Like at the last opening, we arrived first, so Silver could make her surprise entry once the place was packed.

The venue's manager welcomed us, giving us a quick tour. This location was one story, so Silver planned her entrance from one of the storage rooms in the rear.

The band hired for this gig was female-fronted, busy unpacking and putting together all their instruments in the far-left corner. Silver's hide-out was in the far-right.

As I glanced about the area, ensuring vendors were assembling tables and chairs and laying out appetizers, I itched to go wait by the door and survey the arrivals.

No one would slip in undetected, not this time. I couldn't risk Nico or anyone else who knew me showing up. I couldn't risk anything that would jeopardize Silver and I's plans.

Upset as I was with her—was I only an assistant to her?—I'd made a commitment and had no intention of fucking it up.

"Chill," said Silver, squeezing my lower arm, catching my fleeting, frantic glances.

"Trying," I said, shuddering at the skin-on-skin contact. I bit the insides of my cheeks.

"Try harder," she said, releasing me before heading over to the storage room she'd be exiting from.

I wouldn't chill, not internally, but I promised myself to remain calm and composed on the outside.

My skin tingled from where she'd touched, but I shook myself, refusing to let her get to me. Not when I had so much else to prepare for tonight.

I settled near the door, in a spot where guests wouldn't notice me when coming in unless they really looked. No way would I stand out in the open as I had last time.

Within minutes, cars started pulling up out front. Esteemed guests filed into the store.

They marveled at the high ceilings, the racks and displays loaded with Silver's gorgeous crafts. While this space appeared smaller than the first, it was longer, spreading farther back, allowing more room for Silver's experimental styles.

I hovered, studying the face of every person who entered; by some luck, I recognized no one. Or at least, I thought no one recognized me.

Only when the doors closed and waiters circulated with drinks and canapes did I allow my shoulders to slump, my body to loosen up.

I snagged a flute of champagne and sighed. As I was about to take a sip, the lights flipped off. A spotlight illuminated the door through which Silver had snuck in earlier.

The band leader, a red-headed siren named Lyla, tapped her microphone as she hopped up on the makeshift stage. "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, individuals of the fashion industry," she said, her voice lustrous, like silk. "I won't bother listing all her accomplishments because it'll take hours. Here's our woman of the night: Silver Bell!"

To a roar of applause, Silver erupted from the storage room, all smiles and waving hands. She was a sparkling entrepreneur with a flair for good taste, and everyone in this room knew that, respected that.

She swung by the stage and took the microphone, clearing her throat.

I froze; she didn't warn me she planned to speak at this event. As far as I knew, she hadn't done so at the other store opening. But then again, I'd had to dip out early.

She never told me about any speeches.

I clutched my bubbly drink to my chest.

"Thank you all for being here," said Silver, atop the stage. Lyla stood near her, beaming. "It's an honor to open not one store, but two in this crazy, too-bright, way too intense town." Laughter broke out. "I have to thank New York City for being much warmer and more welcoming than I'd predicted."

She dazzled up there, comfortable as if she'd been occupying stages her whole life. She knew how to utilize the space, how close to hold the microphone to her mouth. No shaking, no hesitation in her words. Her voice didn't quiver, nor did her arms as she continued her speech.

"There's a huge team behind these adventures," she said, a gentle smile drawing over her lips. "Store managers, employees, fellow seamstresses, promoters, investors, a second-in-command who's hiding somewhere in the crowd?" More laughs. "And most of all, a personal assistant who, really, should be the one everyone is applauding."

My face grew hot. Too hot. Only a handful of folks turned to me, knowing who I was; then the spotlight landed on me, and my entire body was on fire.

All eyes were on me.

Why would she single me out when I very clearly wanted to blend in? No one had recognized me so far, but now...

If anyone spotted us getting too close tonight, too cozy, rumors would fly. Silver's efforts to remain out of the press would evaporate. I'd lose my job.

We'd be fucked.

"She put all this together," said Silver, staring straight at me. I wasn't far from the platform, but enough that she had to squint to see me better. "So please, a round of applause for my right hand. My muse."

I gulped as the guests offered enthusiastic claps to celebrate me.

My muse. She'd said it out loud, in front of everyone.

Thank fuck she didn't say my name, too.

"She's my muse because she wears whatever I tell her to and models it out for me," Silver added, her words more rushed than usual. She must have noticed my crumbling features, or how I'd tensed, holding my cup so hard it might shatter.

I brought the rim of my glass to my lips as she concluded her speech.

I was livid, and yet...there was something so open and vulnerable about how she'd announced my presence, introduced me to her fashion world. It was a huge risk to call me her muse, though she'd hurried to clarify her meaning afterwards.

