Chapter 69

Anna's POV

The morning sun sliced through Pacific Heights, glinting off the iron gates. My heels clicked on the cobblestones, each step jarring the ache in my thighs—a raw echo of last night I refused to dwell on. My fingers brushed the faint bruises on my wrist, tender from Adrian's grip against my wall.

Professional, I told myself, smoothing my skirt. Three rounds of furious sex and a slammed door should've ended it. We could do this.

Winston opened the door before I buzzed, his British poise masking a flicker of something—judgment? Amusement? "Good morning, Ms. Rose." His gaze lingered, sharp. "Mr. Salvatore hasn't returned."

My chest pinched, but I kept my face blank. "Oh. Has he called?"

"Not since the opening." Winston's voice stayed even, but he added, "His absences used to be...more common. Before you."

I forced a thin smile. "Coincidence, I'm sure."

"Perhaps." He glanced at me in the car's mirror as we drove. "But Mr. Salvatore doesn't shift patterns lightly. Not without reason."

I stared out the window, Adrian's face flashing—wild, pissed, needy as he'd fucked me last night. "Some patterns need breaking, Winston."

Next Robotics shimmered ahead, glass catching my reflection—cool, collected. Inside, the lobby buzzed, but I barely heard the guard's "Morning." My mind raced—board meeting at 10, reviews by noon, strategy at 2.

Then it hit me—whiskey, smoke, him. I shoved his office door open, and my breath caught.

Papers littered the marble floor. Empty tumblers rolled. The ashtray brimmed with stubs. And there he was—Adrian Salvatore, Silicon Valley's golden boy, sprawled on the leather sofa like a wrecked king. His Tom Ford suit hung wrinkled, hair a mess that still looked too damn good. Stubble shadowed his jaw, and crumpled quarterly reports sat soaked in amber beside him.

I hated how my heart clenched seeing him like this—disheveled, raw, human. The Adrian Salvatore who ruled board rooms with iron control looked almost breakable now. Almost. But I knew better than anyone how dangerous he was in these moments.

"Sleeping through the board meeting?" My voice snapped, crisp, shoving down the heat spiking at that jaw—rough against my thighs hours ago.

His eyes cracked open, bleary, unfocused. "Anna." My name rasped out, a hungover growl. He bolted upright, then winced, clutching his head. His gaze darted, lost for a beat—like he was still there, pinning me to the wall, cock slamming into me, my screams echoing. He blinked hard, shaking it off, then froze.

I shifted, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear—my tell when I'm rattled. His stare snapped to it, sharpening. "What time is it?" His voice roughened, thick with last night's whiskey and us.

"Early enough to clean up." I marched to the windows, flinging them open. Fresh air hit the stink. "Board won't love their CEO reeking like a bar."

He chuckled, low and rough. "Always on it, Ms. Rose."

That tone—formal, laced with memory—prickled my skin. I grabbed the bottles, dodging his stare as it burned into me, tracking every move.

"Anderson merger needs your signature," I said, clipped. "Legal's on about Dubai too."

"Anna." His voice stopped me cold. "Last night—"

"Charles'll bring clothes and coffee." I spun for the door, cutting him off. "Two hours till the meeting. Don't look like you drank the profits."

His hand snagged my wrist as I passed—soft this time, not the bruising clutch from before. "We need to talk."

I froze, staring at his fingers circling my bruises. His thumb brushed them, slow, and heat sank low in my gut—unwanted, sharp. "We said it all last night, Mr. Salvatore." My voice stayed ice, but my pulse thudded. "Three times, loud and clear."

His grip tightened, eyes darkening. "You're really acting like it's nothing?"

"It is nothing." I pulled free, meeting his stare. "We ended it. CEO and assistant now. Done."

"Done," he echoed, voice flat, skeptical. His thumb lingered one last beat before letting go. "If you say so, Ms. Rose."

I walked out, heels steady, ignoring the buzz where he'd touched me. My phone lit up—Daniel: "You okay after last night? Lunch soon?"

Through the glass, I caught Adrian watching as I typed back. His jaw ticked, shoulders rigid—the same coiled tension that used to land me bent over his desk.

Not anymore, I told myself. Professionals. Nothing else.

The office woke up—whispers and stares trailed me. Alex's screen stunt and Daniel's "boyfriend" act had spread fast.

"Ms. Rose?" Janet from Marketing edged up, eyes darting to Adrian's door. "Press releases—can you check the tone?"

She was fishing. I nodded. "Send them over."

A chime pinged—strategy meeting, 2 PM. I stared at the calendar, my stomach tightening. Two hours.

Two hours of sitting in the same room, pretending last night never happened. But every time I looked at him, the memories flooded back—his cock slamming into me, his teeth on my neck, his growls in my ear.

I straightened, fingers grazing the bruises under my blouse. We were pros. We'd manage.

The morning dragged—forced calm, careful distance. Every time Adrian passed my desk, the air snapped—our old dance of want and restraint. Once, his gaze snagged on my neck—where he'd bitten me raw—and his fists clenched before he turned away.

We'd kept it simple. Sex. No strings. No mess.

But now, seeing him—sharp, commanding, yet frayed—I wondered if we'd lied to ourselves. He wasn't simple. We weren't clean.

Could we just be CEO and assistant again? Or had we fucked that chance away?

Looking at the angry red scratches just visible above his collar - scratches I'd left there last night - I had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer.