Falling in Love with my cocky Boss

Sarah's POV

My head was pounding.

Not just a dull throb, but the kind of full-blown, merciless hammering that made it feel like a marching band had taken up residence inside my skull. Each pulse of pain behind my eyes came with a nauseating wave of regret, and when the morning sunlight sliced through my window like a blade, I hissed and rolled over, pulling the blanket over my face.

But the discomfort wasn't just from the hangover.

Something else twisted in my stomach an unease I couldn't place at first.

Until it hit me.

The club. The music. The shots.

And him.

"Oh my God." I sat bolt upright, then immediately regretted it as the room spun like a carousel. My heels were kicked off near the door, my clutch lay halfway open on the floor, and I was still in last night's dress. A tight, low-cut thing I barely remembered slipping into.

I closed my eyes, and like a cruel movie reel, the night before flickered in pieces behind my eyelids.

Laughing with Mia over tequila shots.

Dancing to a pulsing beat with zero shame.

Then... him.

The stranger in the corner booth.

He wasn't like anyone else in that club. While the others laughed too loudly and stumbled across the dance floor, he sat alone, perfectly composed. A dark suit hugged his broad shoulders, and he had this intense, magnetic energy dangerous, almost feral. His eyes found mine across the room like a spotlight, freezing me in place. I hadn't meant to walk toward him. I hadn't meant to touch him.

But then I was on his lap.

Kissing him like my life depended on it.

A hot, desperate, reckless tangle of lips and hands in the shadowy corner of a bar. I didn't ask his name. I didn't give mine. There were no words just the taste of bourbon on his tongue and the smell of expensive cologne that still clung to my dress like a ghost.

I let out a groan and dropped my head into my hands. "What the hell was I thinking?"

There was no excuse. I wasn't that girl. I didn't make out with strangers in clubs. I didn't throw myself at mysterious men in tailored suits like some overly confident rom-com heroine.

Except... apparently, I did.

I flopped backward onto my bed and stared at the ceiling, willing it to swallow me whole. Maybe if I stayed perfectly still, I could pretend it never happened. Pretend that some other poor soul had drunkenly dry-humped a stranger in a nightclub and left without even exchanging names.

But just as I was starting to spiral into self-loathing, my phone buzzed violently on the nightstand.

I glanced at the screen.

Mia.

Of course.

I swiped to answer, not bothering to hide my irritation. "You left me last night."

"Well, good morning to you too," she replied, chipper as ever. "How's the head?"

"Feels like I got hit by a truck. But that's not the point. You left me alone in that club while I was wasted, Mia! I ended up doing God knows what with some stranger."

"Oh, I know what you did," she said with a laugh that made me want to strangle her. "You practically gave the poor guy a lap dance. It was honestly kind of hot."

"Mia!" I squeaked. "You are nothing but a backstabber."

"What? He was hot. You were hot. The chemistry was off the charts. I just figured you needed to let loose for once. It's been, what? Eight months since Jacob?"