crashed back to mine, hot and unforgiving. My fingers clawed at his shirt, popping buttons, needing skin, needing him. God, needing.
His hand slid under my blouse, over bare skin. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”
His mouth was everywhere, my jaw, the corner of my lips, my collarbone, lower. He kissed like a man unraveling. Like he’d been holding this in since the day we met. His hands moved up, fingers digging into my hips like he needed to feel every inch. I hooked my ankles behind his back, pulling him closer, the heat between us enough to melt the air.
And for one second, nothing else mattered. Not the lies, not the headlines, not Ava, not the deal. Just him and I. Just heat and teeth and breath and skin and then… Riiing!
The office phone blared through the room like a slap. We both froze. Chest to chest. Out of breath. Hearts pounding like war drums. He let out a shaky exhale, forehead pressed to mine. “Don’t move.”
But I already was. I pushed him back, chest rising and falling fast. “I- I have to go.”
“Marla-”
I stepped off the desk, fixing my blouse with shaking hands. “That was... that shouldn’t have happened.”
“You didn’t seem to mind two minutes ago.” My eyes met his, fire still crackling between us.
“That’s the problem,” I whispered. And then I left. Lips swollen, head spinning, still burning from the feel of him.
I avoided him the rest of the day. Meetings? Skipped. Messages? Ignored. I ate lunch alone in the break room like a rejected high schooler. The only thing keeping me from spiraling was caffeine and blind denial.
By five, my pride was duct-taped back together. I told myself it didn’t matter. I told myself it was heat-of-the-moment, adrenaline, hormones, anything but real. He was still in a board meeting when I left, talking about mergers like he hadn’t just kissed the life out of me hours ago.
Great. Here’s the thing about catching feelings, you never plan on it. It sneaks up on you like a pop quiz in gym class. You think you're safe, just stretching, going through the motions, and bam, you’re suddenly sweating for the wrong reasons. That’s what I was dealing with. And the worst part, the guy giving me whiplash was Ives Mercer. Mr. Too-Cold-To-Cuddle. Mr. Strategic Kisses Only. Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Emotions. So yeah, I needed to shut this down before it got worse.
“You need to get laid,” Dana said while we were raiding the office vending machine.
“Excuse me?”
“Or drunk. Or both. But honestly, this vibe?” She waved her hand in front of my face. “It screams ‘I'm catching feelings and I hate myself for it.’” I didn’t deny it.
She smirked. “Which is why I set you up.”
“Set me up with what?”
“A blind date.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“Come on. Try it. Distract yourself from our boss, your fake fiance. I don’t know why you even like my boss,” she rolled her eyes. I shut my mouth while thinking about what she said.
The next morning, he acted like nothing happened. I woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of him clacking away on his laptop like we didn’t make out in his office. “Morning,” I said cautiously as I walked into the kitchen.
He looked up. Calm and blank, like always. “Morning.” No smirk, no eye contact that lingered too long. Just... casual Ives. “Busy day today. We’ve got a prep meeting at ten and that client mixer tonight,” he added. Oh. We’re doing that, huh?
“Right,” I said, forcing a nod. “Work.” That was the word, the boundary, the safe word. We were back to business.
“I’m not available tonight. I will take a day off.”
“Where are you going?”
“It's not your business.” I turned around before I reached for my phone and contacted Dana.
‘The Blind date thing? Is it still open?’