Rhea walked into work Monday morning with her head held high and her nerves strung tight like piano wire. Her skirt was tighter than usual. Her lipstick redder. She refused to look like a woman who’d been f****d against a bar bathroom door by her workplace enemy just forty-eight hours ago.
And yet she still felt the ache of him.
Still heard the echo of his growl against her throat.
Still tasted his name like venom on her tongue.
She hated him more now than ever.
But she also wanted to drag him into the nearest closet and ride him until he begged her to stop.
No one mentioned him at first. Not until just before lunch when her assistant knocked and said, “Mr. Hart asked if you were joining the client review in ten minutes.”
Rhea looked up from her laptop. “Tell him I’ll be there. And
