The intercom buzzes at 7 AM sharp. There's a mountain of paperwork waiting for me at the front desk. I spend the morning finishing it and dealing with Stanford administration.

I arrive at Odyssey at exactly 1 PM, just as Nick requested. Jasmine helps me set up my desk and get familiar with the company software.

The office empties around five-thirty, but I stay, lost in my work.

At six, an instant message pops up on my computer screen.

Phoenix Marlowe: Miss Wilder, please come to my office at your earliest convenience. I need to speak with you.

I bite my lip. Does he have to be so formal?

We're colleagues. That's it. I can do that.

I power down my computer, collect my things, and knock on the door.

"Come in," he answers.

I do. He's sitting behind his desk, all his attention on his computer screen. His office is huge. There's a couch, a wet bar, and an amazing view of the buildings on the other side of Broadway.

His focus shifts to me. "How was it?"

"Amazing." I clear my throat and try something a little more professional. "I expect it will take me a few days to get familiar with everything."

"Interns are allowed to be excited."

"I'm aware that I'm an intern, Nick."

"Please address me by my last name while we're at work." He shifts out of his seat, all business. "We need to discuss your living arrangements."

"I'm pretty sure that where I live is none of your business, Mr. Marlowe."

"You can't stay with Blake Sterling. I won't punish you for your sister's engagement, but it doesn't look right, an employee staying with the CEO of a competing company."

"I don't have anywhere else to stay. Do you have any idea how much it costs to rent a place in the city?" I fold my arms over my chest. "No, I suppose you're too rich to care about little trifles like rent."

"I'm aware of the market."

"Own enough buildings that it matters to you?"

"Don't insult my wealth. The money doesn't matter to me."

"Money never matters to people who have it." Go to hell for telling me what to do.

I take a deep breath. This is an important opportunity. I'm not throwing it away, even if it kills me that he's this calm and collected.

I press my palms against my skirt. "I can't accept a salary without losing my school credit. The two-thousand-dollar-a-month stipend is more than generous."

He scribbles something on a memo pad and hands it to me.

It's an address.

"A leasing company," he says. "We offer employees discounted apartments."

Nick rises to his feet. He looks even taller and grander standing in his sleek, modern office.

"For you, I'll pay the extra." He stares at me.

"You're paying for my apartment?"

"The company is. It will be yours through June." His voice is stern but his expression is protective.

Does Nick really care about my well-being? This can't be cheap.

But then he's a billionaire. It's all relative.

I stare back at him. It doesn't help. He's unreadable.

"Is that legal?" I ask.

"Yes. I can refer you to the company lawyer—"

"No, I trust you. About work." And about sex. But that isn't happening. I need to stop thinking about it.

"I'll take you to sign the papers tomorrow."

Did that night mean anything to you? Even a little bit?

I swallow hard. As much as I love my sister, I hate feeling like a third wheel crashing at her fiancé's place.

I've always wanted my own apartment.

I make eye contact with Nick. "Fine. But I can't go tomorrow. My sister gets back from St. Barts tomorrow."

"Lucky her."

"Yes, she's very lucky and very happy and very in love. But, really, Blake is the one who is lucky to have her, because she's—"

"Caring, sweet, and idealistic?"

His face is smug, like he's satisfied with his memory.

"Yes." I fold my arms. How can he remember such a specific detail and still act like we're strangers?

Nick moves out from behind his desk. He grabs his coat from the rack and slides it around his shoulders. "We'll go now."

* * *

We go straight to the apartment building.

The elevator ride is unbearable. His hand skims my lower back. It's enough to send heat racing through my body.

Nick is ten inches away. Close enough to touch. Close enough to rip off every one of my four layers, press me up against the elevator, and bury himself deep inside me.

He's wearing that same fucking cologne.

My thoughts do nothing to straighten once we're inside the apartment. I try to focus on taking in the small yet elegant place.

The high-tech, stainless steel kitchen serves as a hallway. Hardwood floors. Just enough room for a desk, a TV, a bed, and a yoga corner.

He could press me against the wall. He could peel off my coat and unbutton my blouse and tease me until I'm panting.

We're alone.

No one has to know.

I swallow hard. I'm the one with everything to lose. I can't fuck this up.

There are low clouds in the sky. A storm on the way. But nothing is stopping me from going out on that balcony.

I unlock the glass door. Frigid air nips at my nose and chin.

I button my coat and shove my hands into my pockets as I step outside.

It's slick. There's a small puddle a few feet from the built-in drain. Leftover from the New Year’s Day snow. Or as simple as a drunk upstairs neighbor spilling his cocktail.

I hold onto the railing to peer over the edge. Ten stories is still plenty high. In one direction, the river is dark and choppy. In the other, the steel and glass reflect the grey sky.

Nick steps onto the balcony. His hands go to my waist and he holds tightly. "Careful."

"Is it bad for your liability insurance if an intern falls to her death?"

"Lizzy, you—" He stops himself. "I would be very unhappy if something happened to you."

I release the railing, shifting my waist so I'm pressed against him. "Why?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Actually, I don't." I turn to face him. "And I don't appreciate you pretending like that night meant something to you."

"It did."

I play with the button of my coat. "Should I strip right here to remind you how it went?"

"You'll freeze to death."

"Probably worse for your liability insurance if an intern freezes to death naked on the balcony while the CEO watches."

He frowns, not at all amused. "Will it make you feel better proving that I want you?"

"Yes."

"Then do it." He stares at me, daring me.

