“Mr. Anders asks that you wait here. He’ll be with you shortly,” says Tina, Heath’s new personal assistant. Apparently, she’s been doing great work, thanks to her thirty-year experience in corporate administration.

“Does he know who's looking for him?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yes, Mr. Anders is aware, Ma’am,” she says patiently, like she's a kindly old teacher trying to explain the class rules to a kindergartner.

“I’m his wife,” I say indignantly. There's nothing I hate more than pulling out the do-you-know-who-I-am card, but this is ridiculous. It's not like I’m trying to get a backstage pass to a concert; I just want to see my husband.

Well… he's not legally my husband, but… I don't know; we're both grown-ups and we even have a three-year old toddler together, so it just feels strange to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend. I feel like we need a more serious term for each other. At the same time, something about the word “partner” makes me think about stuffy old men in legal firms.

I don't even know who started it first, but one day Heath and I simply began referring to each other as husband and wife. And then, one day, we decided to get rings together—plain gold bands to signify our promise to each other.

That’s all it is, by the way: a promise. We’ll both do our best to treat each other with kindness and love. That’s all we need. That’s all we want.

What we don’t want is another contract dictating what our relationship is about. We’ll define it ourselves, thank you very much.

I love the fact that we don’t need a public celebration to bind ourselves to each other. So much of our lives is open to public consumption, so why not keep this one thing to ourselves?

I like the feeling of sharing something private, hiding a sexy secret. It feels naughty and just a little dirty. Sometimes, I feel like we’re going undercover, pretending to be a married couple.

Right now, though, I need Heath’s new personal assistant to learn who I am and stop blocking my path.

“Yes, Mrs. Anders, I know who you are. But Mr. Anders specifically told me to ask you to wait here,” she says.

“Why? Is he having a meeting?” I ask.

“As far as I know, Mr. Anders is currently on his own,” she says with a calm, polite smile.

“I’m sorry, Tina, but I have to see him now,” I say, more out of exasperation than actual urgency. I march past her. I can see Heath’s office door just a few steps away.

I’m going to make him regret telling me to wait outside. He’s going to pay. Oh, he’s so going to regret this.

I’ll give him a piece of my mind, go home, and dump a bunch of Lego bricks all over the apartment so he’ll step on them when he gets home. Or maybe I’ll put some Sweet’n Low in his coffee instead of his usual raw sugar.

The phone on Tina’s desk rings, and she stops in her tracks, which allows me to reach the door without any obstruction. I reach for the door handle. Almost there.

“Mrs. Anders, Mr. Anders says you may come in now,” Tina says with a smile.

Damn it.

“Thank you,” I mumble, annoyed that my entrance won’t be the dramatic act of rebellion that I wanted it to be.

I swing the door open and my jaw drops.

There’s the father of my child, sitting at his big, stately desk, wearing his crisp, expensive suit, staring at me with wickedness in his blue eyes.

But that’s just the usual sight.

Today, the shades have been drawn over the glass wall behind his desk, and the warm overhead lights have been turned on, making this office a warm, cozy space. A refuge from the chaos of the world outside. A sanctuary. A secret hideaway.

“I hear you think my office feels like a jazz lounge,” Heath says with a mysterious smirk. He grabs some kind of a remote control and presses a button. Smooth jazz floods the room—I honestly can’t call it an “office” anymore when it looks like this. Heath watches me intently, obviously amused by my confusion. “Take a seat, Sarah. Don’t forget to close the door. I don’t think you want anyone to overhear our… conversation,” he says, cocking an eyebrow.

Sarah? Who is Sarah? And why should I be worried about people hearing us talk about picking up our kid from daycare?

“What are you talking about, Heath?”

“Shhh…” Heath presses a finger to his lips. “Call me Mr. Jones in the office.”

I knit my brows and stare at him. I open my mouth to say something, but… what do I even say? This is bizarre.

I close the door and walk across the room to sit across the big desk from Heath.

I stare at his cryptic facial expression for several confused seconds, but then I recognize the names from my first manuscript—the one Heath read on this very computer.

That story went through a lot of editing before it was finally published. I had to re-write the beginning because Jeff had somehow gotten ahold of my document and sent the first chapter to a few tabloids. I guess he wasn’t just taking my pictures but also going through my files.

He’s been a creepy asshole to me the whole time. Still, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. After I made that statement and stripped all credibility from his accusations, nobody wanted to hire him. Which employer would take the risk of having him suddenly accuse them of sexual crimes for no reason?

It wasn’t all his fault, though. He was creepy, but he wasn’t evil. It took Melanie, Heath’s ex-wife, a few months to persuade Jeff to use all the information he’d gathered as a weapon against Heath and me. They’d become close friends after all the phone calls from Melanie that Jeff had fielded for Heath.

