I didn't sleep much that night. Not because I was horny, but because I couldn't stop thinking about what Silver said.

"Like you were meant to be here."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Some kind of soulmates finding one another in the dark, kindred spirits fighting their attraction crap?

Or was it her way of complimenting me because I happened to fit into her creations perfectly?

I'd hung all the clothes back up where I found them, resisting the temptation to put on that emerald dress again. Its soft material drew me in, reminding me of how it caressed my skin, made me feel effortlessly beautiful.

And it aroused Silver when she saw me wear it.

I woke up grumpy—a rarity for me and my habitually sunny disposition. After dressing, I went downstairs for coffee. Gigi brewed up a fresh pot of java and the heavenly scent filled the kitchen.

As I poured myself a mug, I heard the creak of the stairs, followed by light footsteps.

Silver.

I gritted my teeth, bracing for her to appear in a sheer negligee, messy hair framing her tired but gorgeous face, curves on display.

Would she risk leaving her bedroom that way, knowing she might bump into me? Silver liked to taunt me, I'd gathered that much; even if she probably didn't mean to, didn't know she was doing it.

But would she go that far to tempt me?

To my relief, she was in tight, form-fitting slacks and a ruffled blouse.

"Morning," she said, serving herself coffee with a splash of almond cream. She yawned, her hand hovering over her lips coated in a bubbly pink shade. Not only was she dressed, but she'd put on makeup, and her hair was damp from a recent shower.

A familiar floral scent wafted into my nose as she picked up her mug and sniffed in the beverage.

"I would have gotten that for you," I said, settling against the kitchen island, distant from her.

I'd memorized how she liked her coffee, what her allergies were—mild gluten and lactose intolerance—and her disliked ingredients. Silver Bell was a picky eater, which I wouldn't have guessed.

"I didn't realize you were awake," she said, after taking a long sip. She was low-voiced, off-standish. Maybe she wasn't much of a morning person?

I'd been up since five o'clock, from all the tossing and turning, but she didn't need to know that.

"It's seven-thirty," I squinted, "and I'm not the sleeping-in type. Plus, don't we have work to do?"

"We do." She clutched her cup as she began to leave the kitchen. "I'd like you to work in my office today."

"In your office?" I peered at the stairs, envisioning us going up together.

Door closed, door open?

Open, please. Open.

"You know what that is, right?" She arched an eyebrow, walking backwards, dodging any furniture that might have blocked her. "At the desk set up for my assistant. Last I checked, you're my assistant, aren't you?"

I didn't understand where the snark was coming from. She really wasn't a morning person, was she?

"I am." I bit back any smart retorts; she wasn't in the mood. "I'll be up there shortly."

She gave me a curt nod before flipping around and returning upstairs.

I grabbed a muffin from the platter of goodies Gigi had left out. The dough was still warm, and the berry flavor exploded in my mouth.

I finished my food over the sink, refilled my coffee, and headed up to Silver's office.

Compared to the last time I'd been in there, everything was spotless. She'd tidied up. Fabrics were folded on a table across from her desk, and any other items were stuffed into drawers or atop shelves.

She swiveled in her chair when I arrived. "Perfect. Come, look at this."

I bit the insides of my cheeks, anxious to approach her. She'd lure me in with her aroma, with her intoxicatingly delicious presence—and I'd sworn to myself this would stop.

I set my mug on the assistant desk, taking a deep breath in as I went up to her. I left enough space between us for me to still see the computer screen, but to not feel her too close to me.

No fantasizing over memories of how good she looked under her clothes, and the perfect flavor of her mouth yesterday.

"This is this week's schedule, which I told you was excellent." She clicked on her mouse, switching to a different sheet: a blur of senseless notes, question marks, highlighted concerns, numbers. "This is next week." She let out a nervous chuckle. "Help?"

My eyes hurt from staring at the chaos on the screen. Attempted meetings, luncheons, Zoom calls, interviews, along with encrypted sentences that seemed to be in another language.

Why hadn't she shared this with me sooner?

"Wow, this is, uh..." I scratched at my temple. "A lot."

"Wondering how I became the CEO of a renowned fashion label?" Silver snorted. "Yeah, me too."

I winced. "It's just...so unorganized."

Silver pushed her chair back, clasping her hands near her chin, elbows on the arm-rests. "I've been without an assistant since before I even left L.A. So this," she gestured at the computer, "is all me. I am unorganized."

I shook my head. "No, no, I didn't mean that, you're not—"

"Eden," she laughed, "don't try to bullshit a bullshitter, okay? I am unorganized, and that's okay. That's why I hired you. I thought I could manage on my own, but I have too much on my plate."

I straightened up; I didn't realize I'd been leaning forward to better view the screen. And leaning forward brought me closer to Silver.

No, I can't do that.

