Page 15 of The Fake Affair

“I didn’t think it would work,” she says, almost to herself. Her hand goes to her chest, fingertips pressing lightly above her heart. “I’ve been emailing them since last night—breaking down every possible integration point, running projections, and showing how we could scale the CyberMind model without sacrificing ROI. I just thought maybe if they saw it all laid out?—”

I silence her with a kiss, unable to resist the way she’s practically vibrating with excitement. My hands grip her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us.

She melts against me, her lips soft and warm, tasting of coffee and victory. Her arms loop around my neck as my hands slide lower, cupping her ass and pressing her firmly against me.

She gasps into my mouth, her fingers curling into my shirt, clutching as if she needs to anchor herself. The sound fuels me, and I deepen the kiss, my tongue exploring hers with a desperate, consuming need.

One of her hands moves to my chest, her nails dragging lightly over the fabric, sending sparks shooting through me.

I’m getting hard against her, and she shifts, grinding just enough to pull a groan from deep in my throat.

“Bella,” I murmur against her lips. She responds by tugging me closer, her teeth grazing my bottom lip before kissing me again, harder this time, as if she’s as lost in this as I am.

I’m seconds away from losing all control when she pulls back, her breathing ragged. For a moment, we just stare at each other, her lips swollen and me with a bulge in my pants.

I clear my throat, dipping both hands into my pocket to conceal my growing shaft.

“So... I guess you’re not quitting after all?”

“Please.” She straightens her blouse, but I catch her smile. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Touch my schedule again, and you’re fired,” I say as I retreat from her desk before I’m tempted to pull her back into my arms and then rip her clothes off. “Book the Chicago flights for Monday. Early morning,” I call over my shoulder.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

* * *

The weekend slips away,consumed by tasks and a refusal to think about that kiss. Monday arrives with a vengeance. I’m reviewing Bella’s analysis of CyberMind’s tech integration—the one that impressed Peters enough to reconsider. It’s brilliant. She’s identified synergies with three of our portfolio companies I hadn’t considered.

The intercom buzzes. “Mr. Fraser, our flight to Chicago is delayed due to mechanical issues. I’ve rebooked us, but…” She pauses as if she doesn’t want to utter her next words. “Hotel rooms are scarce with the tech convention this week.”

Of course, the International Tech Summit is on, where Peters is the keynote speaker. “Handle it,” I say, trying to ignore how her voice brings back memories of Friday’s kiss. “Check if my jet’s available.”

“It’s in for maintenance until Wednesday. Your backup’s in LA with the board members.”

“First class is fine.”

Three hours later, we board. Bella’s quiet, focused on her tablet. “Their neural network architecture could transform our fintech portfolios’ risk assessment,” she says.

“It’s why this deal is crucial. We need Peters to feel valued.”

Chicago greets us with chaos. The convention has flooded every hotel. Bella makes call after call, frustration mounting. “The Waldorf has one room available.”

“One room?”

“The Presidential Suite. Last-minute cancellation. Everything else is booked.”

“Book it.”

She confirms the reservation. The silence in the Uber is thick with unspoken words, and I wonder how we keep ending up in these situations.

The suite is huge—it has two sitting rooms, a dining area, a massive bathroom, and one bedroom.

“I’ll take the couch,” we say simultaneously.

Before we can argue, her phone rings. “It’s Peters’ assistant.” She answers on speaker.

“Mr. Peters would like to have dinner tonight. He’s particularly interested in discussing your analysis.”

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