The security desk hands me a visitor's card when I arrive at the magazine. The familiar cucumber air freshener and hints of sweat accompany me to the elevators. I dive in with a small crowd and hit the button for the sixth floor.

I'm fine. I really am. Why shouldn't I be? I completed the job before the due date and slurped a large cup of iced coffee on the way. I'm ready to get my paycheck, call Olga and buy her a drink when she gets out of work.

I smile at my reflection against the elevator's shiny doors and fix my bangs. Unlike the suited white collars around me, I can wear a summer dress and sandals on a hot day like this. I pity them. I'm not pitiful. Roman's words have no power over me. He is the one living in a corporate fantasy world, not me.

Control freak! His authoritative voice echoes in my head, 'La Vue at eight o'clock! Opera at seven!' Who speaks like that?

Mr. Daddy issues...

Okay, I'm stooping lower than I should. It's sad that Roman felt abandoned as a child. Unloved. Inferior. He had to mature at a young age when his dad died and tried his best to support his family.

But am I supposed to feel sorry for him? Who gets a magazine as a present at fifteen and complains about it? So what if Roman had to work his ass off for Optimus Maximus to succeed? Everyone else works just as hard to pay their bills. They don't make stupid marriage commitments to stay afloat.

Roman is the only monster here. He deserves to rule this corporate shit-hole all alone and live a sad life with his picture-perfect wife-to-be.

Fuck.

My chest tightens when the elevator's bell dings on the sixth floor. God, I hope I don't see him today.

This floor is much quieter compared to Claire's production unit. The space is divided into larger offices and glass meeting rooms instead of cubicles. A phone rings as I pass a couple of busy-looking faces behind tiny desks. I'll turn left and give my name to the lady at the first desk around the corner.

Easy as pie.

When I finally stop, I clear my throat and smile at the plump blonde facing a massive office.

"May I help you?" she asks, eyeing me up and down.

"Yeah, Abby Shepherd. I'm here to collect my paycheck from the..." My voice trails off when I look over my shoulder at the stained glass room. I can't see what's inside but I have this feeling.

A giant wave rises in my chest and crushes against my ribs. I called this primal feeling my beast a few days ago, but I'll stick to the clinical terms now: Anxiety. This is nothing but anxiety. Something to do with losing with my mom at an early age and my dad's lack of presence around the house. Once I let someone in, I can't let them go easily because, yeah... Separation anxiety, sprinkled with obsessive compulsive disorder.

But I have no reason to be anxious now. I'll just take my money and get the hell out of here.

The blonde narrows her eyes and leans forward to read my visitor's badge. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Abby—oh, Abigail Shepherd."

She raises her index finger and signals me to wait as she picks up her phone. After dialing a short extension, "Your visitor is here," she says, nods, and then hangs up.

No. No way. My heart thumps as I stare blankly at the girl.

"You may enter," she says with a polite smile.

"Is this...?" Fuck. "It's not HR, is it?" I ask, drumming my fingers on the desk. My cheeks—even the roots of my hair are on fire. I don't need to hear her answer. I turn around, push the glass door open, and enter Roman's office.

His giant desk is behind the door, and Roman is sitting behind a computer set up just like mine. Three screens and a laptop face him as he overlooks the entire room.

He stands up the moment I walk in and rounds his desk to get to the door. His business attire is spot on. His dark blue suit and white shirt fit him seamlessly, like he was born to wear them.

"Nice to see you again, Abby," he says, breaking the silence. His hands are jittery.

I nod and close the door. "Will you be signing my check?"

"Yes. Please take a seat," he instructs, pointing toward the giant meeting table and pulling a chair.

I choose to cross my arms and stay put by the door.

"It'd be easier if you sat," he suggests with a silky tone.

"It'd be easier if Claire wired me the money." Wait, is she in on this? Probably. Not that it matters anymore.

Roman's face stiffens. After clearing his throat, he slips a hand into his inner pocket and pulls out a checkbook along with a shiny black pen. "Three thousand, right?"

"Yeah."

He leans against the table, ready to sign, but then sucks in a breath. His pen hovers above the page. "And the ten videos you edited when we first met?"