"Right, well, I'll help you manage," I said, folding my arms, sliding backwards. "Can you send me this?"

"Already did." Silver tapped a finger to the screen. "And that's why I asked you to work in here today. You'll come across some issues and need some phone numbers that I didn't include in your welcome packet."

"I'll go grab my notebook and stuff," I said, rushing out of the office, to my room. I snagged everything I needed, and settled back at the desk. It was the same equipment as in my bedroom, so it was easy to log in and get started.

While I scrutinized the tangle of notes and requests on the screen in front of me, I caught Silver glancing my way. She surely thought she was discreet, pretending to type up a storm as she snuck looks. But from my angle I could see everything she did, everywhere her eyes moved.

Her shoulders were taut, now and then slumping forward as she rubbed her forehead, rolled her wrists, stretched.

She sometimes grabbed her phone and scrolled through it, frowning, or smiling. Then she'd perk up as if she'd been caught doing something wrong and resumed typing. And again, she'd shoot me a discreet glance, checking that I was working...or wondering if I was sneaking glances at her.

It was as if she wanted me here, under her watch, at all times, but she also couldn't stand to be near me. She was, like me, struggling against her urges. Or so, I thought.

Was she as conflicted and aroused as I was? Because then I'd have someone else to share the blame with.

I couldn't stop thinking of her, of us, of what we'd done, of what we'd nearly done again. Despite my vows to be good, to rein it all in, she was there. So appetizing, so close, and ignoring her to focus on work was troublesome.

Silver Bell wasn't one to be ignored.

She had such a presence that made concentration difficult. Any time she shifted in her chair, I heard her, saw her. I pictured her wearing a skirt, instead of pants. Pictured her spreading her legs, running her fingers down her exposed, wet center, whispering at me to come kneel in front of her.

I shook out of every dangerous thought and returned to the screen. But every fifteen minutes or so, the haunting notions would resurface, against my will.

Working in the same room as her was impossible. Even when she was far, even when she wasn't stealing looks at me.

After a few hours of hidden glances, small sighs, and powerful urges surging through me, Silver dashed out of the office without a word.

With her gone, I breathed at last, slumping in my chair as I raked my fingers through my hair. It was exhausting, forcing my mind away from seductive thoughts of her. Trying to do my job with her in the same room was a distraction I couldn't afford.

I cracked my neck, my knuckles, extended my legs, and rolled my ankles.

Maybe I could request to return to my bedroom for the rest of the day. Or settle downstairs on the couch, with the immaculate view of the city as my back-drop.

I doubted being out of sight from her would change much—my mind made a permanent home in the gutter, regardless. But it'd allow me to finish organizing her schedule with fewer interruptions.

When her footsteps echoed in the corridor, I straightened up, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

She came in with two bottled waters and two bags of chips. She placed one of each on my desk before standing next to me, popping her own bag open.

"Any progress?" She tossed a chip into her mouth, her hip angling out towards me.

I gulped, and though my stomach growled—I wasn't a chip fanatic, but the temptation was there—I couldn't reach the bag without grazing her leg. "Some."

"Show me," she said, tipping forward, one hand on the desk, the other clutching her chips.

From this vantage point, I couldn't quite see into her shirt, thank goodness, but of course, I imagined the view anyway.

I envisioned myself seated on the other side of the desk, my gaze plunging between her weighty breasts as she squeezed them together, licking her lips at me. Inviting, taunting; a sultry snake eager to be touched, teased.

For fucks' sake, Eden!

"I still have calls to make about those meetings." I pulled up Outlook. "But I did shoot some emails and booked some lunches to get those out of the way."

"Perfect." The chip crunched in her mouth. I refrained from gawking at her lips, imagining how delectably salty they'd taste if I were to lick them.

"For the interviews, I'll create a template to send to hiring websites." I opened up Canva, a creative app. "We can customize it based on what you're looking for."

"A chef, to start," she said, peering down at her bag of chips, wrinkling her nostrils. "I can't keep eating like this."

I grimaced at the snack she'd brought me. "Where's Gigi?" I returned to the halfway fixed schedule and twisted in my chair as I slid sideways, out of range.

"Doing her normal chores and running errands," said Silver, eyes still locked on the screen. "She manages in the kitchen, but it's not her job."

Her stomach grumbled, and she redressed herself, setting a hand against it.

"If you're hungry...I mean, I don't cook, but I can order us something," I said, standing up, grabbing my phone.

"I'll order," she said, indicating that I should sit down. "You keep working."

I expected her to saunter back to her seat, but instead she perched on the edge of my desk as she scrolled through her phone for food.

"Sandwiches good for you?" she asked, without lifting her gaze from her small screen.

"Silver," I whispered, as her dangling leg swerved close to my arm.

"Or we can do pho, but it'll take longer."

