The sound of the lock echoing in the massive room made Bridget flinch. She pressed her spine against the solid wood of the door, her fingers digging into the fabric of her trench coat.
Jevon tossed the small tube of ointment onto the expensive leather sofa. He slowly unbuttoned his suit jacket, his dark eyes fixed on her like a predator watching a cornered rabbit. He took a slow step forward.
"Mr. Rocha, please," Bridget begged, her voice trembling so hard she could barely form the words. "I just walked into the wrong area last night. I swear I won't tell anyone. Please don't fire me."
Jevon let out a harsh, humorless laugh. He closed the distance between them in two long strides. He reached out, his thumb and forefinger gripping her chin, forcing her to look up into his eyes.
"Why did you throw the card away?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
Bridget bit her lower lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood. "I'm not a prostitute. You can't just buy me off after a mistake."
The muscle in Jevon's jaw ticked violently. His thumb dragged heavily across her swollen lower lip. "A mistake?"
Before Bridget could process his tone, Jevon bent down and scooped her into his arms.
Bridget let out a muffled shriek, kicking her legs. She pushed against his solid chest, absolute terror gripping her heart. She thought he was going to force her into some twisted workplace submission.
He carried her to the back of the lounge and dropped her onto a wide, velvet-covered bed.
"Lay on your stomach. Don't move," Jevon ordered, his voice leaving absolutely no room for argument.
Bridget froze, her body rigid with fear. She rolled onto her stomach, burying her burning face in the pillows.
She heard the rustle of fabric. Then, she felt the zipper of her skirt being slowly, deliberately pulled down.
"No, stop!" she gasped, trying to push herself up.
A heavy, warm palm pressed flat against the small of her back, pinning her to the mattress. The heat from his skin burned through her thin blouse. She lost all her strength, her body going completely limp under his commanding touch.
She heard the faint pop of the ointment cap. A second later, a dollop of freezing cold gel touched her inflamed skin.
Bridget gasped, her fingers gripping the bedsheets.
Jevon's touch was agonizingly gentle. His rough fingertips spread the cooling ointment with slow, precise strokes. The contrast between the freezing gel and the burning heat of his fingers sent violent shivers down her spine. She couldn't stop a soft, embarrassing moan from escaping her lips.
Jevon's breathing instantly turned ragged. His hand stopped moving. He stayed frozen for three agonizing seconds, fighting a brutal internal war. Then, he yanked the thick duvet over her body, burying her up to her neck.
He turned his back to her and marched straight into the en-suite bathroom. The sound of freezing water blasting from the faucet filled the room.
Two hours later, Bridget practically sprinted out of the building for her lunch break. She found Gigi sitting at a corner table in the cafe across the street.
Bridget collapsed into the chair, clutching her iced Americano like a lifeline. She leaned across the table and whispered the horrifying truth. The man from last night was the CEO.
Gigi slammed her hands on the table, her eyes widening. "Wait, the CEO? Are you okay? He didn't pressure you, did he?" Gigi scanned Bridget's face frantically. "Okay, crisis check over. Holy crap, Bridget! You hooked the biggest billionaire in the city! You won the lottery!"
Bridget shook her head violently, her stomach churning. "No. I just got out of a nightmare with Jacob. I am not playing power games with a man who can ruin my life with a snap of his fingers. I have to draw a line."
That afternoon, Bridget volunteered to deliver a routine signature file to the top floor. She needed to establish boundaries immediately.
She knocked on the heavy double doors of the CEO's office.
Jevon was sitting behind a massive mahogany desk, reviewing a financial report. He looked up as she entered.
Bridget walked stiffly to the desk and placed the file down. She kept her eyes fixed on his tie, refusing to look at his face.
"Mr. Rocha," she said, her voice tight and formal. "I brought the budget files. And I wanted to say... I hope we can put yesterday and this morning behind us. I want to maintain a strictly professional relationship."
The office fell into a suffocating silence. Jevon stopped spinning the Montblanc pen in his hand. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. His dark eyes bored into her skull, heavy and calculating.
Just as Bridget felt her knees about to give out, Jevon leaned back in his leather chair. A cold, sharp smile touched the corners of his mouth.
"Fine," he said smoothly.
Bridget let out a massive breath she didn't know she was holding. She bowed her head slightly and practically ran out of the office.
The second the door clicked shut, the smile vanished from Jevon's face. His eyes burned with a dark, obsessive possessiveness. He slammed his hand down on the intercom button.
"Alex," Jevon barked. "Transfer the new high-intensity field project entirely to Ms. Frank's team. Effective immediately."