"I won't charge you for those." My voice is shaky. The memory of the day I met Roman is still vivid and hurts my heart.

"I'd like to pay for your services."

"Fine." I scoff. "A hundred."

The harsh sound of pen scribblings fills the silence. I rest my hands above my hips while Roman tears the check and leaves it on the table.

This is ridiculous! I don't want to play this game. "What am I doing here, Roman?"

Our gazes meet when he straightens up, and I lose my breath. His eyes are deep and getting deeper, sucking me in. I can feel his pain and desperation churning in my gut as if they were mine. My cheeks catch fire, and Roman is no different with rashes of heat flaring all over his neck.

"I— I wanted to see you," he says.

"Why? Aren't you engaged to some socialite?"

He shakes his head, takes off his blazer and hangs it behind the chair in front of him. "You don't understand."

"I do, Roman. She is your business partner. Her dad is a major distributor and your sponsor. I don't need to be a genius to understand the nature of your relationship."

"Good. Then, you get that this marriage is nothing but a strategic merger," he says, pushing himself away from the chair he'd been leaning on. "I built this empire with my flesh, sweat and blood, Abby. Proposing to her was merely a step I had to take to secure my position while the business expands into a new market. The magazine is growing, taking over the world."

What does he want? A pat on the back? "Good luck!"

"Are you sure you can see the big picture here?" His sharp tone makes me roll my eyes. "Good. I wouldn't expect anything less from the daughter of a genius."

Ass... He is a fucking ass. But I don't back away. Keeping my arms crossed, I stare right into his eyes. "What do you want from me?"

Roman's eyes flicker with regret as he sits at the edge of the meeting table. He scrubs his forehead, then drops his hands between his thighs. He looks tired. The corners of his lips quiver and I almost want to run to him to make him feel okay again. Almost.

"I just want you to listen to me."

My gaze falls to my feet. Of course, I'll listen to him. He is my other half.

Roman sighs before he starts. "Sex never mattered to me. Love? I'd say it was a joke. And I fucked up before I even met you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You met Nate at the movie gala. That night, I had to get away from Tiff—her... I needed to run away from this job and everybody's expectations. Just for five minutes. I was on my way to the terrace to get some fresh air, but Nate stopped me at the foyer. He told me how difficult it was to find a meaningful relationship nowadays, and how lucky I was to have Tiffany. Told me the dating scene was shit. Gave me a pep talk—he's good at these things. He convinced me to go back in there... and... Anyway, it doesn't matter now."

My memory stirs. The two men at the bottom of the stairs at the night of the gala... If Nate hadn't stopped Roman...

My heart is beating frantically.

"I proposed to her at the movie gala, Abigail." Roman's painful words land like a blow to my gut and turn my world upside down. I hold my temples to stop my head from spinning. "Instead of meeting you, I went back upstairs and proposed to the wrong woman. Then you came along, and, I lost my mind."

The fire in me is a big one. And I'm forcing every cell in my body to stay put instead of running into his arms.

Roman's footsteps swoosh on the carpet as he makes his way to me. He takes my hands and holds them between us. His warm, oaky perfume puts me under a trance. I am not sure if I'm standing still at this point. Roman gently wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his chest.

"We're supposed to be together," he breathes into my ear.

My hands land on his shoulders to distance myself from his body. "Don't, Roman," I whimper.

His grip on my waist loosens, and he lets me slip away—enough to look into my eyes. "Abigail..."

"I can't—" My voice quivers. "Do you even like me?"

He traces his knuckles up and down my neck. "Can't you tell? I never felt—"

"It's just attraction. You called me a pitiful mess. Treated me like a nobody."

"I'm sorry, baby," he says. His lips hover around my cheek. "I'm the pitiful mess. Everything you told me that night outside your building is true. I'm a lonely, angry, sad egomaniac, and a pitiful nobody."

His caramels are soft—the softest they've ever been, and I can see myself in depths of him. Feels like he means every word. And they are true for Roman and me. Who am I kidding? I am lonely. And angry, and sad... I'm a reflection of him, and he reflects me. We reflect the worst in each other. Our insecurities, fears, and darkest desires. It's scary as hell, and I don't know what to do about it.

