I woke up the next morning to an empty bed. Once I’d wiped the film of morning grogginess from my eyes, I realized that I wasn’t in my own small, cozy bedroom, but Bryce’s. His room was huge, with white walls and high ceilings and an all-black four-point bed. The décor was spare—only a few leafy green plants and some black-and-white landscape photos to break up the space. It had been dark last night. Dark enough for this kind of indiscretion.

“Bryce?” I said.

There was no response. I was in nothing but one of Bryce’s oversized T-shirts, the hem stopping right in the middle of my thigh, almost like I belonged there, but I was alone. That much was clear. The bare floor was cool against my feet, and before I got out of bed I listened carefully for any sign that Bryce was still home.

But there was nothing. The apartment was still and quiet.

I got out of bed and entered the hallway. Once in the living room, a yellow piece of paper on the kitchen bar caught my eye. I picked it up and saw that it was a note written in neat, precise handwriting.

I’ll be away today. Busy with work. See you tomorrow at the office.

B

It was cold and terse, but I wrote the wording off as just how Bryce preferred to communicate. An empty feeling took hold of me. I knew that what Bryce and I did last night was likely just another one-off thing, the two of us letting the party and the dancing and the wine carry us away, and that I should just put it behind me.

But still, waking up to an empty apartment like this didn’t sit right with me.

I wasn’t hungry, so I made myself some coffee and sat on the balcony, watching the sun rise higher into the sky. I wondered what last night had meant. Would Bryce and I go back to keeping our arrangement professional after having given in to our passions not once, but twice? How could we go back to pretending like he and I weren’t ridiculously attracted to one another?

About the time I finished my coffee, my phone buzzed on the small table next to me. My heart leaped at the idea of it being Bryce. Instead, it was a text from Bess.

“What the hell is this about you being engaged????”

Oh shit, I thought.

My plan had been to lie to her along with everyone else, but I knew I had to tell someone. And Bess was the one person I knew who I could trust with a secret. Bryce probably would’ve killed me if he knew that I was letting someone in on the secret, but if I didn’t get it off my chest to someone, I was going to explode.

I held the phone in my hands for a long moment, trying to figure out what the hell to say.

“Let’s get lunch. Some major shit has gone down.”

The response came before I even had a chance to put the phone down.

“I’ll say. OK, let’s meet at Primo’s in an hour. Deal?”

“Deal.”

I put my phone down and finished my coffee before getting showered and ready to go. An hour later I was in the sunny dining room of Primo’s, a local lunch place with a thankfully expansive selection of white wine.

Bess was already there and seated at a table near the window, an expectant look on her face. On the table was a bottle of wine that she evidently didn’t want to wait to open.

“OK,” she said, pouring me a glass as soon as my butt hit the seat. “What the hell is going on?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could get out a word, Bess grabbed my hand and brought it close to her face, inspecting the engagement ring with a careful eye.

“Pretty nice rock,” she said. “About what I’d expect from a damn billionaire.”

I glanced around the busy dining room, noting that more than a few patrons were casting furtive glances in my direction. I couldn’t tell if I was being paranoid or if they were gossipmongers who’d already seen pictures from last night.

Speaking of pictures, Bess placed her phone on the table in front of me. On the screen was a shot of Bryce and me making our way through the gauntlet of paparazzi.

“Pretty freaking glamorous,” said Bess, taking her phone off the table. “And a pretty nice ring, if you ask me.” Then her expression turned serious. “How the hell did this happen?” she asked, her voice low. “You went from employee to about to get married to the freaking CEO over the course of a few days.”

Underneath the table I wrung my napkin with nervous anxiety.

“Listen,” I said. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“You know me,” she said. “I pride myself on my secret-keeping abilities.”

“OK,” I said. “Because this is the secret to end all secrets. And if it got out, both Bryce and I would be so screwed that I don’t even know what we’d do.”

Bess raised her eyebrows.

“Damn, no pressure,” she said. “Lay it on me.”

I took a deep breath and told her everything. As I spoke, I knew that I was possibly making a huge mistake, that I was breaking the trust I had insisted on when refusing to sign an NDA. But it was a risk I was willing to take to preserve my sanity, especially with the turn things had taken last night.

“Holy crap,” she said, her eyes as wide as saucers. “I mean, ‘holy crap’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. ‘Holy freaking shit’ is more like it.”

“And the worst part is that…I might actually, sort of, like the guy.”

“Well, you two went right to screwing after setting down the ground rule of specifically not doing that. Only natural that you’d get confused about things. But…” She trailed off.

“But?” I asked.

