Jay's POV
The pounding in my head felt like a rhythmic assault by a hundred Section E operatives. Each beat of my heart sent a throb of tequila-induced regret echoing through my skull.
My eyelids felt like they had been glued shut with industrial adhesive, and my mouth tasted like I had swallowed a handful of dry sand and copper coins.
Slowly, painfully, I forced my eyes open. The first thing I saw was the ceiling of my hotel suite. It was white cotton. Expensive, high-thread-count white cotton that smelled hauntingly of sandalwood, ozone, and power.
My head was resting on a firm, warm chest that rose and fell with a steady, peaceful rhythm. I froze. My memories of the previous night were a fragmented mosaic of neon lights, emerald silk, and... a belt? No, that couldn't be right.
I tilted my head back just an inch. Keifer.
He was asleep. His usual mask of calculated coldness and billionaire arrogance had completely dissolved, leaving behind a version of him I rarely got to see.
His jaw was relaxed, his long lashes casting soft shadows against his cheekbones. He looked... quiet. Almost innocent. For a second, the anger that usually fueled my interactions with him flickered out.
I found myself tracing the line of his nose with my eyes, noting the slight stubble darkening his chin. This was the man who had brought chaos into my life, yet here he was, acting as my literal mattress.
He looked so peaceful that I almost felt bad for what I was about to do—which was escape before my dignity evaporated entirely.
I began the slow, agonizing process of extricating myself. I moved my right leg an inch. Nothing. I shifted my weight off his torso, hovering in the air like a ninja.
I was almost free, my knees hitting the mattress on either side of his hips, when a large, warm hand suddenly clamped onto the small of my back.
"Leaving so soon, Princess?"
His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated right through my ribcage. Before I could even gasp, he jerked his arm back.
The sudden momentum sent me crashing downward. I tried to brace myself, but my hands slipped on the silk sheets, and I landed—dead center—straight onto his lips.
It wasn't a graceful kiss. It was a collision.
Our teeth clinked, and for a heartbeat, the world stopped spinning. His lips were soft, warm, and tasted faintly of mint and the lingering heat of the night. My brain short-circuited.
My "weapon" instincts told me to strike; my CEO instincts told me to negotiate; but my traitorous heart just wanted to stay there.
I scrambled back, my face erupting in a heat that had nothing to do with the hangover.
"You... you giant, manipulative, opportunistic gago!" I hissed, clutching the duvet to my chest as I tumbled to the other side of the bed. "You pulled me! That was assault! That was a violation of international business treaties!"
Keifer propped himself up on one elbow, looking entirely too smug for a man who had just been used as a human pillow.
His hair was a mess, and he looked—dare I say it—flustered. A faint pink hue sat on his cheekbones, but he covered it with a devastating smirk.
"Good morning to you too, Princess," he said, his eyes dancing with a wicked light. "And for the record, you were the one hovering over me like a gargoyle. I just provided the gravity."
"I was escaping!" I snapped, searching the floor for my shoes. "I have a board meeting. I have a jet. I have a life that does not involve waking up on top of a Watson."
"A life that involves a lot of property damage, apparently," Keifer remarked, reaching for his phone on the nightstand.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, my stomach doing a nervous flip.
"Oh, you don't remember?" He tapped the screen, a low chuckle escaping him. "You don't remember the 'King of Uplong'? The donkey? The dramatic reenactment of a medieval cavalry charge in the middle of a five-star suite?"
"I have no idea what you're hallucinating," I said, my voice rising an octave. "I had a few drinks. I went to bed. End of story."
"Is that so?" He turned the phone toward me. "Because my phone has very high-quality body cams, Jay. And I happen to have the highlights."
I lunged for the phone. "Give me that!"
The video started playing. There I was, in my dress, hair wild, brandishing a leather belt like a sword. "Stand still, you donkey! The Princess has a kingdom to reclaim!" my drunken self shrieked on the recording. I watched in horror as I chased the most powerful man in the London underground around a king-sized bed, swinging his own belt at his legs.
"Delete it," I commanded, my voice trembling with pure, unadulterated shame. "Keifer, delete that right now or I will liquidate every Watson asset I can find."
"I think not," he laughed, pulling the phone back. "This is my insurance policy. The day you try to fire me as your 'business partner,' this goes on the JJM internal server."
"You wouldn't dare!" I screamed. I didn't think; I just acted. I dived across the bed, tackling him.
"Try me ",he said smirking 😏.
We became a blur of limbs and silk. I was smaller, but I was motivated by the sheer terror of public embarrassment. I managed to get a hand on the phone, but Keifer was like a mountain of solid muscle.
He rolled, trying to keep the device out of reach, and I rolled with him, determined to snatch the evidence.
"Give—it—to—me!" I grunted, pinning his wrist against the pillows.
"You're remarkably strong when you're desperate, Jay," he gasped, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
In the struggle, we reached the edge of the bed. I felt the shift in weight a second too late. "Keifer, wait—"
Thump.
We hit the floor in a tangled heap. I landed squarely on his chest—again—my legs tangled with his, the phone trapped somewhere between our stomachs.
The room went silent, the only sound the heavy thud of our hearts and the distant hum of London traffic.
I was pinned against him, my breath hitching as I looked up. His laughter had died down, replaced by that intense, dark gaze that always made me feel like I was standing too close to a fire.
His hands were resting on my waist, holding me there, not out of malice, but out of something much more dangerous.
"You're a mess, Jay Mariano," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave.
"And you're a donkey," I whispered back, though the insult lacked its usual sting.
For a second, the CEO and the Weapon disappeared. I saw the man who had stayed awake all night just to make sure I didn't fall off the bed. I saw the man who had let me chase him with a belt just because it made me feel like I was in control again.
I looked into his eyes, searching for the "revenge" he had supposedly used me for, but all I saw was a reflection of the same ache I felt. My hand, which had been reaching for the phone, softened, my fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt.
Then, the moment broke.
"If you're going to keep staring at me like that," Keifer teased, a bit of the smugness returning, "I'm going to start thinking you've forgotten all about that 'broken glass' speech from yesterday."
I blinked, the reality of my hangover and my situation crashing back down. I scrambled off him, finally successful in snatching the phone from his loosened grip.
"The glass is still broken, Keifer," I said, standing up and smoothing out my crumpled dress with as much dignity as I could muster. "It's just... currently being held together by spite and very expensive tequila."
I turned toward the bathroom, the phone tucked firmly under my arm. "I'm deleting the video. And if I ever hear the word 'donkey' again, I'm calling my brothers."
Keifer stayed on the floor, leaning back on his elbows, watching me go with a look of pure, unshielded admiration. "You can delete the video, Jay! But I'll never forget the way you looked in that crown!"
I slammed the bathroom door, leaning my back against it. My heart was racing. I looked at the phone in my hand. I should delete it. I should wipe every trace of last night's weakness.
But as I looked at the thumbnail of the video—of Keifer laughing, truly laughing, as he ran away from me—my thumb hovered over the trash icon and hesitated.
"Damn it," I whispered to the empty room.
I didn't delete it. I just locked the phone and hid it under the towels. Because despite the headache, despite the trauma, and despite the "king of Uplong," Keifer was right. That spark? I had missed it too.