"I read her preliminary report. She's right about the female demographic."
He served pasta homemade carbonara that smelled incredible. "You're building a strong team, Emma. That's good leadership."
"I learned from watching bad examples. Gerald never gave people opportunities to shine. Just kept everyone in boxes."
"And I learned from watching my father build this company by empowering talented people." Adrian's expression softened. "He'd have liked you. Would have promoted you years ago."
"Tell me about him."
Adrian rarely talked about personal things. But tonight, over wine and pasta, he opened up. His father had started Hartley & Associates thirty years ago with nothing but ambition and a briefcase. Had built it into an empire through hard work and smart hiring. Had died two years ago, leaving Adrian to take over the family business.
"He had a heart attack in his office," Adrian said quietly. "Worked himself to death, literally. I was in New York, closing a deal. Didn't even get to say goodbye."
My hand found his across the table. "I'm sorry."
"It's why I'm so driven. Why I push so hard. I need to make the company worthy of what he built." His fingers laced through mine. "And why I recognized immediately when Gerald was wasting talent.
My father would have been furious about how he treated you."
"Is that why you promoted me? For your father?"
"No." His eyes met mine, intense. "I promoted you because you're exceptional. But my father taught me to recognize exceptional when I see it." His thumb traced circles on my palm. "And Emma, you are extraordinary."
The compliment settled warm in my chest. "You're not so bad yourself. When you're not being a terrifying CEO."
"I'm only terrifying to people who cross me. To you…" His smile turned wicked. "I'm something else entirely."
"And what's that?"
He stood, pulling me up with him. "Why don't I show you?"
The kiss started slow, sweet, but quickly deepened into something hungry. His hands slid into my hair, tilting my head back as his mouth moved to my neck.
"Adrian," I breathed. "We're supposed to work on the Riverside pitch."
"We will." His teeth grazed my pulse point. "Later."
"That's what you said about dinner."
"And we had dinner. Now we're having dessert." He lifted me onto the counter, stepping between my legs. "Unless you want to stop?"
I should. We had actual work to do. But his hands were sliding up my thighs, his mouth was doing sinful things to my neck, and I couldn't remember why working was more important than this.
"We really should oh God" His hand found exactly the right spot through my skirt. "That's not fair."
"I told you I don't play fair." His voice was rough against my ear. "Tell me to stop, Emma. Tell me to stop and we'll work on spreadsheets and presentations like good little professionals."
"I hate you," I gasped, but my hands were pulling him closer.
"No, you don't." His laugh was dark, satisfied. "You want me just as badly as I want you. Admit it."
"Fine. I want you. Happy?"
"Extremely." He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire. "Bedroom. Now. Unless you prefer the counter? Because I'm flexible."
"Bedroom," I decided, my heart racing. "Definitely bedroom."
He swept me up in his arms like I weighed nothing, and I laughed despite myself. "This is so cliché."
"Clichés exist for a reason." He kissed me as he walked. "And I've been thinking about getting you in my bed again for a week straight."
"Only a week?"
"I'm trying to be modest. It's actually been since the moment you walked out of here that first morning."
His bedroom was dark, city lights providing the only illumination. He set me down gently, and suddenly the urgency shifted into something slower, more deliberate.
"Emma." His hands framed my face. "I need you to understand something. This isn't just physical for me. This isn't just an affair or a secret or whatever we're calling it."
"What is it then?"
"I don't know yet. But it's important. You're important." His forehead touched mine. "And that terrifies me."
My breath caught. "Why?"
"Because I don't do relationships. I do business. I do control. I do winning." His voice dropped. "But with you, I'm losing control. And I don't care."
I kissed him, soft and sweet. "Then maybe we're both losing control together."
"Is that a yes?"
"To what?"
"To this. To us. To seeing where this goes even though it's complicated and dangerous and probably the worst decision either of us could make."
I thought about all the reasons to say no. About my career, my reputation, the risk.
Then I thought about how he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered. How he'd defended me without hesitation. How he made me feel powerful and wanted and alive.
"Yes," I whispered. "It's a yes."
His smile was brilliant, devastating. "Thank God. Because I wasn't sure what I'd do if you said no."
"Probably fire me."
"Never. You're too valuable to the company." He started unbuttoning my blouse, his fingers sure and steady. "And too valuable to me."
"Bad boss," I accused, but I was helping him, shedding clothes with urgency.
"The worst," he agreed. "But you like it."
I did. God help me, I really did.
And as he lowered me onto his bed, his hands mapping every inch of my skin, I stopped thinking about risks and consequences and complications.
For tonight, I was just Emma.
And he was just Adrian.
And nothing else mattered.
Hours later, wrapped in his sheets with his arm around me, I finally brought up work.
"We really do need to finalize the Riverside pitch."
Adrian's laugh rumbled through his chest. "Now you want to work?"
"We have the Boston trip in four days. We need to be prepared."
"Fine." He kissed the top of my head. "But we're working from bed. I'm not letting you go."
We actually did worklaptops balanced on our knees, ideas flowing freely. It was easy, natural, our minds clicking together the same way our bodies had.