“Well, this is a surprise.”

His own words sounded foreign to him, resonating strangely in the empty office. Layla’s expression was torn between indecision and something else he couldn’t identify. She sank into the office chair.

“Yeah. You’re telling me.” She gnawed on her thumbnail, worried gaze studying something across the room. “I had no idea.”

“Me, neither.” He cleared his throat, stepping forward tentatively. Moving deeper into her space was dangerous. He wasn’t sure if he could trust himself, not after wanting her so desperately all yesterday and this morning.

Her appearance in the board room had felt like the result of wanting her too hard, as if he’d thought her into existence but at the worst possible moment. After their incredible night of phone sex last night, he’d woken up with a hard-on and a rapidly unfolding plan for what they’d do that night. Dinner plans were in the works.

But now…

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, clenching his jaw. “What happened between us should stay there. Between us.”

“Well, obviously.” Layla huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m not so excited about walking straight into the biggest HR shit show of my entire career.”

“It won’t be a shit show. I promise.” He came up to her desk, his gaze traveling over as much of her as he could see. The arc of her neck. The creamy skin he’d caressed so many times the other night, was dying to caress again. He dragged a finger along the edge of her desk, thoughts roiling in his head. “I won’t tell anyone what happened. And I assume it…won’t happen again.”

The words barely left his mouth. It seemed sacrilege to suggest, but how could it ever continue? The stakes were too high. Usually when Zahir had his trysts, he went full incognito. He’d thought that picking up a foreign woman was a safe bet—not that she’d be Marian’s best friend and come waltzing into the office two days later for a position with his company.

Besides, if word got out that Zahir’s lifestyle included picking up women at clubs and having as much sex as he did, his father would be furious. And the board members—all notoriously staunch conservatives—would lose their minds. Especially when it concerned the dutiful eldest son. He could already taste the backlash such an admission might inspire, and the mere thought made his stomach twist.

“Yeah. You got that right.” Layla crossed her arms, shaking her head. But her gaze seemed to drift…maybe she was thinking about all the dirty things he’d whispered to her the night before. Or remembering the way she’d moaned into the phone as she came over and over again, just for him. A shudder traveled up his spine, chased by goosebumps. Why couldn’t you be anybody else?

Her chest flushed, and the color crept into her neck. He palmed the smooth surface of her desk, desperate to say more, to take the conversation back to exactly where it shouldn’t go. His office was next door to hers. Concentration might become impossible. Knowing that girlish squeals and trembling, fragrant orgasms lay just beyond the wall—if only they could find a way to do it in secret.

No. It can’t continue. He needed to play that on repeat in his head.

“I want to help in any way I possibly can,” he said, measuring his words. “Don’t be afraid to come to me with questions or…anything.” Anything except sex or romance.

“Who will I report to?”

He paused. “Me.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Why do I feel like I’m in some horrible rom-com movie right now?”

Zahir shoved his hands back in his pockets, finding himself desperate to get closer to her. He needed to exit, immediately. “I’ll let you get settled in. Let me know if you need anything.”

He left quickly, a dull headache sprouting. Would this be how life was from now on? Headaches because the most erotic and satisfying sexual encounters of his life came from the woman just out of his reach in his own building?

Now that their relationship had been unexpectedly thrust into quicksand, he needed to re-lay the foundation. Build up a formal, colleague-based trust. One that had nothing to do with the fact that his fingers, tongue, and dick had been buried inside of her within the past forty-eight hours.

He clenched his fists as he paced his office. Office fraternization was one thing. But if it got out that they’d been sleeping together before the job, there would be no limit to the blowback.

He’d start slow. He’d make pointed, platonic gestures.

And he’d do his best to avoid looking at her, thinking about her, or remembering anything about the magical two nights they’d shared. Because if he allowed himself to indulge in those memories, then he didn’t have a shot in hell at keeping things business-only.

* * *

By the end of their first week as colleagues, Zahir couldn’t label it a failure, but neither could he call it a success. It just was. A stilted, awkward, functional-pretenses charade at getting into a work groove. They came into contact far too often, and sometimes he wondered if some evil puppeteer was orchestrating their sudden encounters in the hallway or crossed lines on the phone. They even seemed to leave the office at the same time, despite Zahir trying to leave early or late to miss her.

The fact was he couldn’t stay out of her way, even when he tried. And every night back at his penthouse, his fingers twitched with thoughts of sending another text, just to see where it might lead.

By the end of week two, he felt consumed with thoughts of Layla. In some ways, it grew easier: they had a certain kind of rapport, at least, and he could stop seeing tantalizing flashes of their time together when his mind wandered. They’d elbowed their way into a somewhat-normal conversational pattern, even bordered on joking around at times.

But he was dying for more of her, and that desire consumed him. Their short yet entertaining interactions begged for a deeper exploration. Even if they’d never met before her interview, he’d be entranced by her.

On Friday evening, a light rap sounded on his door. It was her—he knew because she had a delicate way of breaking his solitude, but also because the hairs of his arm stood on end. The unmistakable sign that Layla was nearby.

“Hey boss.” She strolled into his office, holding folders in her hand. No doubt the drafts of the newest policies she’d been working on. “I have the information you requested.”

He hated how she always reminded him of their professional standing at work, because it was the one thing he was desperate to forget. “Excellent. Any issues?”

He took the folders from her outstretched hand, sneaking a glance at her outfit for the day. A black blouse with a light gray skirt. Smart and simple, that was her style. But the roundness of her breasts and the curve of her hips made every smart and simple style too tempting to bear.

“None at all. I think I’m getting the hang of how things work around here. I’ve even mastered the email client.”

“That deserves a celebration.” He grinned up at her, a suggestion to grab drinks heavy on his tongue. But he stilled himself before he added it on. It would only reek of desperation.

“I hardly think so. Unless your bar is actually that low.” She smirked.

He smiled. Sometimes, he could feel that energy pulsing between them. The energy that had been there from the second they locked eyes at Echo.

“Some employees require adjusting the bar,” he replied.

She feigned offense. “I see where you’re heading with that comment.”

He laughed. “Isn’t that part of the cultural sensitivity training you’re developing?” He pressed his tongue into his cheek, loving the banter. He didn’t joke with anyone else like this at work. Not even his brothers. “I’m just recognizing part of your American heritage.”

Layla narrowed her eyes, but a laugh escaped her. “You jerk.”

He shuffled papers on his desk, fighting a grin. Triumph pulsed through him; this was the type of interaction he wanted to cultivate more of. Because it seemed the only way he could get near her, to take her in.

“Any plans for the weekend?” He tried to sound offhand, even peered inside a desk drawer so he might seem non-committal.

“Oh, nothing major. Just my best friend’s wedding…”

Her words slithered through him, and he sat up straight, dragging his gaze to meet hers. “That’s right.”

She cackled. “You forgot!”

“I didn’t forget,” he protested. I was simply too caught up in trying to insert myself in your weekend path somehow. But this was even better. He’d at least be near her. “I was just seeing if you remembered.”

“Oh sure.” She cocked a grin, strutting out of his office. “See you tomorrow, boss.”

His gaze riveted on the sway of her hips as he left his office, his cock twitching in his pants. Two weeks in and this set-up was torture, pressure building every second. How would he last a year? Some pressure had to be let out or he’d explode.

Maybe the wedding would be the perfect place to let off a little pressure.