Page 26 of Triplet Trouble For My Billionaire Boss

I barely sleep.

When I do drift off, my dreams are a tangled mess of heat, guilt, and green eyes that pierce straight through me. I wake up more than once, my heart racing and my chest tight with regret. The memory of last night replays in my mind on a loop, every detail vivid and sharp.

What the hell was I thinking?

I made out with my boss, although it was certainly more than I had ever experienced before.

Robbie’s dad. And it wasn’t just some innocent kiss. Hell, it wasn’t even just a kiss. It was—God, it was so much more. My face burns as I remember his hands on me, in me, the way his lips moved against my skin, the sheer intensity of it all.

I bury my face in the pillow, groaning. What is wrong with me? And why did it feel so incredibly exciting? No one ever told me it would feel like that.

And then I think about how it ended. About how I stopped him, about how I bolted from his room like a coward. I didn’t even give him an explanation, just blurted out that I couldn’t do it and ran.

He must hate me. Or at the very least, he’s angry.

The idea sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through me. I don’t know what to say to him now. How do I explain something I can barely understand myself? And what if he’s already decided I’m not worth the trouble and plans to fire me?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the spiral of negative thoughts.

It doesn’t work.

When my alarm goes off, it’s almost a relief. Almost.

I groan as the alarm blares, echoing through the cavernous space of the bedroom. This isn’t how I envisioned my first real morning in this house.

Not that I’d spent much time imagining it, but if I had, I definitely wouldn’t have included the sleepless night filled with regret and panic, or the faintly sick feeling twisting my stomach.

Sighing, I reach over to shut off the alarm and sit up slowly, taking in my surroundings. My new room is everything you’d expect in a house like this. Spacious. Luxurious. Immaculate. But despite the elegance, it feels cold—like a hotel room, waiting for someone to leave their mark on it.

The walls are painted a soft cream, and the crown molding looks like something out of an architectural magazine, intricate and perfectly crafted.

My plush, king-sized bed sits against one wall, the linens crisp and impossibly soft, though I’d barely made a dent in them last night.

Across from me, a massive window stretches from floor to ceiling, offering a stunning view of the sprawling lawn and the distant tree line beyond.

The furniture is traditional, but not fussy; likely antiques, a mix of polished wood and neutral upholstery. There’s a chaise lounge by the window, a small writing desk tucked into one corner, and a nightstand with a crystal lamp.

But it doesn’t feel likemine.

None of it does.

I look around and note the absence of my things. Of course, that’s to be expected; all my belongings are still at my apartment, waiting to be packed up and brought here this weekend. Even so, the emptiness feels almost too much, like the room itself is holding its breath.

I run a hand through my hair and swing my legs over the edge of the bed to drag myself out of bed, feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. My limbs are heavy, my head foggy, and my emotions all over the place. I glance at the mirror and wince. My reflection is a mess—dark circles under my eyes, hair sticking out in every direction.

Perfect.

With a deep breath, I force myself to get ready for my first day at work.

The hardwood floors are cool against my bare feet as I pad toward the bathroom. Sure, it’s just as luxurious and cold as the rest of the room with its marble countertops, rainfall shower, and deep soaking tub that looks big enough to swim in, but I’m not complaining.

As I brush my teeth and wash my face, my mind drifts back to last night.

The way he looked at me. The way his hands felt on my waist. The heat of his lips.

I grip the edge of the sink, myknuckles white. Stop it, Annie.

I can’t keep replaying it in my mind. It happened, and now I have to deal with the fallout. There’s no use torturing myself with what-ifs.

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