I stroll into my office, ignoring the whispers. It is nothing new. I go out, have a good time and it ends up on the front page. I don't care.

“Good morning, Mr. Hawke,” Mrs. Daniels greets me.

I smile. I love this woman. She ignores the gossip and always treats me the same. She knows me or maybe expects me to behave like a bachelor and never looks down at me when I get caught.

“Blake is in your office,” she tells me. “That boy never listens to me. One of these days I am going to lock that door and he won't be able to make himself at home.”

I smile, “Thank you for trying, Mrs. Daniels. I will remind him of his manners.”

She nods before slowly lowering her body into the chair behind her desk.

I stroll into the office to find Blake sprawled out on one of my brown leather couches. He has a bottle of water pressed to his head and another in his hand.

“Looks like you had a rough weekend,” I say, not surprised to see him begging for death on a Monday morning.

“I need one of these couches in my office. How come I don't have one?” he whines.

“Because you don't own the company. If you want one, go buy it yourself.”

He stays on the couch, his eyes closed, “You will not believe the phone calls I have been fielding already this morning. It gave me a headache.”

I laugh, “No, the heavy drinking, lots of sex and no sleep has left you with a headache.”

He moans, “Maybe, but the phone calls are what I don't like and that's what I am blaming.”

I sigh, already knowing what's coming, “Why the phone calls? Who and what are they bitching about?”

Blake slowly sits up, “A rep for the Larsens canceled our meeting. They apparently saw the picture. You offended them or some bullshit.”

I roll my eyes, “I don't care. I can fuck my way through the city and it is none of their concern. Tell them it can be a nice, polite purchase or it can be a hostile takeover. I will take them down. No one gets to dictate my life.”

“It isn't just the Larsens. Investors are bitching as well. They are convinced you have turned into some drug crazed sex maniac that is destroying the company,” Blake says with a heavy sigh.

“It's my company,” I shoot back.

He shrugs, “But they have stock and they put in money and all that B.S.. Don't make me explain it all. My head hurts,” he whines again.

I shake my head, this has been brewing for a while. It is coming to a head and I have a feeling it is going to blow up in my face if I don't address it head on.

“Schedule a meeting with the top shareholders. I will take care of this.”

Blake looks at me with one eye, the other squeezed closed as if the light hurts, “Really? What are you going to do, Dylan?”

“I'm going to set the record straight and then I am going to remind them I am a 30-year-old man who isn't required to report to them about my personal life.”

Blake pops open his other eye, “Dylan, I don't think that is a good idea. Your personal life is their business in a way. If they think you are spiraling out of control, they are going to get squirrely. They are going to pull their money out. I know it sucks, but man, you have to try and convince them you aren't a loose cannon. Telling them to shove it isn't going to help anything.”

“I am not going to tell them to shove it, but these old codgers need to realize the gossip rags blow up even the most innocent moments. They seriously can't believe everything they read about me. Are they that stupid?” I ask with incredulity.

“I don't know. I'll schedule the meeting, but we need to talk about what you are going to say. I'm on this ship, too. If you plan on sinking it, give me a minute to get my life boat ready,” he says, deadly serious.

I look at him. I can see he is truly concerned. Maybe I should be as well.

“The sooner you get that meeting scheduled, the better,” I say, flipping open my laptop.

Blake nods, “I'll let you know.”

I quickly pull up the Google news homepage, wanting to check the tech news, but freeze. A close-up picture of Alexa is at the top of the page. The story has been picked up by the national news syndicate. Every blogger from here to the farthest corners of the world are trying to find out her identity. It's only a matter of time.

I click one of the images to read the article it accompanies. Of course, the piece is filled with anonymous sources that are close to me and the mystery woman. I smile. I always find it amusing to read about my antics. The inside sources are bullshit as well. I know no one has or will betray me. I pay them all too well. I know the stories aren't true, but apparently, the rest of the world, including my investors, believe it all.

So far, Alexa's identity is still a mystery. I hope it stays that way. She will never forgive me if the press finds out who she is.

The day stretches on. I am lucky and have Mrs. Daniels, who is an absolute mama bear. She refuses to send any calls to my office unless the person has legitimate business. I have a feeling she had heard the gossip that had spread like wildfire through the office. She heard it and admonished anyone who dared breathe a bad word about me.

“Mr. Hawke,” her voice cuts into the room I have been essentially hiding in all day.

“Yes, Mrs. Daniels?”

“Blake is on line one. He says you aren't answering your cell phone. According to him, it is an emergency. Do you want me to put him through?”

I sigh, not really, but he probably wants to tell me about the meeting, “Go ahead.”

I pick up the phone, “What?”

“It's out,” he says.

“What's out?” I ask.

He clears his throat, “Her name.”

“Oh shit,” I mumble. “When?”

“About 30 minutes ago. I have already called the security team. They will be picking her up at her office.”

I can't say anything. I know I have put her in a horrible position. Her life is going to be shredded over the next week. Every skeleton she has in her closet is going to be dragged into the light. Every person she has ever spoken to, gone to school with or worked with is going to jump at the chance to get their 15 minutes of fame, riding on her back.

“Fuck!” I curse.

“Have Daniel get the car, not the SUV. I don't want anyone putting two and two together.”

“Already done. He's in the garage waiting for you. Security has the garage on lock down,” he says.

I shake my head in frustration. I want to beat the shit out of that woman for posting the photo. Slow news days were not good for a celebrity or anyone who did something dumb enough to get the attention of the media. They could take the smallest tidbit of information and blow it up into a story equal to the second coming of Christ.

“Does she know?” I ask softly, afraid to hear the answer.

Blake was quiet for a moment, “Not the dirty details, but I gave her the cliff notes version.”

“Fuck!” I shout into the empty room. “I'm on my way.”

I grab my phone out of the desk drawer I had stashed it in, turn it on and wait. I don't bother listening to the voicemail. This phone is my private line. Few people have it, but the last time I went through this, it wasn't long before the media got the number.

I grab my briefcase and head for the door, using my thumb to find her name in my directory before quickly pushing call.

“Hello,” she answers in a defeated voice.

“I'm sorry,” I blurt, unable to think of anything smooth or charming to say.

She sighs, “Your guy is here. Says he is here to take me to a house? What the hell is that about?”

I feel as if I have been punched in the gut. The woman has no idea of the hell I have unwittingly unleashed on her.

“Alexa, please, do as he says. Go with him. I'll meet you there and explain everything,” I tell her.

“Uh, I'm working. I have an actual job, Dylan.”

“Alexa, trust me, you want to get out of there now, before this thing makes it impossible for you to leave,” I say, trying my best not to scream at her to get her ass in the car.

“Hold on,” she says.

I wait. I can hear a man's voice, her arguing and then a door slam.

“You still there?” she asks.

“Yes, I'm here.”

“Uh, I was just told to go home and not come back until I fix this,” she says.

I can hear the shock in her voice.

“I'm sorry,” I repeat. “Go, I'll see you in a few,” I say, before disconnecting.

I need to make some calls. There is no way I will let Alexa pay the price for my mistake. I knew better, but she is like a drug to me. The most delicious narcotic that I am fucking addicted to. She hexed me or something. I can't say her name or think about her without a visceral reaction. Even now my cock jumps at the thought of seeing her, smelling her and hopefully, tasting her.