The champagne was a bad idea.
Vivian knew it the moment the third glass hit her empty stomach. But Jeffrey Chen's hand had been on her waist for forty-five minutes, and the only way to keep from screaming was to keep drinking.
The hotel lobby was all gold trim and crystal chandeliers, the kind of place where a single night cost more than her mother's monthly medical bills. Vivian didn't belong here. She knew that. But Sterling Group threw an annual party that made the Met Gala look like a backyard barbecue, and as an employee of a newly acquired company, she was required to attend.
"You've been with us six months now, Wei." Jeffrey's breath smelled like whiskey and bad decisions. His fingers pressed into her hip. "I think it's time we got to know each other better."
Us? There was no us. Jeffrey was her boss's boss, a middle-aged man with a wife in Connecticut and a reputation that followed him like a bad smell.
Vivian smiled the smile she'd perfected over four years of working in corporate America. The one that said thank you so much for your interest while her jaw ached from clenching.
"I was just about to call an Uber."
"Nonsense." He leaned closer. "The night's young."
The night's young and you're old enough to be my father.
She stepped back, and his hand fell away. "Early meeting tomorrow. Really. I should go."
His eyes narrowed. Something ugly flickered behind them. But before he could speak, a voice cut through the ambient jazz like a blade.
"Mr. Chen. The quarterly reports are waiting in your suite."
A man had appeared beside them. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark suit that probably cost more than Vivian's car. His face was all sharp angles and cold indifference—the kind of face that belonged on magazine covers or wanted posters.
He wasn't looking at Vivian. He was looking at Jeffrey with the exact expression you'd give a cockroach.
Jeffrey's hand dropped. "Sterling. I wasn't expecting—"
"The reports." The man—Sterling—tilted his head toward the elevators. "Now."
Jeffrey went. He didn't argue. He didn't even look back. He just scurried away like a dog who'd been kicked one too many times.
Vivian blinked. "Who are you?"
But Sterling was already walking away, his long legs eating up the marble floor. He didn't glance at her. Didn't acknowledge her existence.
Rich people, she thought. Weird.
She found a quiet corner near the restrooms and pulled out her phone. Uber. Twenty minutes. She could survive twenty minutes.
She couldn't.
By the time her phone buzzed with the arrival notification, she had downed two more glasses—something pink and sweet that someone had shoved into her hand. The lobby spun.
She'd booked a room for the night. Earlier, after the third glass, she'd decided she couldn't face her mother's worried questions at two in the morning. The front desk had given her a key card. Room 1824.
Eighteen twenty-four, she repeated in her head as she wobbled toward the elevators. Eighteen twenty-four.
The elevator was mercifully empty. She pressed 18 and leaned against the wall. The cold marble felt good against her flushed cheek.
One more year, she told herself. One more year of this job, and Mom's surgery is paid off. Then you can quit. Then you can disappear.
The doors opened. The hallway was a blur of gold wallpaper and crystal sconces. She counted doors. 1816. 1818. 1820. 1822.
The next door was slightly ajar.
Room service? she thought vaguely. Housekeeping?
She pushed it open.
The room was dark. The curtains were drawn. But the city lights bled through the cracks, casting long shadows across a massive king bed.
Someone was already in it.
"Mr. Chen, I told you I don't want to be disturbed."
The voice was deep. Irritated. And familiar.
Sterling.
Vivian's mouth went dry. "I'm not Mr. Chen."
A pause.
A lamp clicked on.
Lucian Sterling sat up in bed, bare-chested, his dark hair rumpled, his eyes sharp as broken glass. He looked at her for a long moment—long enough for her to notice the scar on his left collarbone, the way his jaw tightened, the fact that he was very, very awake and very, very not happy.
"Who are you?"
"Wrong room." Vivian backed toward the door. "I'm sorry. I'll just—"
Her heel caught on the rug.
She stumbled.
He caught her.
His hands were warm on her bare arms. His face was inches from hers. Up close, he was even more beautiful—and even more terrifying. His eyes weren't just sharp. They were assessing. Like she was a problem he hadn't decided how to solve yet.
"You're drunk," he said.
"Brilliant deduction."
"You're also wearing my company's badge."
Vivian looked down at the lanyard around her neck. Sterling Group. Right. The company that had acquired her firm last month.
"You're the Sterling?"
"Lucian Sterling." He released her arms but didn't step back. "And you are…?"
"Vivian. Vivian Wei. I work in acquisitions."
"Acquisitions." He said the word like it was a foreign language. "And you're drunk in my hotel room at midnight because…?"
"Because your company's open bar is too generous and my boss has wandering hands."
Something flickered in his eyes. "Jeffrey Chen."
"You know him."
"I know everyone." He walked to the minibar and pulled out a bottle of water. "Here. Drink this. You'll thank me in the morning."
Vivian took the bottle. Their fingers brushed.
She should leave. She should find her room. She should forget this ever happened.
But the champagne was still buzzing in her veins, and his eyes were the color of the ocean in winter, and for one reckless moment, she didn't want to leave.
"What if I don't want to thank you in the morning?" she asked.
Lucian Sterling smiled.
It was the first time she'd seen him smile. It wasn't warm. It wasn't kind. It was the smile of a man who was used to getting exactly what he wanted.
"Then I'll have to give you a reason."
She stayed.
She told herself it was the champagne. She told herself it was exhaustion. She told herself a hundred lies as his hands found her waist and her back found his sheets and the city lights painted shadows on the ceiling.
He kissed like he did everything else: like he was in charge. Like he had all the time in the world. Like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
Vivian stopped thinking.
She stopped worrying about her mother's hospital bills and Jeffrey Chen's wandering hands and the stack of spreadsheets waiting on her desk. She stopped being the girl who said thank you so much and started being the girl who said more.
By the time the sky began to lighten, she was tangled in his sheets and tangled in him, and she didn't know where she ended and he began.
She fell asleep with his arm around her waist.
When she woke, the sun was too bright and her head was too heavy.
The bed was empty.
Vivian sat up slowly. The room was different in daylight—less glamorous, more real. A half-empty water bottle on the nightstand. A suit jacket draped over a chair. A faint smell of coffee and expensive cologne.
No Lucian.
She found her dress on the floor. Her heels by the door. Her phone—dead—in her purse.
Shit.
She dressed quickly, her fingers clumsy. She didn't look in the mirror. She didn't want to see what the night had left on her face.
This didn't happen, she told herself. This was a mistake. A one-time thing. He probably doesn't even remember my name.
She was almost at the door when she saw it.
On the nightstand, beside the empty water bottle, lay a single pearl earring.
Her earring. The one her mother had given her for college graduation. The one she never took off.
She reached for it.
And then she heard the shower turn on in the bathroom.
He's still here.
Her hand hovered over the earring. She could take it. She could leave. She could pretend none of this had ever happened.
Or she could stay. And explain. And watch his face shift from last night's heat to this morning's awkwardness.
She grabbed her purse and ran.
The elevator doors closed just as the bathroom door opened.
Vivian leaned against the cold wall and pressed her fingers to her lips. She could still taste him. Could still feel his hands on her hips.
Stupid, she thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She reached up to touch her ear.
The left one was bare.
Shit.
The pearl earring was still on the nightstand.
And now he had something of hers.
End of Chapter One