Roman is running his fingers through my hair. I'm shivering in his arms. His chest radiates heat now more than ever, inviting me to unbutton his shirt and tuck my lips between his chest hair. I want to let his beast know that I'm here and we don't have to fight.

"We don't have to fight," Roman echoes my thoughts and raises my chin.

Next thing, his lips fall on top of mine.

How can he kiss this well? My fingers tighten around his biceps. His shirt feels crisp under my touch. Our kiss is tender, but it's enough to ignite the fire in me.

I gently pull away to look into his eyes. "Are you going to break up with her?"

"Let me handle the launch first, baby," he whispers. "I can't afford to lose my chair right now."

I push him away. "Then I can't, Roman."

"I thought you understood, Abby." He licks his lips and shuts his eyes. When he opens them, the tenderness is gone.

"I'm not going to be the other woman."

"For fucks sake!" He balls his hands into a fist. "You are the only woman!"

"Does she know?" I point at the window behind him. "Is she aware that you're playing pretend?"

Roman takes back a step, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I've known Tiffany since we were kids. Our partnership is a prestigious job. It allows us to flock the herds, give them direction. She doesn't want a simple husband. She needs my help to rule the world, and I need her and her family's votes until we settle the fucking deal. I can't just call her today and break up over the phone!"

"You want to string me along then..."

"For a while."

"Nope."

"I'm not going to ruin my business," he spits.

I fling my arms open to state the obvious. "You don't love her!"

"People like me make business endeavors! They don't fall in love!" His eyes are shadowed, almost brown, and ice-cold.

I sigh and push Roman out of my way. "Fine!" I march to the table, snatch the check, and stuff it into my bag. "People like you, must know how to let go."

I walk to the door, but Roman slams his hand against the stained glass wall and blocks my way.

"Let me go," I repeat.

He stands still, breathing heavily into his chest.

My fingers hover above the door handle. Telling Roman to let go is the easiest part. Turning the handle and opening the door—not so much.

Both of us are shivering. The AC hits my face and blows my hair. Cold beads of sweat run down my neck and slip into the back of my dress. Roman's body heat increases by the second.

"Which hand did you use?" he breathes out against the nape of my neck.

My fingers twitch. I peer over from the corner of my eyes to find him inches away from me. If I make another move, our cheeks are going to touch. My heart pounds so hard, it hurts my chest.

Roman gulps hard. His voice is shaky when he speaks again. "When you touched yourself that night—was it this one?" He points at my hand by the door before he gently holds it. "I felt it. In the shower... I imagined your face as I came. But you... You waited until you lied in your bed, didn't you? I swear, I became rock hard when you started touching yourself. I was laying on the couch, in front of the TV. Alone. I heard you whisper my name."

My head turns, slightly, like a magnet. All I can do is watch him lift my fingers up to his face and sniff them. The muscles on his face relax as he closes his eyes and grazes his nose against my wrist. His touch is life, and death, and eternity.

I don't think. I turn around, and our lips collide in need.

My back hits the wall and makes it tremble as we kiss. I whip a gaze at the door. I'm sure Roman's secretary can see our shadows pressed against the glass no matter how thick it is.

"Don't worry about her," he whispers against my lips.

I throw my head up to give him access to my neck, and Roman doesn't miss a beat to lick and leave a wet trail all the way down to my collar bone. He presses my hand against my own breast, forcing me to grope it.

A moan escapes my lips. I inch away to look at his face—too enthusiastically. The back of my head bangs against the wall and I whimper in pain.

"The sounds you make," he mutters, then kisses my cheek, sucking in a deep, wet breath. He is exhaling into my ear as he lowers my hand, gliding our touch between our bodies. We go lower and lower until our fingers reach between my legs.

"My, Abby." He groans gutturally.

My nails dig into the back of his neck while Roman presses our fingers harder against my core above my soft dress. I can't form the words. My legs act on their own accord and part wider for him.

Letting out a shaky breath, Roman guides our hands to rub my center above the fabric. And when our eyes meet, the tension starts building in my gut.

My core is burning, the friction is sublime, and feeling Roman's breath on my face is—

A soft knock on the door makes us gasp.

I squeak, gazing at the shadow of a woman behind it.