ONE NIGHT WITH MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS

Pain was the first thing Hali Andrews registered. It was a sharp, rhythmic thudding behind her temples, the kind of hangover headache that promised a day of misery. She kept her eyes closed, unwilling to let the morning light assault her retinas just yet. She shifted, expecting the lumpy comfort of her old mattress in Brooklyn, but the sheets beneath her fingers felt wrong. They were too smooth. Too cool. Silk.

She frowned, her fingers curling into the fabric. The scent in the air was different, too. Her apartment usually smelled of stale coffee and the vanilla candle she burned to mask the scent of the city. This air smelled expensive. It was a crisp blend of cedar, cold sandalwood, and something uniquely masculine.

Hali reached out blindly toward where her nightstand should be, fumbling for her phone to check the time. Her hand did not find wood or plastic. Instead, her palm landed on something warm. Something solid.

It moved with the slow rise and fall of a breath.

Hali froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Her fingers registered the texture of skin, the firmness of muscle, and the coarse hair of a man's chest.

She snapped her eyes open.

The room was vast, bathed in the soft gray light of a Manhattan morning. But Hali did not look at the floor-to-ceiling windows or the modern art on the walls. Her gaze was locked on the man sleeping beside her.

His face was relaxed in sleep, the usual sharp lines of his jaw softened slightly, but there was no mistaking him. The dark hair, usually styled to perfection, was messy against the white pillowcase.

Ezra Gardner.

Her boss. The CEO of Gardner Holdings. The man who could fire her with a snap of his fingers.

The memories of the previous night crashed into her mind like a tidal wave. The charity gala. The endless trays of champagne she had consumed to numb the boredom. The elevator ride where the air had suddenly become too thin. The heat of his hand on her waist. The way the door to the penthouse suite had clicked shut, sealing her fate.

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded her veins. She stopped breathing. This was a catastrophe. This was the end of her career. If Irving found out...

Irving. She squeezed her eyes shut. She had called him three times last night. He had not answered. That was why she drank the champagne. That was why she was here.

She had to leave. Now. Before he woke up.

Hali moved with painstaking slowness, inching away from the warmth of his body. Her limbs felt heavy, uncooperative. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet sinking into a plush carpet that probably cost more than her student loans.

She looked around for her clothes. Her dress, a vintage piece she had altered herself to look like a designer gown, was lying in a heap near the door. It was ruined. The zipper was torn, the fabric ripped at the seam. A visceral memory of Ezra's hands tearing it off her flashed through her mind, making her face burn.

She could not wear that. She was naked, stranded in the lion's den, with no armor.

A sound from the other side of the room made her jump. The bathroom door clicked open.

Hali grabbed the silk sheet and pulled it up to her chin, scrambling backward until her back hit the headboard. She felt like a cornered animal.

Ezra walked out of the bathroom. He was awake. Alert. There was no sleep in his eyes, only a terrifying clarity. He wore a black towel low on his hips, water droplets clinging to his broad shoulders and tracking down the defined ridges of his abdomen. He moved with a stiff, controlled grace, the towel hanging low enough to obscure his upper legs completely, revealing nothing but muscle. His presence filled the room, sucking the oxygen out of the air.

He looked at her. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes sweeping over her clutching the sheet. He did not look embarrassed. He did not look regretful. He looked like he was in a boardroom meeting.

"Good morning, Hali." His voice was a low rumble, rough from sleep but steady.

Hali opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat, her voice trembling when she finally spoke. "Mr. Gardner. I... this was... I need to leave."

Ezra didn't respond immediately. He walked past the bed, his movement fluid yet careful, toward the massive walk-in closet. He disappeared for a moment and returned holding a garment bag and a box.

He placed them on the foot of the bed.

"Wear these," he said.

Hali stared at the logo on the box. Chanel. She looked back at him, confusion warring with her panic.

Ezra leaned against the dresser, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "Given the events of last night, and my position, we need to discuss the path forward."

Hali blinked. "What?"

"Marriage," Ezra said. The word hung in the air, heavy and absurd.

Hali let out a choked laugh. It was a hysterical sound. "Excuse me?"

Ezra's face remained impassive. "A scandal involving the CEO and a junior assistant would be detrimental to the stock price, especially with a vital, confidential brand acquisition currently in the sensitive negotiation phase. A sudden marriage, however, can be spun as a whirlwind romance. It stabilizes the board. It solves the PR crisis before it begins."

Hali stared at him. He was discussing their night together-a night where he had touched her in ways that made her burn just thinking about it-as if it were a line item on a quarterly report.