"But I can't let you do that, Eden."

She looked at me like I'd asked her to jump out the window with me. Which, clearly she would have done, considering what she'd told me.

We'll fall together. In hindsight, that was true, but if I had any way of preventing her from being tangled up in this mess, I'd make it happen.

While I still had the resources, that was. The instant this article came out, I'd lose almost everything. A large chunk of what made me me.

"Silver," she breathed, her bosom heaving up and down with her heavy breaths, drinking in my words. "I'm not letting this happen to you."

Heat spread from my forehead down my core, all the way to my bare feet. I was still in that nightgown.

Summoning her into my office while dressed like this? And especially under such circumstances? Stupid. Cruel, even.

It was torture.

All I did was imagine her wearing this nightgown. The short silk grazing over her legs, caressing the soft skin I couldn't get enough of touching. The subtle dip of fabric between her breasts, perky and firm.

I'd rip it off her. The restraint she showed in my near-naked presence was admirative. She was admirative. I admired every inch of her.

But I couldn't accept this from her. It was too much, too dangerous. If I went down, I'd go down with as much grace as I could muster. But if there was a means to keep her safe, I'd ensure it.

"You're not an abuser," she said, our hands still joined. It surprised me she hadn't ripped free in protest of what I'd said. "You're not a predator. You need someone to tell the press that, don't you?"

"Might help," I said, pursing my lips, all the heat from before evaporating.

The press. Oh, the things they'd write about me, after this. Most of it false, a few figments of it real; the world would have to decide what they believed.

Often, the world believed wrong.

But no one would care about the truth. Such a scandal—me, a billionaire, a CEO, abusing her personal assistants, forming a habit of sleeping with them for my own pleasure? It'd explode.

The world would take the assistants' side. I didn't mind them siding with Eden—she was innocent in all this—but him...

No, there had to be a way to fix this before it was too late, and without involving Eden.

"Then let me help!" She finally broke free from my grasp and glowered; yes, glowered at me. "Let me—"

"Save me?" I emitted a heartless chuckle. I should have cut her loose, told her to pack her things and go. I should have pretended I had no feelings and broken this up before we went too far.

But those eyes, so deeply green and inviting, so close to welling up with tears, made me keep my mouth shut. That delicate blonde hair that I'd weaved my fingers through; I quivered at the memory of the silky texture.

Those legs I'd parted, that sweet, sweet flavor between them; those hands I'd been holding and that I yearned for again. That voice—like cotton, soft and tender, but so incredibly strong.

How could I walk away from that?

"You can't save me, Eden." I gestured at my phone, at the upcoming article, Fashion CEO Scandal: Exposed? "This will ruin me, and I don't want it to ruin you, too."

"Silver," she said, tightening her fists, like a little girl about to throw a tantrum. Fuck, she was so cute when frustrated. "Please. I know my input can make a difference."

"And I'd normally agree." I tapped a finger to the picture of us at the gala the week before, near the Greek god statue; me in fuchsia, and her in that delicious emerald dress that made me want her so desperately. "But this—"

"One picture, Silver." She snagged the phone and scrolled through the mock-up report. "Descriptions of glances that might have happened. How we might have held hands, might have whispered in each other's ears."

"You don't get it." I plopped into my chair, feeling the need to be distant, to cover myself up.

So much of my life was about to be exposed, and it all took its toll on me. The life I'd spent years cultivating away from the press, paying my dues to make sure I was never reported on without my permission.

Gone. Destroyed by one person who'd forgone blackmailing me and went straight to wanting to tear me down.

Who was it? How did they see us, how did they even know to look? And why were they so vindictive, so evil? If they were out to hurt me, so be it, but these shenanigans would break down Eden, too, even if she didn't interfere.

That notion made my blood boil. That someone would be after me made sense—I had plenty of envious enemies in the fashion industry—but Eden? She'd done nothing to deserve this.

She was pure. An angel. Oblivious to the ways this world worked, to the sickening under-the-table deals that took place to get people like me where they were now.

She had no clue, and this article's release would make all that knowledge accessible to her.

It heightened my panic.

"Lovey-dovey," she said, using air-quotes. "Who even uses that anymore?" She snorted and set the phone onto my desk. "No one will believe this shit. You're not like this, they know it."

I winced. "Do they, though? I'm from L.A., don't forget. I may look like I fit in here, but the truth is I'm still fighting to make a name for myself. The NYC fashion crowd is...tough."

"Okay, but your fans." She crossed her arms; she fidgeted, flustered again because she knew I was right. She knew this was unavoidable, but that stubborn side of her didn't want to relent.

