Chapter 84

Anna's POV

"To new beginnings," Mom's voice pulled me back as our glasses clinked. The words lingered, heavy with possibility.

My phone lit up on the table. Charles's name flashed with exclamation points. I hesitated, caught between worlds.

"Go ahead," Adrian said, nodding at it. "Might be important."

The message was urgent—last-minute IPO changes needing approval. "Charles is panicking about tomorrow's filing," I said, setting the phone down.

Adrian smiled, a strand of dark hair falling over his forehead. Flour dusted his rolled-up sleeves, the powerful CEO softened in Mom's humble kitchen. Seeing him here—worlds colliding—sent a flutter through me I couldn't shake.

"We should go," I said softly. "Big day tomorrow."

The drive to my apartment was quiet, city lights shadowing Adrian's profile. His usual command softened into something rare—vulnerability.

"Nervous?" I asked, breaking the silence.

He laughed, low and self-aware. "That obvious?"

"Only to me," I said, the intimacy settling between us.

He glanced over, eyes catching mine briefly. "Twenty billion," he said quietly. "That's the projection for tomorrow. From a garage five years ago."

"You should be proud," I replied, watching his hands flex on the wheel. "You did the impossible."

"We did," he corrected, surprising me. "Without you these past months, I'd have strangled half the board."

I laughed. "Only half?"

His rare, real smile flashed. "The other half deserved it."

The ease of it hit me—this banter, so far from our awkward start after that bar night. Pure fire then, a desperate escape, no plans to reconnect. Fate had other ideas with my transfer to his assistant. I'd been mortified, determined to keep it professional.

How far we'd come.

At my apartment, Adrian hesitated at the door, uncertainty flickering. "I could go home. Give you space."

I shook my head, certain. "Stay."

Inside, the CEO-assistant façade dropped. He loosened his tie, moving through my small space with familiar ease. Silicon Valley's golden boy pouring wine into mismatched glasses still felt surreal.

"Your mom's amazing," he said, handing me a glass. "I see where you get it."

"Get what?"

"That steel spine," he replied, eyes warming. "Fighting for what matters."

I smiled, recalling his hours in Mom's kitchen, failing but persisting. "You weren't bad today. For a beginner."

He stepped closer, hand at my back. "High praise from the woman who called my coffee ‘barely drinkable.'"

"It was," I teased, leaning into him. "Your talents lie elsewhere."

His eyes darkened, fingers tightening on my waist. "Care to elaborate, Ms. Rose?"

Heat sparked—the same pull from that first night, reignited months later in our “arrangement.” Supposed to be simple. Physical. Uncomplicated.

"I could show you," I said, setting my wine down.

His kiss was hungry, deliberate, hands sliding under my blouse. Not the frantic need of before—his escape from Sophie's engagement, mine from Zack's disaster. This was slower, deeper, loaded with meaning.

I tugged him to the bedroom, clothes trailing behind. My back hit the mattress, and he paused above me, eyes searching mine. I nodded, pulling him down.

He shed his shirt, muscles flexing under my hands as I traced his chest. His lips found my neck—teeth grazing that spot below my ear. I gasped, arching up. He grinned against my skin, unbuttoning my blouse slow, deliberate, peeling it off to bare my tits. His thumbs brushed my nipples, hardening them, heat pooling low.

"Adrian," I breathed, hands tugging his belt. It clattered free. I palmed his cock through his pants—hard, straining. He groaned, low and rough, kicking off the rest.

My skirt hiked up, panties gone in a flick. His fingers found my pussy—wet, ready—circling my clit until I bucked against him. "Fuck, Anna," he rasped, voice thick, sliding two fingers inside. I clenched around him, bold and needy, pushing his hand deeper.

"More," I demanded, nails digging his shoulders. He smirked—that controlled, sexy edge—then shed his boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and pulsing. He climbed over me, rubbing his tip against my slit. I moaned, legs spreading wide.

He thrust in—slow, stretching me full. "God," I gasped, hips rocking to meet him. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wider, fucking me steady. Skin slapped skin. Sweat slicked us. I clawed his back, marking him, urging him deeper.

"Look at me," he growled, pace slowing. Our eyes locked—raw, intense. His cock hit deeper, deliberate, each thrust stoking the fire. My hands roamed his ass, pulling him in, owning this as much as he did.

Tension coiled tight. "Adrian—" I broke, crying out, pussy pulsing around him as release crashed through. He groaned my name, thrusts faltering, spilling hot inside me. We shook together, breaths jagged.

He collapsed beside me, pulling me close, heartbeat thumping under my cheek. "We should sleep," he murmured into my hair. "Tomorrow's chaos."

I nodded, settling into his arm's weight. "Five hours till the alarm."

He kissed my forehead, breath evening into sleep. I watched him—boardroom titan turned human, face soft without Next Robotics' burden.

How had we gotten here?

That night in his office—his birthday, both tipsy, tension snapping—I'd set terms: just physical, my control. No emotions. I'd fought to keep my heart out of it, to stay unclaimed by Adrian Salvatore.

But it shifted. Maybe when he boosted Mom's restaurant, no fanfare. Or when he nailed my coffee order. Or today—laughing in her kitchen, flour-streaked, unguarded.

I was falling in love with him. Not the CEO, not the billionaire—the man who chose me over Sophie, who saw me beyond my role.

It should've scared me. Office romances were banned in my own handbook. The power gap was a PR disaster. Our worlds—his mansion, my apartment—too far apart.

Yet here I was, imagining more.

I'd tried to end it once, pulled back. He'd chased me, shown up, refused my retreat. I'd given in because I wanted him—all of him—complicated, tender Adrian.

Post-IPO, everything would shift. Next Robotics would go public. His life under a microscope. If we were to define this, it'd be after that milestone.

I'd tell him soon—after tomorrow, when we could breathe. I'd find the words to ask if this could be real.

I curled against him, his warmth taking me under as sleep hit.

The night faded into a hazy blur. A sharp, insistent doorbell ripped me awake. I jolted upright, sheets tangling around me, Adrian's arm still heavy across my waist. Sunlight cut through the blinds, harsh and unrelenting—it was morning. IPO morning.

Another ring stabbed the silence. My heart thudded as I scrambled up, grabbing a robe. Adrian stirred, voice thick with sleep. "What the hell?"

I stumbled to the door, peering through the peephole. Charles stood there, garment bag in hand—Adrian's suit, pressed and ready. My stomach flipped. Shit.

"Anna?" Charles's voice cut through, clipped and urgent. "You there? Adrian's not answering his phone."

I froze, mind racing. He couldn't know Adrian was here. Not today. I cracked the door, forcing a tight smile. "Charles—hi. What's up?"

He frowned, lifting the bag. "Adrian's suit for the bell ringing. He said he'd be here early to review docs. Where is he?"

"Uh—" I gripped the door, praying Adrian stayed quiet. "He's not here yet. Must've gotten delayed. I'll take it, thanks."

Charles's eyes narrowed, flicking past me. "You sure? He's usually—"

Footsteps thudded behind me. Adrian's voice broke in, low and calm. "Charles, perfect timing. I'm here."

My breath caught. So much for pretending.