Now, more than ever, we had to keep our desires on lockdown.

Silver made her rounds as I downed the rest of my drink. I was supposed to stand by her, navigate the crowd at her side. But after being so blatantly displayed, I was too jittery, too nervous.

Too worried about what I'd say to her the moment she was in earshot.

Would I yell? Growl at her? Thank her? I had no idea how to feel, so put on the spot but so complimented. Admired, even.

Several individuals congratulated me as they saw me near the stage, doing all in my power to keep myself together. I blushed, shook hands, thanked them for their kind words. Some asked me about my dress, and I assured them that Silver made it from scratch, all by herself.

Promoting her brand, at all costs.

By the time the band signaled their intent to start playing, Silver found her way to me. I was leaning against a pillar, next to shelves of folded graphic t-shirts.

"Hey," she said, nudging me, handing me another drink. Her rosy perfume wafted off her in waves.

"Hi," I said, gladly accepting the drink, trying not to sniff in her scent. "Thanks."

"I'm sorry," she said so fast, she practically cut me off.

I arched an eyebrow but didn't peer at her. "Sorry?"

"Singling you out like that." She perched beside me, her chin tilted up as she concentrated on the stage. Lyla settled near her microphone, her electric purple guitar on standby.

We had seconds to discuss this before music blasted in our ears.

"You should have warned me," I said, also fixating on the band. "It goes against everything we've talked about."

"I didn't plan for it. It all just...came out." Her arm brushed against mine, and I shivered. "In all fairness, we haven't talked about it since that morning."

I scoffed. "Right, and who decided that?" I shook my head, taking a small taste of champagne. "I'd have loved a chat to set official boundaries and figure out how we're going to manage this for three months."

"Three months?" She lifted her arm to arrange a few stray hairs behind her ears.

"Don't," I said, holding in a snort.

"Don't what?" She sounded so confused, I almost twisted to look at her, to gauge her expression and see if she was fucking with me.

"The agency call?" I shuffled my feet. "They called me on Wednesday for their survey. And they said they'd spoken to you."

"Ah," she took a deep breath, "that."

"Yeah. That. And per our matching flawless answers, I get to work the full three-month contract before you hire me outside of the agency." She remained still and silent, again nearly prompting me to look at her; I couldn't. I wouldn't. "Which I would have agreed to had you asked me directly."

"Eden, I—"

My hand curled up as she tried to touch it. "If you wanted me to stay on as your assistant, you might have told me about it."

The way I blurted out assistant, with such vice and disappointment, seemed to further coax her into silence.

But then she slithered in front of me, mouth opening to retort something—

And the sound of Lyla's guitar sliced through the air, erasing anything Silver had been about to say.

She winced, sliding back to my side, but she nestled her fingers between mine, forcing my hand's muscles to relax.

Something breezed through me, and not the powerful blast of melodies emanating from the stage. Electricity and lust and emotions all collided inside me at once. They spiraled up my neck, fraying my nerves, mixing in with my blood as it pumped to my head, my heart, my vagina.

It was magnetic. Painful. Delicious. And it all stemmed from where Silver and I had joined hands.

I savored the sensation before I ripped my hand from hers, shaking my head. No, I mouthed to her as I defied my own rule of not meeting her gaze.

Her eyes were dark and lustful, her lips parted. I caught the conflict in her features. The eyebrows unsettled, the tongue that danced inside her mouth as she searched for what to say, and how to say it.

I couldn't do this. Working for her, craving her, resisting her advances in public places. She wasn't going to try to restrain herself, but it wasn't up to me to constantly bring us back to reality.

I already had so much on my plate by assisting her; now she expected me to keep her in check when she hit on me?

If she'd only held it together tonight, maybe we would have had fun when we got home. Resisting her here was obligatory, but at the penthouse...we had more opportunities. More space to disrobe without judgment. We weren't supposed to, but if she really wanted it...

All she had to do was ask, and I'd melt. I'd give her anything she wanted.

But not here.

I listened to the band, to the lyrics that were slightly on the nose, considering how Silver and I felt. The words forbidden and impossible kept coming up in the chorus, and it all made me shudder in realization.

I twisted to Silver, to figure out if she'd been as captivated by the lyrics as me—but she was gone.

Frowning, I scanned the crowd, but everyone was busy dancing, singing to the beat. Silver had vanished.

I opened my tiny purse and removed my phone, intent on texting her. Maybe I'd hurt her feelings—I didn't think that was possible—and she was expecting an apology. Maybe she'd needed some air. Or maybe—

She texted me first.

Silver: Meet me in the storage room.