Okay. I can do that. I unbutton my coat and slide if off my shoulders. The cold air nips at my forearms. My blouse does nothing to keep me warm. There's no way I'm undressing here.

Nick's eyes are fixed on me. "Come here." He slides his arms around my waist, pulling my body against his.

Instantly, I'm warm. I'm safe. I'm whole.

It was one night. I shouldn't want him this much. Shouldn't feel like we're old lovers.

Nick pulls me inside. He grabs my coat from the balcony and slings it around my shoulders.

His touch is gentle, caring.

He leans in to whisper, "It won't help things, baiting me. You aren't going to get me to break."

"To break what?"

"I have rules about this. I don't sleep with people who work under me." His voice fills with regret. "You're a bright girl with a great future ahead of you. I'm not letting you give that up because you have a crush on me."

"It's not a crush." My temper surges. Half of me hates him for assuming he knows what's best for me. The other half is desperate for the intimacy we shared once upon a time.

Behind us, the wind howls. The balcony door pounds against the frame. Nick's expression is intense and he's staring right at me.

"You're not going to forgive yourself if you sacrifice this opportunity." He releases his grip on my waist and goes to shut and lock the balcony door. "And I'm not going to forgive myself if you give up your career for me. I don't do relationships. You really want to throw away your future to fuck me again?"

I turn to face him. There's nothing but grey sky and steel buildings behind him. It's so fucking fitting.

"What if I did?" I ask.

"That's not the girl I met last September. Or the girl I met yesterday."

"Maybe you don't know anything about me."

"Do you really believe that?" His eyes bore into me.

He is trying to protect me. But from what? He owns the company. He can make whatever rules he wants.

He can fuck me and work with me.

"It's your company," I say. "Can't you change the rules?"

"Yes, but I won't."

"Why?"

"I stay in control of my life."

He's still looking at me like he's fixed on protecting me. It's sweet... but annoying. I take care of myself. I don't need his help.

Even if I want him tearing off my clothes.

Dammit, working with him is going to be impossible.

He steps closer. "There were two dozen excellent bots in your portfolio. They were smart, adaptable. You must have spent months trying to figure out that Go AI."

"It's terrible."

"Go is considered un-crackable. I've seen worse attempts from programmers with fifteen years of experience." He holds my gaze. "You love artificial intelligence, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Me too. The last five years of my life have been about this project. You won't find a better place to learn. And you won't be satisfied interning somewhere else. You'll be a code monkey."

"Monkeys are cute. You should see the monkey keychain on my purple Kipling bag. It's adorable." I fold my arms. He's right. Most internships are grunt work. Most advanced AI projects are only accessible to PhDs. This is the best chance I'll ever get to learn about programming artificial intelligence.

"Pretend that night never happened. Archive it away in your memory."

Anger rises in my gut, pushing away my logic. I stare back at him. "Where? In my spank bank?"

"If you'd like."

I examine his expression for any sign of emotion. Nothing. "Is that what you did?" I see red. "Do you think about that night, about me, when you fuck yourself?"

His expression cracks. Finally. His lips turn down. His eyes fill with frustration. He's upset.

I should feel victorious, but I don't.

"I don't care about many people, Lizzy. That night meant a lot to me."

I swallow hard. "Then why are you treating me like this?"

"What matters more to you—proving that I want you or learning about AI?" he asks.

"Why do I have to choose?"

"You win. I want you. I want you in my bed, under my control, screaming my name as you come." He stares at me. "Do you feel better?"

"No."

His voice gets stern. "I want you working at Odyssey, but I will fire you if you push me."

I swallow hard. "Do you think about that night?"

"Yes."

"When you fuck yourself?"

"Often."

His voice is dripping with confidence. He thinks of me often? Suddenly, this coat is far too heavy. I'm burning up.

He thinks about me when he fucks himself.

How am I supposed to resist him, knowing that?

His voice softens. "Mostly, I think about our conversation." He crosses towards the door, motioning for me to follow. "As far as I'm concerned, I met a woman named Marie and never saw her again. Do you understand me?"

"I'm not a child. Don't patronize me." I understand. I've got to pretend that we never shared anything. It may as well have been a different guy that night.

Only, the Nick in front of me—the hurt in his eyes, the strength in his posture, the determination in his voice—is exactly the guy I met last year.

It's not like I work with him directly. I can avoid Nick at the office enough to pretend.

I take one more look at the apartment. That white winter light is beautiful, especially bouncing off the shiny hardwood floor. It will be my space. All mine.

"Thank you for the apartment," I say. "It's beautiful."

"It's not from me. It's a company apartment."

"Only technically."

He doesn't correct me. Once again, winning doesn't make me feel better.

I only feel empty.

Nick wants me.

He thinks about me when he fucks himself.

He's paying for my apartment.

He's fixed on protecting me.

But I can't have him.

The facts don't add up. There's something missing, something he's not telling me.

Judging from the stern expression in his eyes, he's not going to explain. I have to accept things.

Nick pulls the door open for me. "I'll have someone from my team pack up your stuff at Stanford. It may take a few weeks to clear it with the school."

"I have enough for a few weeks."

We make our way to the elevator. Then to the street. To the subway station.

Nick nods goodbye. "Your apartment should be ready by the end of next week. If there's anything specific you need—" He pulls a business card from his pocket. "My personal number."

I stare at the business card, confused.

This doesn't make sense. If we're keeping things professional, what do I need with his personal number?

He thinks about me when he fucks himself.

I'm never going to concentrate on anything else again.