The day was a blur. A whir of excitement, of vocabulary I'd never heard, of places I didn't even know existed.

Not only was I glued to Silver's side—sometimes too close for comfort—but she formally introduced me to everyone we met. "Eden Meyer, my new personal assistant," she said, jutting her chin at me.

The big, fancy breakfast for the store employees was smooth. At Silver's behest, they all greeted me, and were made aware that I was their point of contact if they needed anything from her.

"She's my right hand," Silver said, after a toast to a strong collaboration. "Probably my left hand, too," she added to a shy chorus of laughter.

Most of these individuals were wary, but stars filled their eyes as they listened to Silver's speeches and acknowledged her expertise. She briefed them on her expectations, acknowledged and answered their questions, and spoke with them as if they were peers, not staff.

I didn't say much, but paid careful attention to how she addressed everyone around her. Her wardrobe exuded luxury and poise, but she never shoved her status in anyone's face. Never talked down to anyone. Never hinted that she was above anyone in the room.

In my opinion, she was. An experienced boss, a bad-ass female CEO, and though no one said it out loud, all those present felt it.

Due to lack of space at the table, I sat next to her. With the sexual tension still radiating between us, I opted to keep my distance for the remaining meetings. I needed space. Any moment beside her made my fingers twitch to touch her, and my mouth salivate for another taste of her.

For the walk-through of the first store, I trailed behind her and the manager, keeping to myself. They discussed textile-specific topics, which I knew nothing about. Silver often glanced back at me as if expecting me to say something, join in on the conversation.

"The place looks great," she said to me as we got into the car, headed to lunch with investors.

I didn't know what to add—she hadn't shared her expectations with me, nor was I qualified to interpret them. "It was huge," I said, buckling my seatbelt and keeping my gaze averted. Again, I sat across from her, unwilling to put us in a position of temptation.

Not now, not in the backseat of the SUV racing around New York City. Not ever again.

What happened that morning in her bedroom—it could not happen again. Not if I was expected to be attached to her all day like this. Not if I was supposed to remain professional and pretend like the energy between us wasn't spiked with sexual static.

Even without touching, I felt her, and the lower half of my body pulsed out of control with need.

"My L.A. stores are larger, believe it or not." Silver clasped her hands in her lap. I wasn't looking at her, but I sensed her gaze on me. "You were quiet in there."

I winced. "It wasn't my place to say anything."

"You're my assistant," she said, her voice taking a stern tone. "Take notes, ask questions, get involved. I'll often ask you for your opinion."

I cringed. "I...I'm not well-versed in all this." I tensed. "But I'll remember for next time."

It was true; I was completely out of my comfort zone with this gig. Being a personal assistant was my thing, but fashion? Store openings and fabrics and billionaire business? If I wasn't careful, it might all engulf me.

But while I was clueless about the fashion industry, I was willing to learn. For Silver. To impress Silver.

If I played my cards correctly, she'd keep me for a long time, and that'd be a lot of money to put aside for my future. All I needed was to create some distance while spending lengthy, stressful days with her. Easy, right?

I nearly snorted at my internal thoughts.

"This lunch." Silver tapped a finger to her knee, drawing my attention to her leg. "It'll be exhausting, I warn you. These investors are...assholes." She dug a black nail into her pants. I caught her gritting her teeth, reining in whatever emotions she felt towards our upcoming meeting.

"Let me guess," I said, remembering the names of those we were to greet shortly. "High-and-mighty men who think they know best?"

A sassy grin quirked Silver's lips. "Exactly. I know I basically told you to participate, but for this meeting...don't. Smile and nod. Let them talk, let them boast about how they know better than all of us."

The restaurant was an exclusive rooftop-wait-listed-for-months type of place. Opulent and overpriced. I'd had no trouble booking us a table when I gave the host Silver's name over the phone, but entering it now left me baffled.

There were only a few dozen tables in the vast, window-less space, and all were occupied by New York's elite. Rich businessmen, socialites with access to their parent's bank accounts, bratty boys claiming to descend from the British Royal Family.

They ate small bites from large plates, drank from crystal glasses. And they were all on their phones, posting updates to their million-follower social media accounts. The only noise was utensils scraping on China.

Our table was the farthest from the rest. Isolated and...empty. As if abandoned and forgotten and unimportant.

As it turned out, it was the most important table in the restaurant.

We arrived first. Silver initially sat next to me, but I switched seats to be across from her instead.

She raised an eyebrow. "I see what you're doing, and I get it, not wanting to be near me, and all. Hard to resist." She kept her voice low, her eyes glued to the entrance, waiting for the investors. "But trust me, you might want to be by me for this. These guys..."

I narrowed my gaze, my stomach curdling. "Wandering hands?"

