Lines and Lies

She'd tossed and turned all night, haunted by the feel of Aidan Lazaro's mouth on her neck… the weight of his stare… the damn heat that surged through her when his fingers grazed her skin.

It was madness. Absolute madness.

But worse—she liked it.

The sun barely peeked through the curtains when Claire rolled out of bed, willing herself to forget every breathless second in his arms. It was a mistake. A moment of weakness. Something she'd tuck into the back of her mind and bury deep under deadlines, reports, and polite avoidance.

She arrived at work in a navy-blue dress that hugged her waist just right but offered no invitation. Her hair was up in a bun, lips painted with the same nude shade she wore during interviews—nothing seductive, nothing soft. She was going to look like a damn assistant if it killed her.

But when the elevator doors opened on the top floor, her heart betrayed her.

There he was.

Leaning back in his leather chair, sleeves rolled up, tie loose, and a cup of black coffee resting against his lips. His eyes caught hers instantly—as if he'd been waiting all morning.

"Miss Bennett," he said, voice low and unreadable.

"Good morning, Mr. Lazaro," she replied, doing her best not to sound like she was falling apart.

Aidan's gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered, then snapped back up. "You're early."

She placed the folder in front of him. "The quarterly reports you requested. I triple-checked them. No mistakes."

"Mm," he hummed, taking the file. "Efficient. I like that."

Claire turned to leave, but his next words made her pause at the door.

"Did you sleep well?"

Her hand froze on the knob. "I'm not sure that's work-related, sir."

He chuckled darkly. "Neither was last night."

She spun, eyes wide, jaw tight. "About that—"

"No," he cut in, rising from his chair. "Let me speak."

Aidan walked toward her, slow, deliberate steps echoing off the marble floors. His presence was suffocating, like a storm closing in. She could smell his cologne, that subtle hint of something spicy and woodsy that lingered too long on her skin.

"Last night shouldn't have happened," he said, voice smooth but stern. "I crossed a line I swore I wouldn't. And you're right—we have to forget it."

Claire let out a breath of relief, even if it pinched somewhere deep in her chest.

"But I can't stop thinking about it," he added.

Her eyes shot up to meet his. Dangerous. That's what this was.

He continued, now standing inches away. "Every time you walk past me, I remember how you taste. Every time you speak, I remember how you sound when you're breathless. And when you left my office last night, do you know what I wanted to do?"

Claire swallowed hard. "Stop."

He didn't. "I wanted to lock that door and take you against the desk."

Her knees nearly buckled.

"But I didn't," he said, brushing a finger along her jawline. "Because you deserve more than stolen moments and office secrets."

Claire blinked up at him. "Then why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm losing control," Aidan whispered, dipping closer, lips grazing her ear. "And I like it."

The door suddenly creaked open.

Both turned at once.

Maya—Aidan's sharp-eyed senior VP—froze mid-step, her gaze darting between them. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, simply dropping a file on the side table before backing out slowly.

Claire pulled away, cheeks flaming.

"This can't happen again," she muttered, stepping back. "I won't be your dirty little secret."

Aidan's jaw tightened. "Then don't be."

"What?"

"Don't be a secret," he said, stepping closer again. "Be my obsession."

Claire shook her head. "You think this is a game. That because you're rich and powerful, women fall in line. But I'm not one of them."

"I know," he said simply. "That's why I want you."

With a fire blazing behind her ribcage, Claire stormed out.

She needed air. She needed distance. She needed—

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: I know what you're doing with Lazaro. Watch your back.

Her blood ran cold.

She glanced around the hallway, heart pounding. Who the hell…?

Another message pinged.

Unknown Number: He's not who you think he is. And if you're smart, you'll stop letting him touch you.

Claire stared at the screen, trembling.

The game had just changed.