Page 48 of The CEO's Sweetheart Deal
CHAPTER 20
ALICE
Light filters through the gauzy hotel curtains, brushing against my eyelids. I stir, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across my waist and the steady breathing of someone beside me.
Oscar.
The memories of last night flood back — his confession in the park, my own admission, that first earth-shattering kiss that led us here. To his bed. To this moment.
I carefully turn my head to look at him. In sleep, his face is softer, the hard lines of the businessman melted away. Dark lashes rest against his cheeks, his hair tousled in a way that would mortify the perfectly polished CEO the world sees. This is the Oscar I remember from college — vulnerable, real.
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. What have I done?
The question loops through my mind as I gently slide out from under his arm, holding my breath when he shifts but doesn't wake. Standing naked beside the bed, I feel utterly exposed, and not just physically. Last night, in the heat of passion and long-buried feelings, everything seemed so clear. But in the harsh light of morning, uncertainty creeps in like a fog.
We work together. He's technically my boss. My ex-best friend who abandoned me once before. The man who bought my company.
And I just spent the night having the most incredible sex of my life with him.
I silently gather my scattered clothes, slipping into them as quickly and quietly as possible. My dress from yesterday is wrinkled beyond saving, but it'll have to do until I can get to my room. As I step into my heels, my gaze falls on Oscar again.
He looks so peaceful. So content. I wonder what he's dreaming about.
Part of me wants to crawl back into bed, to curl against his warmth and stay there until he wakes. To see if the tenderness in his eyes last night is still there this morning. But another part — the self-protective part that's been burned before — warns me to run.
"We'll look back on last night fondly," he might say when he wakes. "But we both know this can't go anywhere."
Or worse: "That was a mistake, let's be professional from now on."
I can't bear to hear those words from him. Not after everything we shared. Not after he made me believe, for one perfect night, that maybe we could have the connection we missed out on twelve years ago.
Grabbing my purse, I glance around one final time to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. My gaze catches on Oscar'sdiscarded shirt, the expensive fabric pooled on the floor where we frantically undressed each other. The watch on the nightstand worth more than my car. The quiet luxury of the suite that reminds me just how different our worlds have become.
With a deep breath, I slip out the door, closing it with a soft click behind me.
The hallway is mercifully empty as I hurry toward my own room, fishing the key card from my purse. Once inside, I lean against the closed door, my heart pounding. What am I doing? Running away like this is exactly what I accused Oscar of doing all those years ago. But this is different… isn't it?
I don't have time to contemplate the irony. We have a flight to catch in a few hours, and I need to shower, pack, and figure out how to face Oscar without falling apart.
Twenty minutes later, I'm showered and dressed in fresh clothes, my hair still damp as I stuff yesterday's wrinkled dress into my suitcase. My movements are mechanical, efficient. If I just focus on the logistics, maybe I can delay the emotional reckoning that's coming.
I check my phone — no messages. Did he even notice I'm gone yet?
With one final glance around the room, I grab my luggage and head out. If I'm lucky, I can get to the airport early, maybe even change my seat on the plane. Anything to avoid being trapped next to Oscar for hours after what’s happened.
The elevator opens onto the hotel lobby, which is busy with morning check-outs and business travelers grabbing coffee. I weave through the crowd, heading for the exit. Just a few more steps and I'll be outside, able to breathe again, to think clearlywithout the weight of what happened pressing down on me from all sides.
"Alice!"
His voice cuts through the ambient noise of the lobby, stopping me in my tracks. I freeze, unable to turn around, unable to move forward.
"Alice, wait!"
I hear the slap of what sounds like… slippers? against the marble floor, and suddenly Oscar is there, right in front of me, blocking my path to the door. His hair is still disheveled, his chest bare except for a hastily thrown-on robe that's barely tied, and yes — hotel slippers on his feet. He looks nothing like the man I’m used to seeing each morning at work. He looks like a man who woke to find someone missing and ran.
For me.
"Where are you going?" he asks, slightly out of breath, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