She flinched, then cleared her throat. "Something like that."

I studied her; the rigidity of her neck, the evident softness of her skin. The low-cut undershirt displaying the dangerous dip between her breasts. The way she fiddled with her hair when she was anxious. She'd dressed pretty temptingly considering she was meeting with hands-on pricks.

"No," I said, gulping, shaking my head. "I'll take the risk."

I'd rather sit by a bunch of mansplaining investors than be close enough to smell her, to crave her.

The men showed up fifteen minutes late, but Silver made it clear to me that we weren't to react to that. No mentioning their tardiness or pointing at watches; no backtalk whatsoever.

It was the most frustrating lunch ever, despite the delicious food and the tasty wine. I gathered from Silver's earlier words that I'd need the alcohol; and after thirty minutes of listening to these rich assholes discuss cryptic crap, I realized she was right.

"Jerks," she said, once we were in the safety of the car, our bellies full. "It's cute how they think I don't understand their jargon."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "You did?"

Silver dabbed at her face with a powder puff. "I studied all this shit, which they love to act like they don't know about. But I let them believe what they want to." She puckered her lips, checking her reflection in her compact mirror. "They pay for my endeavors, so I endure."

Silver Bell—what a fascinating mystery. Bold and brave, breaking rules and steamrolling ahead in an industry dominated, overruled by men. She played their game, rolled over at their commands—but ultimately, she knew all their cards and appeased them to get to her own goals.

A success story that I could do nothing but admire.

She snapped her mirror shut and her eyes found mine, sending chills through me. "They'll pay for another store if these two do well. That's what their whole discussion was. You know, the one they had after deciding what I'd eat and how much wine I was allowed to drink."

I was still livid from how they'd treated her, but she'd kept her cool, held her tongue. I respected her restraint. Were it me, I'd have blown up at these dicks. Their audacity brought more acidity to my belly.

They'd thought of her as nothing other than a vessel to bring them more money. But she pretended to comply—and got what she wanted.

We rushed home to refresh and change into clothing appropriate for dinner. This time I consulted Silver before she got naked; she told me that a cocktail dress would do fine.

I luckily owned a few outfits I'd worn while partying with Sophia and Nico, all of which would be considered cocktail. I chose one of Sophia's hand-me-downs: a satin, long-sleeved dress of sapphire blue, stopping at the knees.

Silver was already downstairs when I descended. Her eyes roved from my high heels to my lifted breasts before resting on my face, a ghost of a smirk over her lips. She didn't say anything, but I saw right through her. She lingered on my décolleté and her chin tipped up and down.

She approved.

She'd decked herself in a dress of a similar fabric, but hers was pink—her trending color for the day—and shorter, with a higher collar. Apparently, she'd decided to display her best assets: her ass, and her gorgeous legs.

It was torment to not sit by her in the car, to not set my hand on her thigh and climb up until I found what I wanted. Instead, I held on to my purse for dear life and stared out the window, avoiding her glances at all costs.

This restaurant was, like all the other venues we'd visited today, classy. Catering to the wealthy. Upper-Crust, it was called—a sophisticated joint with bite-sized portions and expensive as fuck wines.

Here, at least, the ambiance was more open, more social. There were floor-to-ceiling windows, string-lights along the crown-molding, plush carpets between tables. Soft jazz music played in the background. People were talking, clinking glasses, enjoying themselves.

I'd been around opulence often thanks to Sophia and Nico. I was accustomed to partying with them, their glamorous nightlife and after-hours apartments.

But breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all in the same day, in exclusive members-only places like this? A new experience. One I didn't mind, but I still felt out of place in.

"Don't worry," said Silver, as she spotted our table and picked up the pace. "These ones won't bite."

By these ones she meant her best friend and second-in-command, Yanic Pascal; his sweet and discreet secretary Silvia; and Silver's press agent, Eve.

Silvia and Eve blew kisses at us when we arrived—myself included, though they'd never met me before—but Yanic stood up and tugged Silver into a crushing hug.

That was the most affection I'd ever seen Silver display. Not that she was cold, but she gave me the vibe of someone more reserved, not interested in tenderness or sweetness in public.

"Baby," he said, his chestnut eyes lighting with warmth. He was taller than her, so she seemed to melt in his arms. "So good to see you come to your senses and join us on the east coast." He had a thick French accent, and as Silver had warned me, he was hot. Tanned, flawless skin, a beautiful smile, and a defined body to die for.

To my surprise, she returned Yanic's embrace with a squeeze before sitting down. "Everyone, this is Eden," she gestured to me, "and be nice."

I had no choice but to sit beside her, as all the other seats were taken.

With a curt nod of greeting, I lowered onto the velvet-covered chair, set my napkin in my lap, and observed.