I paused, my frown deepening.

Eden: Why?

She was either firing me for who-knew-what reason—realized how stupid we'd been acting, finally—or summoning me so she could fuck me in the dark. Turned on by the proximity to all her guests.

She liked defiance, I'd perceived as much. And she enjoyed taking risks, which was a turn-on, but...

This was too risky. Rushing off to join her after she'd outed me as her personal assistant, her muse? If anyone saw me, saw us, we'd be blasted all over the media and ruined.

Silver: I need to show you something.

Knowing her, she wanted to flash me her boobs and taunt me. But if I didn't go there now, she'd keep texting me until my phone exploded. And then I'd be in real trouble.

The tune switched to a more melodic, sensual style that Lyla's band was known for. It was sexy, tempting—and it woke all kinds of aroused sensations in me that I'd been desperate to ignore all night.

I imagined Silver swaying beside me. Or sneaking behind me, pressing into my ass as she danced, grinded, her hands crawling down my waist, down my front, and into my pants.

It was one of those songs; one you made out to, touched to, fucked to.

Shit.

I broke free from the crowd, keeping to the shadows in the room as I gathered my bearings. The storage room was on the other end, and I could make it if I stayed against the wall. It'd take longer but draw less attention.

And I needed all that attention off me. Silver's summoning would lead to nothing good, I already knew. It'd be something dangerous that would get us caught, for sure.

It was one thing sleeping together at the penthouse, but to fool around here?

And yet...and yet.

The notion of slamming her against a wall in an isolated room, so near the cluster of people who at any time could see us? Hot. Alluring. So risky, but so incredibly intriguing.

It was bad, so bad, and I kept repeating that to myself as I approached the storage room.

I walked backwards, keeping an eye on the guests. All were too absorbed in Lyla's performance to give a damn about me, the singled-out muse-assistant who was sneaking off to do who-knew-what.

I drew in a deep breath as I reached behind me and found the doorknob.

Silver was my boss. She knew the dangers. If we did this, it was her responsibility.

But what if she actually needed my help with something?

My gut grumbled at me, telling me to remove my head from the gutter.

I twisted the knob, pushed the door open, and crept inside. Though no one would hear the door close with the loud music, I still let the latch click gently before twirling around.

A faint flicker of light shone on Silver, who sat on the edge of a weathered, metal desk. She grasped a glass of champagne, lifting it to clink with mine—which I'd forgotten I was still holding.

"Hi," she said, her legs crossed, dangling off the desk. "Lock that door, would you?"

Lock that door. It was like a code for "I'm going to fuck you in here and you're going to love it."

I shouldn't have obeyed, should have folded my arms and planted my feet and glared at her. But my lower half took control of my brain.

I flipped the lock on the door and returned to her.

"Good." She set her glass down and dropped off the desk, parting her legs to unfasten her pants.

Wow, not wasting any time, are we?

I watched in awe, discovering the pants had an opening right over her pussy.

"Fuck," I muttered, a tremble of desire gushing through me. These were innovative trousers, for sure. Practical. And if I hadn't already figured out what she was plotting, I now had no doubt. "Silver, you..."

"I have to apologize," she said, propping herself back on the desk. Her pants were still on, but she'd opened them up. I pulsated at the sudden accessibility to her most sensitive spot, though I couldn't see it yet.

"Apologize?" I swallowed, clasping my hands before I lunged forward and put them on her.

She slowly spread her legs, exposing herself to me. Her uncovered self: she wasn't wearing any underwear.

A breath choked in my throat as I sighted those bare inner lips, rosy, plump, pretty, and—I gasped—already wet.

"For calling you my muse like that, so publicly. I made myself mad, doing that." She continued to pull her legs apart, further showing her pussy to me in all its glistening glory. "And then for the agency call, too. For leading you on, making you think you were nothing but an assistant to me."

I sucked in my lips and arched my spine. It took every fiber of me to stay still, to not pounce on her.

And then she glided a finger into her wetness, stroking herself.

I couldn't breathe and didn't want to. Because if I breathed, I'd wake up and find that this was another filthy sex-dream, right?

"Best way to apologize, in my opinion?" She smirked at me as she saw me focused on her finger. "Fucking."

"Agreed, but..." I licked my lips, shifted my weight, screaming for her on the inside. "Here? You're aware of the risks?"

"Door's locked. I'll take my chances. I can't hold back, Eden. It's too hard." She flicked at her center in a way that made her spasm, her eyes rolling backwards. "My pussy has been rubbing up on these pant seams all evening, and I am horny as fuck. Horny for you."

I sighed.

Fuck it.

Because I was horny for her, too.