"Thinking about round two?"
Emily Dawson was half-asleep, clinging to the warm body beneath her, still drifting through traces of last night's dreamland.
Huh? This doesn't feel like a doll made of silicone. Curious, she gave it a squeeze.
A low grunt rolled past her ear.
Her eyes flew open. Her face was pressed straight against a rock-solid chest.
Wait... this was a real person?!
Brain rebooting on the spot, Emily bolted upright—
And then she laid eyes on the face of the sleeping man beside her. That face was stupidly good-looking, but she wasn’t thrilled.
She’d celebrated a little too hard at the party—and somehow ended up in bed with her boss, James Lawrence.
And worst of all… she’d been on top the whole time.
Panic set in. She flung the blanket aside, grabbed the scattered clothes from the floor, and fumbled into them as fast as she could.
Before James woke up—time to vanish.
She tiptoed out and had just pulled the door shut behind her…
"Morning, Miss Dawson. Is the boss awake?"
She froze. Crap.
Turning around with a stiff smile plastered on her face, she stammered, "Oh, just woke up. I was about to head in to see him."
Ethan Hart, James's other assistant, stood there looking half-asleep, rubbing his eyes. She technically had to follow his orders too.
"Perfect. Got a document he needs to review. You can bring it in."
"No, that's okay. I—"
"Relax, it’s not confidential or anything. Don’t keep him waiting." Ethan shoved the file into her hands and shuffled off, yawning.
Emily almost cried on the spot.
You’ve gotta be kidding... I just got out, and now I have to go back in?!
One deep breath. She ducked into the next room to get cleaned up first.
A splash of water, a fresh outfit, quick makeup touch-ups… Soon the mirror reflected her usual polished self. Blazer, sleek hair, perfect face—except for the very visible hickey on her neck.
Cursing under her breath, she dabbed concealer on like crazy. "What is he, part dog? Just loves biting, huh?"
If this wasn’t work-related, she would’ve definitely filed for workplace injury.
Buzz, buzz.
The phone shook on the table. The caller ID read: James “The Dog” Lawrence.
Her heart nearly gave out.
She picked it up five seconds later.
"Get your ass back in here," came the impatient voice from the other side.
Click.
Emily froze. The cold chill ran from her spine all the way to her toes.
That tone… that attitude… he knew?!
She straightened her outfit, clutched the file, and somehow managed to move her lead-heavy feet across the hallway to knock on the door again.
"Come in."
She pushed open the door. Morning light filtered through the half-open curtains, landing right on James.
He had his back turned toward her, crisp white shirt catching the sun. There was something strikingly god-like in how clean and composed he looked.
But her eyes strayed to his waist—and suddenly flashes of tangled limbs and heady moans from last night stormed her mind.
Emily hurriedly looked away. She cleared her throat. "Mr. Lawrence, you called for me?"
He turned around, fastening his watch with all the calm in the world.
Not sparing her a single glance, he asked lazily, "No explanation, Miss Dawson?"
Her palms got sweaty. Crap… he definitely knew.
She swallowed hard. Trying to play dumb, she forced a smile. "Mr. Lawrence, did I mess something up at work?"
James Lawrence… that guy was infamous for being allergic to women. Forget dating—every woman rumored to be with him had ended up miserable.
Great. Not only was her job probably gone… she might just follow it.James Lawrence paused, his eyes sweeping over her with a look that made Emily Dawson feel like she was under a microscope—seconds stretched into hours under that stare.
Then his cool voice broke the silence: "A woman sneaked into my room last night. You’ve got a day. I want everything on her."
Emily sucked in a sharp breath. Seriously? She wasn’t some cyber-genius. And a *whole* background report in just a day? Drama king, much?
"A woman? I didn’t see anyone. Maybe you imagined it, Mr. Lawrence."
James’ brows twitched. "You're saying I wouldn’t know if... something happened to me?"
Emily: …
He let out a sigh like he was seriously done, then yanked the blanket aside. Right there in the middle of the bed—flesh-toned bra stickers and... marks.
"You really think I’d use this kind of thing?" he asked flatly.
Emily’s face flushed from ears to neck. She waved her hands quickly. "No, no! You're right! I’ll get on it right away."
James narrowed his eyes as he caught the shift in her expression. His lips pressed tight. "You’ve been slipping lately. I don’t even rate enough attention to keep strangers out of my room?"
Wasn’t this supposed to be a two-way street? Yet he made it seem like *he* was the victim. Emily threw on a guilty expression like it was theater class. "Don’t worry, Mr. Lawrence. I’ll make sure she pays for what she did. So you mean to...?"
"Find her. I want her in front of me."
"Got it, Mr. Lawrence. I’ll handle it."
She dropped the file she was holding onto the coffee table, spun around, and practically ran for the door.
Then James called out, "Hold on—"
Emily froze mid-step. "Y-Yes, sir?"
He stared at her for what felt like forever. "You… might wanna get your skin checked. Vitiligo, maybe."
Vitiligo?
Emily caught her reflection in the glass and spotted the splotchy white spots on her neck...
Crap. In her panic to hide the hickies, she’d left the concealer uneven.
She forced a stiff smile. "Thanks for the concern, Mr. Lawrence. If there’s nothing else, I'll head out now?"
"Mm."
Once she was out the door, Emily turned, pointed at it, and started mumbling curses under her breath: "Skin problem my ass! You’re the damn reason! Ugh, jerk!"
Ugh. This job was soul-sucking. If it weren’t for the paycheck, no way would she stick around to cater to this walking trouble magnet.
Ranting made her feel a tad better.
But… how was she gonna spin last night?
Worry twisted in her gut as she bit her lower lip—then her phone buzzed with a message.
She braced for more of James' drama but... it was from her grandma.
"Sweetie, I heard Thomas is coming home soon. Bring him by, okay? I miss you both."
Thomas Lawrence?!
In an instant, Emily went cold, goosebumps climbing up her spine.
Right. She was married.
Which meant last night’s mess made her… a cheating dirtbag.
While heading back to her room, she quickly switched to her private WeChat account. The last pinned chat with him was dated August 2021.
Without dwelling too long, she typed: "Heard from Grandma you’re coming back soon?"
He replied in seconds: "Yeah, next month."
Emily hesitated, fingers pausing above the screen. "When you’re back, we should..." She stopped herself. Couldn’t just drop the "divorce" bomb like that.
They hadn’t seen each other in two years. Barely even texted. But they had the papers. On paper, they were still married. She didn’t want to come off heartless.
Especially since... the fault was hers.
So, she rephrased: "Send me your flight info when it’s confirmed. I’ll pick you up. We need to talk."
Her wording was clinical. Business-like.
He sent a simple reply: "Okay."
Wow. Man of few words. Kinda like James.
