When I returned to work, I hadn't expected the warm welcome—or the way it made my throat tighten.
Ryan threw his arms around me in front of everyone, tears brimming in his eyes like we were long-lost siblings.
"Oh my , when Aaron told us about you getting robbed last week, I was shaken to the core."
I blinked at him, caught off guard, but quickly pieced it together. Aaron must've spun a version of events—one that spared me the pain and humiliation of reliving it aloud. To them, I was just another New Yorker who'd been mugged in the city.
"Yeah," I said softly, nodding. "It was a really scary moment. I don't know what I would've done if I hadn't gotten away."
Ryan hugged me tighter, his voice wobbling. "We're just so glad you're okay."
"Okay, let's give Miss Jackson a little breathing room," came a smooth voice from the doorway.
Everyone turned. Aaron was standing there, one shoulder propped against the frame of the break room, arms crossed, eyes only on me.
"Deadlines, people," he added with a wry smile.
I gave him a grateful glance as I walked past, but he caught my wrist gently.
"This isn't too much for you, is it?"
"No. It's okay," I replied, even though everything inside me screamed for the version of life I had before my ex-fiancé shattered it.
The day went on, with a mix of awkward sympathy from my coworkers and an unrelenting stare from Aaron. Every time I glanced up, his eyes were on me—dark, intense—until he looked away again, like he hadn't meant to be caught.
Later, in the restroom, I locked myself in a stall to check my messages, needing a break from the buzzing tension. That's when I heard the whispers.
"I heard she's with Aaron. How unprofessional is that?"
"Wait until Trish gets back from Europe. She'll change his mind about Alaina."
They giggled and walked out before I could even breathe.
I stepped out, stared into the mirror, and barely recognized myself. My blond hair hung limply, and my brown eyes… they looked tired. Dull. Like someone had reached in and dimmed the light.
Back in the office, the whispers continued, now amplified with glances and thinly veiled smirks. By the time evening came, everyone else had left, and I was still at my desk when Aaron entered.
"How did it feel today?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.
I glanced up, startled. "It was… fine. Like any other day."
He stepped closer. Too close.
"Yeah?" he murmured, his gaze flicking to my lips.
Then, without warning, he reached out and traced them with his fingertip. My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Aaron?" I whispered.
"Yes, Alaina?"
Everything clicked. The stares. The tension. The way he'd been watching me.
And then he was kissing me—hard and hungry—his hands gripping my hips as he lifted me onto the desk. Papers scattered to the floor as he tugged at the hem of my skirt.
My head fell back, breath hitching as he pressed kisses down my stomach. His hands slipped beneath the lace of my underwear, exploring with practiced ease.
Just when I thought I'd drown in the sensation, he paused. I gasped in protest, until I heard the sound of his belt buckle.
"On your stomach, Miss Jackson."
I shivered. "Yes, sir."
He leaned over, hands sliding down my back, lips brushing the nape of my neck.
"You ready?"
"Yes," I breathed.
And then there was nothing but the heat of him against me—slow at first, then deeper, harder, until I was clawing at the desk and crying out his name again and again.
Afterward, we lay tangled on the floor, the chaos of our clothes around us, talking idly about dinner. Like we hadn't just broken every rule between us.
"You're beautiful," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Even when you're screaming my name."
I buried my face in my hands, laughing breathlessly.
I was falling for him.
Hard.
And it terrified me.
Falling in love with my boss wasn't just reckless—it was dangerous. Not because of office gossip or power dynamics.
But because I wasn't sure I could survive another heartbreak.
What exactly was I getting myself into?