Silver stared at me. Stared through me. I froze.

In my panic, I revisited all my memories of the past seventy-two hours.

Like when I received the email from Ursula, letting me know I'd finally scored a different gig. I'd thanked my lucky stars that she gave me so many chances with her firm, because I multitasked like no one else, and my focus was sharp.

The email revealed a new client of the firm: Silver Bell, the CEO of fashion brand Silver.

Some of the brand's stores were opening soon in New York City, and the CEO had moved here to assist with transitioning the business to the east coast. Silver needed an assistant ASAP to get organized.

I wasn't familiar with the brand, so I assumed it was an expensive designer label that Sophia would know about.

"Silver needs someone who can get up-to-speed and deliver an excellent performance. This is a high-level gig, with a lot of running around, 24/7 availability. It comes with an NDA. Silver is an extremely wealthy, well-known name in the fashion industry."

I'd liked the sound of all that, because I thrived on being active as much as possible. The more I worked, the less time I had to sit around and dwell on my less-than-agreeable situation.

The rest of the email stated that Silver had already seen my resume and was interested.

If I accepted, this was an immediate hire. Ursula had enclosed the NDA, which I'd skimmed to see described that I wouldn't tell anyone who I was working for and what I was doing.

In hindsight, I probably should have read the whole thing.

"This one pays GOOD, Eden. It's short notice, but you've been waiting weeks for another gig."

After checking my bank account, I had no choice.

I took the position. There was no interview required—not uncommon in emergency situations like these—and I would start in three days.

So I'd called Sophia, at the same time as she'd texted me about her new job, and the date was set to party in celebration.

And here I was now, standing in front of my new boss, that I'd coincidentally fucked the night of that party.

Could this have been avoided?

Sure, if I'd paid more attention. If I'd done some research.

Silver was a west-coast based brand, specializing in clothes for all sizes. Comfort was their motto, and they didn't cut costs to use less fabric. Everything was ethical, recycled, treated with care. Pants, jeans, shirts, the works. For women, men, enbys, anyone. One website said they'd be launching evening wear and lingerie soon.

But there was nothing online about the owner, the creator of the brand. Even in the NDA, the contract Ursula emailed me after our call, there wasn't much to read. A boring bio on the brand's website, and no social media to scour to see what this person looked like.

Oh well, I'd thought at the time, though I hated going in blind. I wasn't much of a fashionista, but I appreciated what this brand stood for.

And with the amount of money I was getting paid—outlined in the contract, because Ursula wanted me to have a heart attack every time I saw it—it didn't matter, anyway. If I refused, I'd not only put myself in trouble, but Ursula, too. She'd fought for me at her firm more than once—I should have a big-girl job by now, all her colleagues said.

Well, I'd get a grown-up job once I could afford to go back to college and finish my degree. And with this kind of paycheck, I'd be able to set some money aside while still paying my bills and feeding myself.

If I could keep this position, that was. Because I happened to know this CEO a bit too intimately.

I wiped the drool from my mouth as I readjusted my posture. I'd zoned out, and Silver Bell was staring at me.

"You all right?" Her voice wasn't concerned, as if she only asked out of politeness.

I nodded, and she barely offered a sneer as she spun to return where she'd come from.

Was that it? One quick assessment of me and she'd fired me?

Had she recognized me? Or was she disappointed by what she'd hired without giving me a formal interview?

"Follow me, please," she said, voice raised as she continued down the hall.

I scrambled to keep up. When I was feet away from her, it took all my might not to admire her rounded ass as she moved onward. She passed the couch, then twisted to a set of white cantilever stairs that led up to a second floor.

I slowed down to take in the enormous windows with a view of the park across the street, then hurried after her, keeping my chin down.

No, she hadn't recognized me, she couldn't have. She'd have sent me back into the elevator if she had. No way would she employ a woman she'd slept with. Someone with her wealth would have no trouble hiring someone else.

Yet there we were climbing up to, I assumed, her office.

We passed a foyer of white chaises and bookshelves, and a few closed doors before reaching a doorway that she slid through, not sparing me a single glance.

