Page 20 of The Fake Affair

I should say no. Should go back to the party and pretend this never happened.

Instead, I find myself walking toward his private elevator, my body still humming from his touch, craving more.

The elevator feels too quiet after the gala. I check my appearance in the mirrored walls, grimacing. The red dress is wrinkled in suspicious places, but there's nothing I can do now.

The doors open to the dark executive floor. City lights cast long shadows through the windows, making it eerie being up here alone while the party goes on below.

I head to the washroom, grateful for the motion-sensor lights. Under the harsh fluorescent glow, the aftermath of our coatroom activities is clear: ruined lipstick, messy hair, and a suspicious mark below my collarbone. Damn him.

I grab my emergency makeup kit and clean up what I can, using the bathroom’s fancy towels and expensive toilet paper to finish the job.

Afterward, I carefully reapply my lipstick and fix my slightly smudged eyeshadow. The wrinkles in my dress are hopeless. I do my best to smooth them out. My hair takes longer, but I manage to restore some semblance of elegance to the style.

Looking presentable again, I step out of the restroom.

Ten minutes feels like forever.

When the elevator dings, Logan steps out looking perfectly composed—except for the hunger in his eyes when he sees me.

“You fixed your lipstick,” he notes, walking toward me. His voice is quiet, but his eyes are shining, and the way he speaks with that snarky, lopsided grin tells me he’s mentally replaying everything he just did to me in the coat closet.

I hate that even the simplest things he says manage to undo me. My body betrays me before I can think, warmth unfurling low in my belly, everything softening at the edges. I shift where I stand, subtly pressing my thighs together as if that might quiet the ache. “You’ll just mess it up again.”

His smile is wicked, sending a ripple through my chest and making my breath catch before he even moves. “That’s the plan, love.”

He steps in, closing the space between us, and before I can stop him—or myself—he backs me into the elevator. My spine meets the mirrored wall with a soft thud, cool glass against the heat radiating off my skin. His hands are already on me, sliding beneath the hem of my dress like they belong there, like they never stopped.

His mouth finds the side of my neck, and the world tilts. I gasp, tipping my head to the side as his breath fans over my skin, warm and unsteady, the rasp of his stubble sending sparks down my spine.

“Logan…” My voice fractures as his fingers skim the inside of my thigh. “We should?—”

But the rest never leaves my mouth.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the tension. “Excuse me.”

We freeze. My heart stalls for a breathless second before crashing back to life, hammering against my ribs as a cold rush sweeps through me, my stomach plummeting with the weight of recognition. Then—slowly, inevitably—we both turn toward the voice, dread tightening like a noose around my spine as we face her standing there in a gown without a single crease, her posture regal, her expression carved from glass, and her eyes filled with cold, silent judgment. Victoria Hawthorne—head of our board of directors—stands there in her designer gown, looking like judgment personified.

Logan doesn’t step away. Instead, his arm tightens around my waist.

“Victoria. This isn’t what it looks like.”

Her brow arches as she looks at the both of us. “Really? Because it looks like our CEO is engaging in highly inappropriate behavior with his executive assistant.”

“Bella isn’t just my assistant,” Logan says, the words rushing out. “We’ve been together for years.”

Breath catches in my throat.

I blink up at him, stunned, my body still pressed lightly against his as the full weight of what he just said sinks in. Years. Not weeks. Not months. Years.

“What?” Victoria’s disbelief is sharp enough to flay skin.

“We met when she was studying in Edinburgh,” Logan adds quickly, his arm holding me tighter. I have to hand it to him for making this up on the fly and doing such a good job at it because I’ve never been to Edinburgh, not even for a layover. “Before I moved to New York. Before all this.”

For a second, all I can do is stare at him, the panic rising swift and hot behind my ribs because I know what this is. A lie, a lifeline, and a trap, all at once.

Victoria’s gaze shifts to me, piercing in its expectation. My immediate instinct is to run, but that won’t save me. And it definitely won’t stop Logan from launching himself into a full-blown HR nightmare with a side of scandal. If this goes sideways, neither of us walks out with a job or a shred of dignity. So, I do the only thing a woman can do when she’s caught between a mirrored elevator wall, a CEO who just kissed her, and the ice queen of the board.

I swallow down every frantic thought, lift my chin an inch higher, and lean into him—not just physically, but in every way that matters. My shoulder brushes his chest, and when I speak, my voice is calm, almost tired, like I’ve told this story a hundred times before.

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