“This is Bryce freaking Carver,” she said. “I know you’re not much of a tabloids girl, but I am. And he’s been one of the top gossip magnets for the last few years. Until he fell off the radar, that is. I mean, I probably know more about his relationship with Felicity Hargrove than he does.”

“Speaking of Felicity Hargrove,” I said. “I met her at the ball. And she didn’t seem too thrilled about what was going on with me and Bryce.”

Bess chuckled and went through her phone again. She found a picture and passed the phone over.

“You mean you and your new BFF?” she asked.

I glanced down at the photo and saw, to my shock, that it was of Felicity and me. The two of us were on the balcony of the venue, in the middle of conversation. The headline read “FRENEMIES?” in big bold letters.

“Are you serious?” I asked. “How the hell did they get a picture of us?”

“What, you don’t think there are paparazzi posted with long-distance lenses outside of those places?”

“That’s disgusting,” I said, passing the phone back over to her.

“Sure, but that’s the world you live in now. Might as well get used to it.”

I took a sip of my wine, shaking my head.

“I feel like I’ve bitten off more than I can chew,” I said. “And please keep this a secret. If Walsh or Becca or anyone else found out…”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “What you need to worry about is not falling for this guy. I’m telling you, Chels—I know you’re not exactly all that experienced with guys, but let me give you some insight from the crap I’ve been through.” She leaned in, as if she was about to lay some unassailable truth of the universe onto me. “Men don’t change,” she said. “Believe me, I’ve been cheated on enough times to know that men will say anything to make you forgive them, only to go right back to the way they were as soon as they think they’ve smoothed things over.”

“But Bryce isn’t a cheater, right?” I asked.

“Maybe, who knows. But he is a total, unapologetic player. And players know exactly what to say to get women wrapped around their fingers, only to toss them aside when they’re bored or something shinier—or someone with bigger tits—comes strolling along.”

“So you’re thinking he might have just seduced me out of force of habit?”

She shrugged.

“Seduction is second nature to these guys. Chels, I just don’t want to see you get hurt. And while this thing you have going on is totally crazy, I can see why you’d do it. Just don’t get your heart hurt in the process.”

I sipped my wine, letting Bess’s words settle.

The two of us finished up our lunch, and I ended up spending the rest of the day back at the apartment going over my own work. Bryce never returned, only sending me a text telling me that he was down in Santa Cruz and not to expect him for dinner, and that he might even end up staying the night over there. I hated to admit it, but I found myself wondering where he was and whom he was with.

Bryce never came back, and the next morning at work I went to the office where I was greeted by congratulations from everyone who passed. Hours went by without a word from Bryce, when finally he messaged me a little before lunch to ask me to join him in his office.

I was relieved. Speaking with him would let me know where I stood. His secretary let me in, and just as he had when I’d first met him, Bryce stood behind his desk facing the city beyond his office windows.

“Long time, no see,” I said, stepping into the office and taking a seat in one of the chairs across from his desk.

“Busy with work,” he said. “I was lucky to have the time I did this weekend.”

I shifted in my seat, trying to smother the tinge of frustration I felt. I hated to admit it, but I was feeling used, like he’d just had his fun with me and wanted to get back to the original terms of our deal as quickly as possible.

But what was it I actually wanted?

“I brought you up here to let you know of a change in your working situation,” he said, turning around and taking a seat.

He was dressed in a dark gray suit, a deep red tie providing the perfect accent. As frustrating as he was, he still looked yummy as hell.

“What kind of change?”

“I mentioned that I think you’re good. Very good with people, with important people. I’d like you to work as something of a liaison between the executives and the tech sector of the company. This is something you’re interested in?”

There was something strange to his tone, something cold and distant.

“Sure,” I said. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

He leaned back in his seat and folded his hands on his lap.

“It means that you’ll be working here on the executive floor. I figure that this will give you an opportunity to learn how things are done here, as well as to keep the two of us working close. For appearances’ sake.”

“Right,” I said.

I wasn’t surprised that he clearly didn’t want to discuss what had happened Saturday night. That didn’t make it all any less uncomfortable.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Is this a promotion? Does HR know? This all feels very…business-like.”

He crinkled his brow, as if I’d said something totally bizarre.

“But that’s what this is,” he said. “Business. And you’re a business partner, the two of us working to achieve mutual goals. And let’s not pretend that what’s going on here is anything but that.”

The words were direct and cold and clinical. But I couldn’t show any emotion. To do so would mean that I was under the impression that there was something more to the sex and everything else that we’d shared.

“Now,” he said, “we’re meeting some clients for lunch in a half-hour. You ready to put on your game face and do this?”

I nodded.

“Sure,” I said, doing my best to banish all traces of weakness from my voice.

Because if there was anything I couldn’t be from here on out, it was weak.