Was I supposed to follow her in there? The whole hallway gave me the impression I was either marching to my doom—all this white had to be a cover-up for something sinister—or about to enter a lavish bedroom with the biggest bed I'd ever seen.

I was wrong; it was an office. Or more like an unorganized mess of fabric samples, half-made garments, draped mannequins and measuring tape and notebooks. In the rear, and somewhere underneath it all, was a large desk and a few cozy chairs.

Silver sat behind said desk and indicated the chair opposite it—the only chair that didn't have some sort of material dangling from it.

A curtain-covered window perched to her right, and spotlights on the ceiling above drizzled bright lights over us.

I sat, gritting my teeth, setting my purse in my lap. My legs were fidgety, and I nervously awaited the moment she'd realize who I was and fire me on the spot. Or not give a damn at all and hurt my feelings by not remembering our torrid night.

Either option was awful, and I wanted to get up and pace around to figure out which would be better for my mental health.

"Well, this is a clusterfuck, isn't it?" Her curt voice prompted me to look up, to catch her fixating on me with rounding eyes. Eyes of...recognition.

"A clusterfuck?" I gulped.

Had she fooled me, pretending not to know who I was while we were downstairs? Maybe she'd wanted to be discreet, to confront me in a more private setting—her office.

"Oh, you thought I wouldn't recognize you?" Silver joined her hands atop the desk, eyes darkening on me. "You were...memorable."

"Ah," I said, lowering my chin again. "Well, yes, a clusterfuck, indeed." I couldn't connect my gaze with hers, couldn't be reminded of what we'd done, of how much we'd enjoyed it, and of how we were never supposed to see each other. That was implied with a one-night-stand, wasn't it?

"You..." She blew out a heavy breath, and her once straightened form melted into her chair. "You're the little treat I gave myself the other night. The club, the spilled drink..."

"I'm so, so sorry," I said, gripping my purse tight, covering up my thighs as if to protect myself from her. My instinct was to hide, to be embarrassed. This was not supposed to happen.

"And of course," she scoffed, grabbing a pen from her mess of materials, clicking at the thrust device to open and close it in rapid motions, "you didn't know who I was. How could you have? I don't allow pictures of me online. Ugh."

She threw the pen across the table and grabbed her face between her hands.

"Why did my fucking parents name me Silver? Such a unisex name. Of course you didn't know when you signed the NDA. You thought you were meeting a man, didn't you?"

I gulped, daring a quick glance at her. Her fiery gaze was on me, though I didn't think she meant to scare me. She was pissed, as was I. What were the odds of this happening?

"Again, I'm sorry," I said, raising one palm in surrender. "You're right, I didn't know, and if I had..."

"If you had, you'd have passed up the job?" She snorted. "No. You need this, as do I. Fuck." She scrunched her nose. "Fuck!" She stood up and gripped the back of her chair, leaning over it as she took trembling breaths. "Out of all the temp agencies in this damn town, I pick the one with the gorgeous woman I fucked two nights ago."

She thinks I'm gorgeous?

I cringed, though I wanted to smile wide.

She was taking responsibility for this. Maybe she'd let me down easy. Give me some hush money, a chance to go off to find another job while never telling anyone this happened? She valued her privacy and wouldn't want me talking about this to anyone. I remembered the NDA—never tell anyone who I worked for and what I did.

"Well," she released the chair and fixed her eyes on me, "fine."

I balked at her. "F-Fine?"

"You made the effort to come here, you clean up quite well, and I can see you working for me without being in my face and flirting with me against the rules. You're...docile. Quiet. Kind of bubbly for my usual taste, but I'll manage that. So..." She extended her hand. "I'm Silver Bell, CEO of the clothing brand of the same name. It's a pleasure to officially meet you, Eden Meyers."

Hearing my name on her tongue made me shudder. My mouth hurt, my jaw dropped. I popped it back into place as I slid my hand into hers.

"Wait, so...I can have the job? Even though we," I lowered my voice, "slept together?"

Surely someone as rich as Silver had three maids and five butlers who'd be sneaking around listening for juicy gossip.