But maybe, I should thank them both, because I actually prefer the new version of the book better than the original one. The book is a big global hit that has been translated into twelve languages, and I’m sure it owes some of its success to its new, improved first chapter.

Back when all this success was just a dream, I imagined myself becoming a famous author. But what I really wanted was not the fame; just the recognition that I’m good at what I do.

So when my publisher suggested that I use my real name, I declined and said I wanted to use a pen name instead because I wanted people to judge the book on its own merit. I don’t want them to pick it up just because I’m the author.

So I've been going incognito.

I don’t know how well that has worked, though, because there’s speculation on some online forums about the real identity of a certain New York Times best-selling author named Olivia Pearson.

She’s never attended any book signings or romance conferences, so nobody knows what she looks like, aside from her publisher. Oh, and me. I know who she is—very, very well—and she enjoys her mysterious image.

My name has already been mentioned on the Internet as one of the possible authors behind the pen name Olivia Pearson. I’m not going to say anything, though. They can think what they want.

Sure, I won’t see “Katherine York” printed on the cover of a novel any time soon, but I’m okay with that.

The whole reason I wanted to become a famous author in the first place was so my dad would find me. And he did, not long after I’d made that surprise statement at the press conference while heavily pregnant.

I don’t know why I was looking for my dad anyway. He's always been selfish and irresponsible.

I guess when I was growing up, he was the only adult who’d pay attention to me, even if he didn’t do it all the time. It took me finding Heath, who’s always showering both me and our son with plenty of love, for me to realize what a douche my dad has been.

My dad was doing great when I met him. His hair had thinned out and his belly had rounded out, but he didn't have a care in the world. Yet he hadn’t even made any effort to reach out to me before my sudden fame.

I hate to think this of my own father, but he probably has ulterior motives. Now we’re friendly, but I keep my distance. It’s not that hard because he lives in Florida with his new girlfriend of five months.

And that’s why I’m glad we named our son after Heath’s dad, and not mine.

“Heath, can you pick Dave up after work this afternoon? I need to read through my entire manuscript again and meet with my editor to discuss it after that,” I say. “I already asked your mom and dad, but they’re busy today.”

Heath groans as he throws his head back.

“What?” I ask.

Sometimes, Heath doesn’t like it when I treat his parents like free babysitters, although they love doing it. I’m so glad the experimental drug has worked, and now David can bond with his grandson like he's always wanted.

The two of them share something special. I would’ve hated for either one of them to miss out on that experience.

“Come on. I have the music on, the lights dimmed, and the wine poured,” Heath says, looking at me with a mixture of frustration and adoration in his blue eyes. “Got the hint yet, kitten?”

“Heath, I really have to run,” I protest. “Can we do this some other time?”

Heath heaves a deep breath and slowly shakes his head. “When I fell for the hard-working girl with big dreams, I should’ve known she’d be prone to workaholism.”

I scrunch up my nose and narrow my eyes at him. “Workaholism? Is that a real word?”

“No idea,” Heath shrugs. “You’re the writer here.”

“So?” I give him a hopeful look and put my palms together. “Pick Dave up for me?”

“You work too much,” Heath says.

“It’s just because I'm so close to the deadline.”

“There’s always another deadline, kitten. Slow down a little.” Heath smiles. “I know what it feels to be doing well and wanting to slam your foot on the gas. But you can’t go on like this. You’ll burn yourself out.” He pauses and meets my gaze. “And then your books will suffer.”

Damn it. He knows to hit me where it hurts.

“Also, I miss you. You’re always either working or taking care of Dave,” Heath says softly.

Seriously, where did he learn how to talk like that?

Tears sting my eyes. Ever since I had Dave, I’ve been quick to cry, especially when it comes to my family. I know what it feels like to really have a family now, and I can’t go back to the way things were.

And to think I was going to just walk away from Heath and Dave. I shudder to think about how different life would have been if we had stuck to the contract.

“Sometimes, it’s okay to take it easy. It’s okay for things to not be perfect,” Heath says. “Just because you can accomplish more by spending more time on something doesn’t mean that’s the best use of your time.

“A bunch of clients pulled out their investments after the news about us broke out, and it didn’t matter. I was actually pretty happy about that, because I’d been thinking about cutting back on my work hours anyway. I wanted to spend all my time at home.”

“Yeah, because we just had Dave at the time.” My lips curve into a big smile at the memory of those first few months.

We were both so clueless, so scared we were going to do something wrong. This was our baby—literally—and we didn’t want to screw him up.

Luckily, so far Dave has been a perfectly happy, healthy little boy. He has my blond hair and my love of stories; his father’s blue eyes and confidence; and our determination.