"What about them?" I scoffed. "Think they'll rise up and defend me? Protest in the streets? They don't even know what I look like, babe."

Babe. Fuck. I covered my mouth as I looked into my lap.

I shouldn't have called her that, shouldn't have given any sign of affection, any inkling that I wanted us to fight through this.

That would make this whole ordeal all the more complicated.

Where was the badass, boss-girl version of me? Where had my hardened exterior gone? I needed it to protect my heart, to preserve hers. Showing my weak side, my lovey-dovey side, was a bad idea.

But bad ideas were my forte, weren't they?

Hiring the hot young thing I'd had a one-night-stand with—what the fuck was wrong with me? Was I that disoriented by my move to NYC that I'd let my guard down like that? So horny that I'd take the risk?

Hadn't I learned my lesson with Noah? He was—

No, I couldn't think about him. Not now.

"I still don't think this will affect everyone the way you think," she said, barely bristling at my usage of babe. Thank goodness. If she'd questioned me or used it back, I wouldn't have known what to do.

"And I think you have no idea. The press...they're vicious. Fellow fashion folk, fans...they might not have a say. Other magazines and newspapers will feed the flames. They'll publish stuff, true or not, and that will get us in deeper shit."

I'd seen it happen to industry peers. And the way things were going with me...I had no doubt I was heading down a similar path.

Someone was out for me. Someone who'd fed information to a journalist who was a friend—and I'd bet that culprit knew it—and paid them a hefty sum to be certain it'd get published.

Someone who knew me. The real me.

That circle was small. Few had been privy to my true self, which would help me narrow down my list of suspects. But I was too distraught to go over that.

I was grateful this journalist gave me this heads' up. She didn't need to; our friendship wasn't something either of us had worked to maintain. But I appreciated her, nonetheless.

Her warning was just that—a warning. She and I both knew it was too late to block the article from coming out. She'd sent it to my lawyer, which meant she was already deep into the printing process. Her supervisors had seen it and wouldn't accept any bribery this time.

Like the money we'd fed Noah and the L.A. presses to keep their mouths shut.

Those publications would speak up, too. The instant this came out, all our contracts and hush money would mean nothing.

They'd no longer fear us.

"Your team came to the rescue before," said Eden, dejection taking over her voice. She held herself rigidly, but I saw past the facade—she was worried, understanding how deep in shit we were.

"They did, because we were blackmailed. We had time to do something about it. But this?" I motioned at my phone, the article still blaring up at us. "No blackmail. No time to prepare, to gather money, to type up a contract. My team won't be quick enough to stop this scandal."

"And there's no talking to your friend?" Eden sat on the nearest chair and gulped. So afraid but trying so hard to hide it.

All I wanted was to hold her, squeeze her against my chest, rock her as I hummed a lullaby.

But any proximity would lead to something more. Something that wouldn't be advised when we were on the verge of suffering the consequences of all the other times we'd succumbed. All the times we should have kept our hands to ourselves.

I knew the best course of action; we both did.

Distance.

Around one another, we were intoxicated, acting on urges and not listening to common sense.

Like now, as I fought my internal cravings for her, reminding myself these cravings were what got us into this predicament.

But she was so close, smelling like mint and citrus, her breasts so appealing, her lips so kissable, so delicious.

I hadn't had breakfast—no way to eat with the anxiety in my gut—but her? I'd eat her up.

Fuck. I stood from the chair and turned away to face the wall. The longer we debated, the closer I came to fucking up again. My restraint was non-existent, and hers, flimsy at best.

"My friend must have been paid a shit-ton of money for this. More money than my lawyers can come up with in time to stop her."

She shifted in her seat. "But you're...you're a billionaire. You're rich as fuck, how can you not—"

"Transferring large sums of money around like that is not as easy as it looks in movies, Eden." I didn't even know the intricacies of it all; I had a team of experts to do so for me.

Those experts were pissed.

"Again, Silver? Another assistant, another slip-up? How do you keep getting caught?" My main lawyer, Mickey, had my back most of the time, but he'd sounded exasperated on the phone earlier. "I thought you were being good, handling your urges and such. After Noah...come on. You know better than this."

I did know better, that was the issue. But Eden was...a goddess. A forbidden fruit I'd taken one too many bites of and was addicted to.

She was the worst temptation with the sweetest after-taste. I couldn't get her off my tongue no matter what I ate or drank after kissing her.

Kissing her. I tilted my head a smidgen, catching a flash of her golden hair as the light from the window caught on it. I gritted my teeth and faced the wall again.

