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 snatched her hand back as if burned, clutching it to her chest. She had to leave. Now. Before he opened his eyes.

Hali moved with painstaking slowness, inching away from the warmth of his body. Her limbs felt heavy, uncooperative. She managed to sit up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, but the mattress shifted under her weight.

Beside her, the breathing pattern changed.

Hali froze, her back to him, every muscle in her body tense. She heard the rustle of sheets, then a low groan of someone waking up. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for invisibility.

"What time is it?" His voice was a low rumble, rough from sleep but terrifyingly steady.

Hali couldn't speak. She couldn't even turn around.

Ezra didn't wait for an answer. She heard him sit up, the movement fluid. He didn't say anything else, didn't demand to know why she was there—he remembered. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Then, the mattress rebounded as he stood up. Hali dared to peek over her shoulder just as he walked toward the bathroom, completely unbothered by his nakedness. He didn't look back at her. He simply walked into the ensuite and shut the door. A moment later, the sound of a shower running filled the room.

He was showering. He was going about his morning as if he hadn't just woken up next to his assistant.

But this was her chance.

With the water running, she scrambled off the bed, her feet sinking into a plush carpet that probably cost more than her student loans.

She looked around frantically 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.

Suddenly, the water in the bathroom cut off. The silence that followed was worse than the noise.

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.

The bathroom door clicked open.

Ezra walked out. He was fully awake now, 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 hung 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."

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?"