"No need to whisper," Silver said, returning to her seat. She clasped her hands and pinched her lips, her eyebrows in a thin line.

She was analyzing me for weakness. Or so, that was what I imagined, because her dark eyes roved over my face, my neck, my shirt, before zipping back up to my eyes.

"While I don't think we should talk about it, it's not a secret between us. But we're going to pretend it didn't happen."

I almost said "huh?" but sealed my lips, allowing only a low, grumbling sound to come out. "You're sure?"

She angled forward, switching from broody and borderline critical, to soft, vulnerable. "I'm desperate. And apparently, you're the best P.A. around, and that's what I need right now. Getting organized and learning the layout of this town. I just moved here from LA., and I'm completely lost. Kind of in over my head. I need someone to make me look like I know what I'm doing, okay?"

She appeared anything but lost to me. This woman sat poised and proud in her classy, overpriced suit, the same near-snarl from last night gracing her incredibly perfect features.

Even angry, she was hot as hell. And so clearly aware of everything she said and did that it put my perfectionism to shame. Nothing but confidence wafted off her, and in waves.

How could she be in such desperate need of an assistant?

I nearly choked as I peered at the messy desk, the chaotic room hidden beneath mountains of materials and equipment.

Never mind—she does need help.

But was I the right fit for her? She believed I could remain professional if I worked for her, act like we'd never met, never seen each other naked. But could I? And did I want to?

That night was memorable for me. My first time with a woman, my first time experiencing a real orgasm, my first one-night-stand—and she wanted me to forget about it?

"Can you do that?" She leaned back into her seat and was studying me again, her vulnerability replaced with sternness. "Can you stay professional and pretend like we never slept together?"

My gut reaction was to say no, to prioritize the physical feelings she'd given me, the magic I'd experienced.

But then I remembered my bank account.

This job landed in my lap. Whether it was fate or some sick play from the universe, I didn't have much of a choice.

"Yes, I can." I sucked in my lips and nodded. "I absolutely can."

"Good."

Silver stood up again, shoving aside a few papers to show a laptop hidden underneath the disarray. She opened it and began typing something. A nearby machine whirred to life; a printer. I twirled to its noise, and saw sheets of paper rolling out, displayed in a format that reminded me of a contract.

"I have stipulations of my own, outside of the agency's requirements. Take these," she moved around the desk and grabbed the sheets, handing them to me, "and give them a once-over when you have time." She remained near, pulling her arm up to check her watch—something gold and sparkly and heavy. "Do you need help packing your things and getting set up?"

Had I been drinking something, I'd have spat out whatever was in my mouth. "Packing? Getting set up?"

Silver squinted at me. "Yes? Effective immediately, I need you to move in here to be at my beck and call. 24/7."

"What?" I peered up at her, trying to avoid breathing in the crisp, clean scent of her pants, and licking my lips at the memory of her smooth legs wrapped around mine. "M-move in? Here?"

She arched an eyebrow and stepped back, cocking her head. "Didn't you read the NDA?" She passed her tongue over her teeth and marched over to a section of the room that I'd thought was a pile of junk. It was in fact a smaller desk, with a computer and a few stacked notebooks. "For you to do your job correctly and service me properly, you need to be here at all times."

I swallowed the lump that had clogged my throat since the moment I'd recognized her.

How was I supposed to be in such close quarters with her, at all hours of the day and night, and not want her to fuck my brains out again? How was I supposed to work for her without being caught up in how good she'd made me feel, and how much I wanted to feel that again?

Money, Eden. Money.

It was a win-lose situation, but I was desperate. And if I wasn't spending as much time at my place, not using the electricity and power, I'd be saving even more money. And more money meant better chances at going back to school, finishing my degree, and figuring out a big-girl job to get on my feet, for real.

I perked up, filling my lungs with air. "Yes, I'll do it. I'm all yours, Ms. Bell."

"Call me Silver," she said, a light smirk creeping over her dark-tinted lips. "And don't ever say I'm yours again." Her mouth parted slightly. "It's too tempting."