"I worked so hard," I said, glancing at the pictures posted on my corkboard. Half-finished sketches, signed photographs of celebrities I'd made outfits for. "So hard for this to never happen."

"For scandals about you to not come out?" I pictured Eden scrunching her nose.

"For my image to remain out of the press. Years of negotiations. Contracts and meetings and more contracts. To erase any trace of me from the past, and to ensure no future mishaps. And now?" I huffed, my back spasming, my arms tensing. "I'll be outed as the country's biggest personal assistant predator."

"But...why?"

I twisted, involuntarily, to see her cocking her head, focused on me. The way her eyes zipped up, I figured she'd been staring at my ass; in another time, I'd have smiled at that. "What do you mean why?"

"I mean..." She stood up. "Why does it matter if the press sees what you look like? You're," she licked her lips, "beautiful, Silver. A vision. Why would you hide that?"

I shuddered at her words; she meant them. I remembered all the ways she'd touched me and proved these compliments were true.

"It's not that I'm hiding my appearance," I said, gripping the top of my chair. "I...I don't want to be in magazines and newspapers."

"You're a billionaire." The way she said it this time was more matter of fact, almost negative. "Staying out of the news is basically impossible, isn't it?"

Ah, the innocence, the oblivion. She didn't have to fight every day for her reputation. She didn't bump elbows with men who thought their power endless, thought their limits nonexistent.

She had no clue how leading a billion-dollar company worked, especially as a queer, plus-sized woman.

"It's too difficult to explain," I said, trying not to sound too condescending. She wasn't stupid, and I didn't want her to think I thought that. "I have my reasons, and I've been firm about them."

People have been silenced for less, I almost added, but decided against it.

Those were sides of the industry, of the luxurious life I led, that I preferred her to never know about.

"And your so-called friend," she rolled her eyes, "doesn't care about those reasons? Why is she doing this to you?"

"Perhaps calling her a friend was too strong of a word," I said, cringing.

That much was true—she was more of an acquaintance, a friend of a friend of a friend who owed me something at some point in my ascent. She'd been loyal to me, for the most part, as long as the checks came in.

They hadn't stopped—my success continued to grow, so I had the money—so I wondered what she'd been offered to bypass our agreements. How much had she obtained to slander me? To release my name out to the world and call me an abuser, a predator?

Eden had no inkling of all that. The money, the secret trading, the indecency. The anonymous investors, the ties to dangerous and powerful men, the effort to keep the bills and elaborate gifts and lavish furnishings paid.

To justify the lifestyle, people like me did nearly anything.

If this came out—when this came out—I was screwed. Not only because of my image, my product, but because those who'd helped me get here would see it. In exchange for their funding, they'd asked one thing—for me to stay out of the news. For me to operate without being photographed. For there to never be any way to link them to me.

If I showed up in magazines all the time, the past I'd tried to suffocate would be looked into. And my connection to the not-so-elegant folk who'd elevated me to this position might be discovered.

That couldn't happen.

"I still think you should let me help, Silver." Eden's docile timbre whisked away all the worries, all the images swarming my mind.

Bless her pure, sweet heart, she wouldn't give up, would she? It warmed my frozen heart that she'd be so adamant, not knowing the consequences. Not caring about them.

Against my better judgment, against everything my brain screamed at me not to do, I approached her. Her scent wrapped around me, her heat drew me nearer.

I was stuck, sucked into her.

She stilled, as if to back away, but didn't.

This was inevitable. We were inevitable.

"Eden," I whispered, reaching out to take her hand. She didn't deny me. "You don't know how much I appreciate you."

"But?" She shivered as I brought her knuckles to my lips, kissing them. I wanted to kiss her. Roll my tongue around hers, absorb its taste to remember for later. Forever.

"But," I gently tugged her closer, "you can't say a thing."

She opened her mouth to protest, but I set my lips against hers, colliding. Crashing. Desperate and urgent, like a kiss goodbye before hopping out of a plane, before running into a dark forest to hide from enemies.

The enemies weren't there, not then.

"Silver." She breathed against my lips, eyelids fluttering as she teetered back and forth, as if drunk on me. "Bad. Bad idea."

But she didn't try to break free. If anything, she held on to me tighter.

I kissed her again, pressing against her, sensing her melting into me. "The damage is done, right? Might as well," another kiss, "have one last round together," a deeper kiss, "and go out in flames?"

Without a word, she slid her hand under my nightgown and goosebumps prickled along my skin.