I’ve just introduced a sticker reward chart to Dave. The way it works is, he gets a star sticker on a chart we’ve stuck on the fridge for every time he does something good, like picking up his toys or putting on his own clothes. When he collects ten stars, he gets a new book.

But I didn’t anticipate him being this ambitious.

I realized we were in trouble one morning, not long after we started doing the reward chart. As soon as he sat up in bed, he said, “Mommy, can I get an extra star if I brush my own teeth?” So I taught him how to do that himself that day.

And then, the next day, he asked, “Mommy, can I get an extra star if I go potty on my own?” So I taught him that, too.

So far, this sounds like a great way to teach him the value of delayed gratification, right?

Well, soon, like any corrupt crook, he began to offer me gifts to bribe me into giving him more stars. He’s a smooth negotiator like his dad, too. He knows my weaknesses.

He’s actually offered to pose for pictures and create drawings by request—all for those star stickers. It's getting out of hand, mostly because I can’t say “no” to those chicken-scratch drawings.

I know, I’m pathetic. Dave’s book collection is steadily overtaking his bedroom and may start invading other rooms in the apartment like the Lego bricks have. We’ll probably need a dedicated library by next year.

“So you’ll stay?” Heath asks with a small, victorious smile playing on his lips. He knows he’s got me.

I let out a defeated sigh. “Yeah.”

“You know, if you feel like you have too much on your plate, I know where you can cut back.” Heath pauses dramatically. “Just stop talking to Vera.”

“You know I can’t do that,” I say, looking down at my phone to type a message to my editor, asking her to push our meeting back by an hour. “Without my help, that house will fall apart. Bills won’t get paid, perishables won’t get replaced, and it’ll turn into a derelict hut in no time.”

Heath nods. “I can see them, Vera and her son, putting a metal tub in the backyard and using it as both a rainwater tank and a bathtub.”

I burst out laughing. “Yeah. So you see, I can’t just leave them alone,” I say, putting my phone back in my shoulder bag.

“Maybe they’ll learn to manage on their own if you stop helping them out,” Heath says.

“Yeah, I know that sounds like a reasonable solution and everything, but I’d rather wait until Bruce turns eighteen and moves out. I feel bad enough for him as it is. Vera can be… unpleasant.”

“Okay. You decide what to do,” Heath says. “You’re a big girl.”

“Exactly.” I smile.

“So…” Heath gets up from his chair.

I recognize that look on his face as he stalks toward me. It’s the same one he had when I found him reading my manuscript I’d accidentally left behind. It’s hard to believe how much trouble that caused—and how much that moment changed my life.

Standing behind me, he reaches down and cups my breasts with his hands. His lips land on the back of my neck, and I let out a small moan. I’m glad for the jazz in the background; it should help cover any noises we’ll make.

I reach my hand behind me and hook it around Heath’s neck. His skin pulses under my palm. My skin throbs under his lips.

His hand pulls the hem of my skirt up and his fingers eagerly search for my wetness. He finds it, and he drives me to ecstasy.

By the time Heath lifts me up onto his desk and positions himself between my legs, I’m panting and writhing, begging for him to fill me up without any words.

And then, he’s inside me.

This is definitely worth pushing that meeting back.

Unlike Heath, I often work from home, which makes it harder for me to separate my work from my personal life. But if he can manage a multi-billion-dollar company and still have some time for me, I should be able to do the same for him.

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve a man like Heath, but he’s right. Our time is limited, and we need to spend it with family.

I already have everything I’ve ever wanted—a career as a romance author, and a beautiful family. Now there’s nothing left to do but to enjoy it all.

As Heath pumps into me, I wrap my legs around him. My heels are pressed against his ass, pulling him deeper into me. My fingernails drag down his back, and my teeth are on his shoulder.

As we explode together, everything in my world quiets down for a moment, and all that’s left is gratitude. I can’t express just how much joy life brings me. And to think it all started when my boss read my smutty writing.

“I love you,” he says as he leans his hot, sweaty body down and kisses me.

“Love you too,” I respond, just like I always do, every single day.

I’m happy I accepted Heath’s offer four years ago. Even though it should’ve been wrong, it’s turned out to be the right decision.

I may have lost my own challenge to not fall for Heath, but I’ve won everything else because of it. I have no regrets.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed Kat and Heath’s story.

Want more?

. You’ll be the first one to know about Nikki’s new novels, which are always released at $0.99.

As a member of the VIP List, you’ll also gain access to exclusive bonus content, freebies, and giveaways.

* * *

I’ve included some free bonus content in the hopes that you’ll check out the rest of my catalog. Just flip the page to start reading! :)

xx,

Nikki