Yanic was interesting, to say the least. A refined man, but judgmental. Every person that walked by our table received a whispered comment from him. A critique of their outfit, a hiss about their shoes, a tirade about wearing the wrong makeup shade.

He didn't speak to me much but watched me closely. Watched me as I drank wine, as I nibbled on appetizers, as I excused myself to go to the bathroom. And I had no doubt he watched me whenever I sensed my urges to touch Silver growing more difficult to suppress.

It was impossible to sit next to her. Her legs grazed mine constantly—and not on purpose. She was absorbed in conversation with Yanic, oblivious to the contact. When she cut her food, her elbow jammed into my side. This restaurant was upper-class, sure, but there was little room at this narrow table for us all to fit. I suffered the consequences of that.

And Yanic knew something was up.

Of course, he knew. Silver was his best friend; they'd known each other for years.

No matter how hard I worked to act like I was fine, he knew I wasn't. He knew I struggled to ignore Silver's appeal, that she'd left an imprint on me. That I wanted her. He'd seen what she looked like, and had he been straight, he'd have pounced her, too.

So I drank. And drank. Anything to loosen up and make it seem like I belonged, like being in proximity to Silver didn't bother me.

"So this is your life, then?" I said, as we settled in the car, hours later. I was comfortably buzzed, and therefore forgot to care where I sat. We weren't too far from home, thankfully, so I'd demonstrate control, for once.

Silver scooched in next to me. "What do you mean?"

She'd had as much to drink as me, if not more, yet it didn't show in her demeanor. Her words didn't slur, and she maintained her perfect composure all the way to the car.

Now she relaxed a little. Rolled her wrists, shoulders, neck. Made me want to give her a massage to ease any lingering tension—

"This." I motioned at the building we'd exited as the vehicle passed it. "Do you like it? Being this admired, renowned, beloved? Having all this money? Oops," I covered my mouth as my cheeks flared with heat, "sorry, I think I overstepped."

Instead of scolding me, she smiled. "It's exhausting, actually. Not all glitz and glamour as you're seeing it now." She leaned forward and rubbed her lower calf. Her four-inch heels appeared excruciating, but she was sexy as heck wearing them.

"What is it really, then?" Alcohol emboldened me. If I was to accompany her everywhere, see everything, I wanted to be prepared.

She sighed, running her hand through her hair. "Lots of behind-the-scenes bullshit. Kissing asses and making hard decisions that no one thinks of. Feigning stupidity so I don't get stepped on." She stretched out her legs; had I been sitting across from her like I had most of the day, we would have touched.

I massaged my temples, sensing the after-effects of too much to drink. "Ah, so what I saw today with the investors..."

"Common." She grunted. "Normal, unfortunately. But I don't let it stop me. I earned all this." She sucked in a deep breath, then released it. "But it wasn't without blood, sweat, and tears."

I couldn't imagine her crying, or even sweating, for that matter. She was a brick wall, cloaked with some impenetrable metal that blocked out all feelings.

Except when she was turned on.

I twisted in my seat, towards her, as she gazed out the window. God, she was so incredible, so fierce. Everything I wanted to be. Everything I'd wanted in a partner.

And I couldn't have her.

Our eyes met as we passed under a bright spotlight. My skin tingled as she opened her mouth to say something, then decided against it. It felt like a fog had released within the vehicle; a steamy sensuality that developed, trying to drag us closer, to connect us against our wills.

I didn't look at her again until we made it to the second floor of her pad. We stopped at the top of the stairs, bracing to head in different directions.

Half of me was ready to go to my room, but the other couldn't move. The compulsion to hold her, hug her like Yanic had, raced through me. To congratulate her on all her hard work, encourage her. Not that she needed it, and yet...

Like me, she didn't seem able to leave. She stood by me, her arms dangling at her sides.

When our fingers accidentally brushed, she jolted away, shaking her head. "Good night, Eden." She turned her back to me and dashed down the hallway, as fast as her towering shoes would allow. "Great work today."

I was left wordless and empty. Missing something, needing something more from her.

But it was unprofessional. Running after her to beg for a hug would be in poor taste.

In bed, after a frosty shower to bring me back to my senses, I closed my eyes—and there she was again, so vivid in my mind. This wonderful woman, so stoic but hiding kindness under her thick skin. A force to be reckoned with.

She went for what she wanted and got it. Hot, smart, perfect—and inaccessible.

And even if she was accessible to me, why would she want me for anything other than sex? I was broke, with nothing to offer, hardly able to hold on to temp jobs.

Considering our difficulties, it shocked me I still had this job. I'd almost fucked it up by sleeping with her, then getting perilously close to doing it again. Fighting against the pull between us was too much.

But I had to.