The final interview lasted eleven minutes.

Julian Cross didn't stand when I walked in. He just slid a folder across his desk.

"Three board members want to move tomorrow's meeting. Two of them hate each other. Fix it."

I fixed it in four minutes.

He read my schedule, then glanced up. His gray eyes were cool and sharp, like he was looking for cracks.

"You start Monday."

That was it. No small talk. No question about family.

He didn't know who I was. I had applied as Elara Arden, and Sloane had never told him she had a sister.

Of course she hadn't.

---

Julian was brutal to work for. He wanted coffee black at 7:05, briefs on his desk by 7:10, and no mistakes, ever.

"This font is wrong."

"It's the font you asked for last week."

"Then I was wrong last week." He tossed the file back. "Change it."

I changed it.

I never asked about the ring photos or the wedding. When his phone lit up with *Sloane*, I looked away and kept typing.

By the second month, he stopped checking my work.

By the third, he couldn't find his own calendar without me.

One night at nine-thirty, he was still in his office with the lights dimmed. He kept rubbing his temple with two fingers.

I set a glass of water and two pills beside his keyboard.

"What's this?"

"For your migraine. You get them when you skip lunch." I placed a takeout container next to the water. "Which you did. Again."

He stared at the food. "How do you know I get migraines?"

"You squint at your left monitor. And you get meaner."

For a second, he didn't move.

Then he smiled. It was small and tired, and it changed his whole face.

"I've had six assistants in two years," he said. "None of them figured that out."

"Maybe they were scared of you."

"Aren't you?"

"Eat your dinner, Mr. Cross."

He laughed. I'd never heard him laugh before.

I walked out fast, before he could see my hands.

---

The Hale Industries gala was all champagne and old money.

Julian left to take a call. Thirty seconds later, a palm settled on my ass and squeezed.

I spun around. Victor Hale was smiling at me, a heavy man with a gold watch and wet lips.

"Relax, sweetheart."

I shoved his chest. "Don't touch me."

He caught my wrist and pulled me close. His breath smelled like scotch.

"Executive assistants need to learn how to please important clients." His thumb pressed into my pulse. "Julian won't mind. Trust me."

"Let me go."

"Or what?"

"Or this."

Julian's voice came from right behind me.

He peeled Victor's fingers off my wrist one at a time. Then he bent them back until Victor winced.

The room around us went silent.

"Julian, come on, it was a joke—"

"Tomorrow's meeting is canceled." Julian didn't raise his voice. "So is every meeting after that."

"You're throwing away a three-hundred-million-dollar deal over a *secretary*?"

Julian shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it around my shoulders. It was warm and smelled like cedar.

"Yes," he said.

He put his hand on my back and walked me out.

---

In the car, I couldn't make my fingers stop shaking.

Victor's grip had brought it all back. Hands yanking my hair. Spaghetti sliding down my neck. Forty phones pointed at me.

"Elara."

I pressed my palms against my knees. "I'm fine."

Julian reached over and closed his hand around mine. His skin was steady and dry.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said quietly. "Nothing he did is yours to carry. You understand me?"

I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.

He didn't let go the whole ride.

I sat there with my sister's fiancé holding my hand, and something in my chest cracked.

*He's a tool,* I told myself. *That's all he is.*

It didn't sound true anymore.

---

The company's holiday party ran late. Julian drank more than I'd ever seen him drink.

By midnight, he was leaning on my shoulder in the elevator.

"You're babysitting me," he mumbled.

"Someone has to."

I got him into the private lounge behind his office. He sank onto the edge of the bed and pulled his tie loose.

I stood between his knees.

*Do it. This is why you came.*

I leaned down and kissed him.

He made a low sound and pulled me onto his lap. His hands slid up my spine.

"Sloane," he whispered against my mouth.

My stomach turned over.

I kept kissing him. I made myself unbutton his shirt while my sister's name sat on my tongue like something rotten.

Then he stopped.

He held my face in both hands and leaned back. His eyes cleared, slowly, focusing on me.

"Elara."

Not a question. Just my name, like he was finally seeing it.

He kissed me again, harder, and this time it was mine.

---

"Tell me to stop," he said, dragging my dress up over my hips.

"Don't you fucking dare."

He laid me back on the bed and pulled my panties down my legs. His mouth moved down my stomach, then between my thighs. His tongue pressed flat against my clit.

"Julian—*fuck*—"

"You taste so fucking sweet, Elara." He slid one finger inside me and groaned. "Christ, you're soaked for me."

I grabbed his hair and pulled him up. "I want you inside me. Now."

He kicked off his pants. His cock was thick and hard against my thigh.

He pushed in slowly. It burned. I bit his shoulder to keep from crying out.

He froze. "Elara? Am I hurting you?"

"Keep going. Julian, please. Fuck me."

He did. Slow at first, then deeper, until the pain melted into something hot and aching. I wrapped my legs around his back.

"That's it, baby." He kissed my throat. "Fuck, you feel incredible."

"Harder, Julian."

He gripped my hips and slammed into me until the headboard hit the wall. I came with his name in my mouth. He followed a moment later, shuddering, burying his face in my neck.

---

I woke to the sound of a pen scratching.

Julian was dressed, sitting in the chair by the window. He looked pale, like his head was killing him.

"Last night," he said. "I remember... most of it."

"Most of it."

He tore something off and held it out. A check.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

"Take some time off," he said carefully. "Paid. As long as you need. I think it's better for both of us if we—"

"If we *what*? Pretend it didn't happen?"

"I'm engaged, Elara."

I snatched the check, crumpled it in my fist, and threw it at his chest. It bounced off his shirt and fell to the floor.

"I never wanted your money!" My eyes were burning. "Not once. Not one fucking dollar!"

"That's not what I meant—"

"You know exactly what you meant."

I yanked my dress on and grabbed my shoes. My hands were shaking again, but this time no one held them.

At the door, I looked back.

Julian wasn't watching me leave.

He was standing by the bed, staring down at the white sheets.

At the small, dark red stain in the center.

His face went completely still.

"Elara," he said slowly, "was that your first time?"

I didn't answer.

I didn't have to. I watched it hit him, the math he was doing in his head, the thing he already knew about the woman wearing his ring.

He turned toward me.

"Then who the hell," he whispered, "have I been engaged to?"