Either she had no clue how close she was sitting, how alluring her gorgeous legs were, or she was purposely balancing in my direction to provoke me.

But I'd had enough.

"Silver," I said, louder this time, shoving my chair back with a squeak.

That got her attention, and her neck snapped up, her eyes finding mine at once. "Huh? No pho?"

"Um," I cleared my throat as I crossed my legs at the ankles, "boundaries? Didn't we say...weren't we supposed to...?"

She narrowed her gaze, tilting her head. "What do you mean?"

I motioned at her legs, her forward posture that most definitely revealed her cleavage. And then motioned at myself, in my chair, tucked in and trying to keep away.

"Is there a problem?" She arched her spine, and her eyes turned dark.

I wanted to match her intensity, but my insides were jelly under her scrutiny. She'd been sweet today, letting me into her private office, bringing me food, making sure I was hydrated. Now she reverted to stern and closed-off, dissatisfied with me speaking my mind.

Well, she'd told me to speak my mind, so I wouldn't filter myself.

"Do we need to address this again?" My eyebrows elevated as I studied her, wondering how she'd react to me using tones with her. I didn't think I sounded rude, but I didn't want to sound weak, either.

"Address what?" She cocked her head to the other side and hopped off the desk.

I couldn't tell if she was toying with me, testing me, or if she genuinely didn't grasp how her body language translated as temptation.

"You and me keeping our distance so we don't," I lowered my voice to a hiss, "fuck again?"

"Oh." She perked up, peered down at her feet, then gasped. "Oh. Shit." She scrubbed her face as she spun around and walked to the middle of the room. "No, we don't need to address it. I just...got a little too comfortable, is all."

A little too comfortable?

How could she be comfortable with all the unspoken tension between us? Was it normal for her to hang off her assistant's desk as if we were besties about to exchange juicy gossip?

I didn't recall a conversation where we were friends. As much as I wanted us to be, she'd made it clear we couldn't be.

"That's our problem. Comfort." My fists tightened, and I should have stopped myself, kept my mouth shut, but I needed to get it all out. Needed her to know how she kept destabilizing me, whether or not she was doing it on purpose. "Getting comfortable is what keeps bringing us closer."

Silver smacked her own compressed fist to her desk. "I said we don't need to address it, Eden."

I shuddered at her hand colliding with wood, stiffening in my seat. "Yet it keeps happening."

"Well," Silver fell into her chair with a grunt, "it won't happen again."

I pinched my lips. "I want to believe you, but..."

"But what?" She dragged her fingers through hair, gaping up at the ceiling as she tipped back in her chair. "The closet thing? We were alone. You wore that dress, it messed with my head..." She blew out a breath. "And that won't," she patted her leg, "happen," once more, "again. You can trust me on that."

I wasn't convinced. She always showed a strict side, seemed so steady on her feet, but crumbled at the last second and succumbed to me. Or made me succumb to her.

This was another repeat, wasn't it?

"So last night, when you said all that cryptic stuff before running off to your room—"

"I meant that, but I won't say it again. It was out of line, I warned you." She wouldn't look at me. Strange, for someone who couldn't seem to quit peeking at me when she thought I wasn't paying attention. "I will not be stepping over that boundary again." She shook her hand in my direction. "Back to work."

My jaw dropped, but before I could reply, she cut me a gaze so sharp, so bone-chilling, that I silenced myself.

"I'll remain professional," she said, setting her fingers on her keyboard. "And so will you."

Silence reigned from there on, but it was troubling, painful. I wanted to speak up, but that would reignite her anger.

We had to stay in our roles. Her, the CEO; me, her assistant.

But I hated to admit I kind of wanted her to have a different reaction; for her to pounce on me, to discuss the strain between us with our tongues entangled. I was so damn attracted to her that the notion of us fucking in secret, disregarding all the rules, was too hot to ignore.

She was an amazing kisser. She smelled like an orchard in the spring. And I had no doubt she tasted divine. I vaguely remembered the essence of her on my fingertips, and still yearned to stuff my head between her legs to confirm it was indeed exquisite.

After what felt like hours of quiet, Silver stood up and waved at me to get my attention.

I fixed my face into a neutral expression. "What's up?"

"If you're finished, you can go. I have some, uh," she flinched, "private matters to attend to."

I'd finished the organizational part of her schedule a while ago, and only had a few pending voicemails to tend to.

"And the gala tonight?" She wouldn't want me there, after all this. After I'd snapped at her, lashed out, why would I accompany her to something so important? She'd punish me.

She flicked her wrist towards the door. "You're going." A slicing side-glance from her froze me in place. "And wear that green dress."

I held in my comments. That was my punishment—wearing the dress she loved and not letting her allure me. But it'd be her punishment, too, because she wasn't allowed to touch me.

I shivered as I exited the room, dreading putting on the gown that had roused her horniness for me.