Ivy's head snapped up, eyes wide, her cheeks a violent shade of crimson. Instinct drove her to clutch her shirt across her chest.
"But still tacky," he drawled, disappointment dripping from his tone. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as if she'd just robbed him of entertainment.
"Excuse me?" Ivy pressed the blouse harder against herself, wishing she could sink into the carpet beneath her feet.
"You've got a nice body—definitely bangable." His gaze dragged slowly over her curves. He closed the distance between them, his presence swallowing the room.
Her jaw dropped. "I do not—"
"But desperation," he cut in smoothly, lifting a hand, "is a huge turn off. Better women have tried. And failed." His arrogance filled the air.
"Despera—what are you talking about?" Ivy snapped, her eyes flashing with fire that overrode her embarrassment. She was mortified, but beneath the mortification was indignation.
How dare he assume? How dare he reduce her to another notch on his billionaire ego's bedpost?
"Why are you acting innocent all of a sudden? You land a temp job in the House of Kane, and now here you are—half-naked in the executive lounge." He leaned closer, his shadow swallowing her smaller frame.
"This sad excuse at seduction doesn't get me hard, sweetheart. But maybe—" he lifted the folder, tapped it against her shoulder as if mocking her—"maybe I'd consider it if you would actually do the job you were employed for."
"I am not trying to seduce anyone," she hissed. The blouse slipped slightly, baring one smooth curve of her breast, which only made his gaze sharpen.
"And if you would just take a minute to ask questions instead of jumping to unnecessary and insulting conclusions, you would get the full story."
Winn was taken aback instantly. She had just talked back to him, not with meek apologies or terrified stammering, but with steady eyes and sharp words. His brows lifted slightly.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Ivy inhaled deeply, squaring her shoulders. The subtle rise and fall of her chest pressed her cleavage against the thin fabric of her shirt, catching Winn's gaze for the briefest second before he dragged it back up to her face.
Focus, Kane, he thought, irritated with himself for letting her body distract him.
"I am Ivy Morales," she said clearly. "It's my first day. And ignoring this current… situation," her cheeks burned, but she held her ground, "I am a professional, hardworking woman."
She had backbone.
"Then why, are you here, tits hanging in my private lounge?"
The embarrassment stung, but so did his arrogance. "My… my hook snapped," she admitted softly.
Ah. That explained the whole mess. Just… bad luck. Still, could he be blamed? Too many women had tried to crawl into his bed under the guise of "accidents." If women stopped acting so damn shamelessly around him, maybe—just maybe—he'd learn to take the decent ones seriously.
"Do you have a safety pin?" he asked brusquely.
"What?" Ivy's brows knitted together, genuinely confused.
"Do you," he repeated, slower this time, "have a safety pin?"
"Yes… in my bag," she replied, nodding toward the table.
Winn stood there, tall and expectant, his gaze unwavering. He didn't explain further. He simply watched her. His meaning was obvious to him — she should fetch it.
But Ivy, thrown by his sharp tone and unreadable eyes, just stood there clutching her shirt to her breasts, looking at him.
"I'm waiting," Winn said. His gaze didn't waver.
"Oh!" Ivy startled. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she scrambled for her bag. Her fingers fumbled, clinking against lip balm, loose change, and a folded metro ticket before finally brushing the cool edge of the safety pin.
With a victorious tug, she pulled it free and handed it to him, eyes darting everywhere except his.
"Turn around," Winn commanded, not a hint of question in his voice. He could've said kneel and it might've had the same effect.
Still baffled about what the hell was happening, Ivy obeyed. Her body stiffened, her chin lifting slightly, as if that tiny motion was her last act of rebellion.
Winn stepped forward, his shadow swallowing hers. His sharp eyes fell to the broken hook of her bra. Indeed, it had snapped cleanly, leaving her indecent by accident, not by design. He let out a soft grunt, dropped her employment file onto the desk and reached out.
His large hands took hold of the opposite ends of the bra. His knuckles brushed against the smooth skin of her back, sparking an involuntary shiver from her. He paused, as if testing her reaction, then pulled the fabric snug, closing the gap.
His breath ghosted over her ear when he asked, "Snug enough?"
Still not trusting the situation—or him—Ivy nodded stiffly. The truth was, her pulse had taken on a dangerous rhythm, hammering against her ribs. This man was supposed to be her boss, her untouchable, billionaire boss, yet here he was—touching her, fastening her.
Winn slid the pin through the ends of the bra, his knuckles grazing her skin again. He didn't need to look down to know his body was reacting. Damn it. He cursed inwardly. She just has great tits. That's all there is to it. Nothing more.
As soon as he was done, he straightened and turned away abruptly, needing space. Every cell in his body screamed to not look back. He started to walk, long strides carrying him toward the door, but her small, tremulous voice cut through the heavy silence.
"Am I fired?" she asked.
The question halted him mid-step. He didn't turn. Instead, he let his voice carry his answer.
"Meet me in my office in three minutes," Winn said flatly. A pause. "And we'll see about that."
Two minutes later, Ivy stood stiffly in front of Winn Kane's desk, every nerve in her body wound tighter than a violin string. She was dressed properly now—shirt tucked in, hair smoothed back, and most importantly, her breasts fully caged where they belonged.
Still, her skin tingled from the memory of his hands pinning that bra together. She tried not to think about the fact that her powerful new boss had already seen far more of her than even her boyfriend had.
She placed the stack of files she'd salvaged from her clumsy morning on the desk, her palms sweating. Only one file remained in her hand—her employment contract.
If he was going to fire her for flashing her tits in the executive lounge, she wasn't going to humiliate herself further by handing that in.
"These need your signature," Ivy said finally, trying to sound crisp and professional.