I finished unpacking, squeezing my meager belongings into the dresser, the closet. My cheap, off-brand pants and shirts didn't fit in with Silver's high-class, hand-sewn products, so I spaced them out, made sure they weren't touching.

My awful outfits with her pristine pieces of art? It was a sin, it had to be.

But this was what she wanted. What she'd ordered; to put my stuff away, alongside her creations.

I'd do anything she ordered.

Being in that confined closet space with her was...frustrating. Exhilarating. Scary. I still sensed the imprint of her hands though we hadn't actually touched in days. Her mere presence brought back every sensation, every taste, every scent.

I shuddered as I snuck my underwear into drawers, running my fingers along the lacy and satin fabrics, wondering if she'd ever see me wearing any of them. If she'd get too curious for her own good, if she'd cave—

"No," I told myself, slamming the drawer shut so fast I almost got my fingers stuck. "No curiosity, no caving."

We were off-limits for each other. No, more than that—we were forbidden. Her and I tangling ourselves in the same sheets again would cost us. Me, my job and stable income; her, her reputation. Or so I assumed.

What was her reputation?

Silver Bell was the anonymous billionaire CEO of one of the most high-scale, upper-class, and well-respected clothing brands. How had she stayed out of the spotlight for so long? I'd never heard of her, but then again, I hadn't heard of her brand, either.

I had questions, so many questions. Why here, why me, why fashion, why me—

As I grabbed a notebook and pencil and made my way to the bedroom door, I winced. She didn't seem the type to readily answer storms of queries with a smile. Silver was on a mission, busier than ever, and whatever my inquiries were would have to wait.

That, or I'd have to interrogate the staff.

I couldn't help it. I was fascinated by her, and not only because I'd seen her exquisite body naked, felt her writhing under me. She was a powerful woman at the top, confident and cautious, successful and humble. And according to Gigi, she treated her people well.

This was the best opportunity for me, provided I didn't fuck it up by getting too enticed by her.

She'd stop me, wouldn't she? If I got carried away, if I lusted over her too openly, if my eyes betrayed all the naughty thoughts in my mind—she'd say something, right? Might threaten to fire me?

"No," I said, wrapping my hand over the door-handle. "That can't happen. I can't let myself get that far. I have to keep this job."

My brief pep-talk over, I crossed the hallway and knocked on her closed office door.

"Come in," she said, an edge of stress in her voice.

For a second, I pictured her pacing behind her desk, hands ruffling through her hair as she huffed. Then seeing me, melting, tugging me in for a hug and a kiss, thanking me for being there. Thanking me for offering myself up to ease her anxiety. Thanking me for—

I pushed the door open and slid inside. My thoughts be damned, I needed to get a hold of myself, of my urges. I'd met this woman days ago and was already fantasizing over all the ways we could share a bed in the nude again.

This woman was my boss. My erotic emotions needed to cease.

"Right," Silver waved at the chair I'd occupied earlier, "let's get straight to it, shall we?"

I sat, clutching the notebook, tightening my grasp on my pencil. My knuckles were turning white, and my legs wouldn't quit jittering. "Let's."

She didn't sit, but leaned over the desk, hands flattened on the surface. Her shirt dipped low enough to show an outline of her gorgeous breasts, and a flash of the bra that barely held them in place.

I sucked in a quick breath and fixed my attention into my lap before I launched myself at her.

"You must be available 24/7. This job, being my personal assistant..." Silver remained angled over the desk, and though I wasn't looking at her, I felt her assessing me. Her gaze left flames over my skin wherever she glanced. "It's a very hands-on position."

Hands-on?

Can I get my hands on her?

I flinched, begging myself internally to shut up.

"While I have other staff—like Gigi and Pete, whom you've met—you're my go-to for a majority of my needs. Gigi and others take care of household chores and groceries and stuff like that. I'm on the market for a chef, which you'll help me hire. Pete drives me everywhere." She let out a deep breath, her minty freshness rolling over my cheeks. "You do everything else."

To distract my hands, I fumbled with the notebook to open it. "Everything else," I said, scribbling with a shaky hand.

Why was I so nervous? I'd sat here in front of her before, keeping my cool. I'd let her stand by me in the closet and hadn't broken.

So why was I so shaken now? Why was her dominating, deliriously delicious presence bothering me so?

Because you can't have her, and she's right there, so available, so delectable—

"Aside from Gigi, none of these other staff-members live here." She finally backed away and lowered into her seat, granting me a moment to recompose. A moment to remember who she was, who I was, and why we were here. Work. "They'll come and go, as I ask them to. You're not their boss, understood?"

"No." I blinked at her, allowing our gazes to connect.

Wrong. Shouldn't have done that.

I stilled in place, my legs going numb. "Of course not. I work for you, and you alone."

Her sudden smile took me aback. It was wicked, powerful; like I'd said the words she'd commanded me to say after taking over my mind, whispering into it. "Exactly. You're your own entity. You belong to me."

A chill raced down my back. "To you. I belong..." I couldn't say it, not without digesting the full meaning of it. Not without thinking it meant more than she was my boss, and I was her employee. Not without thinking she'd meant it otherwise, too.

"When I call," Silver tapped her index finger to the desk, "you come running. Well, you'll be here, so you won't have far to run, but you get what I mean."

"I do." I gulped, refocusing on the papers on her desk; anything to get my eyes away from hers, so I wouldn't drown in their dark depths. Anything to not picture her on her back, legs spread, opening up for me.

"Loving your cooperation," she said, her voice lathered in sweetness, almost forced. The foreign tonality in her deep words drew my attention, and her smile widened as our gazes linked once more. "This is much easier than I expected. Most people ask many questions or interrupt, but you?" Her lips bunched as she slow-blinked at me. "Obedient."

I didn't respond this time, worried what would come out of my mouth. The more she spoke, the more she established her authority and dominance, the more I was turned on. The boss-bitch energy she exuded was such a turn-on; one I didn't even realize would tickle me until the night I met her.

So empowered, unfiltered, raw. The type of woman I wished I could be. I wasn't shy, nor did I mince my words, but no one was intimidated by me. Most people thought I lit up a room with my grin, that my aura was positive and welcoming. I was sweet, bubbly, kind.

For once, just one time, I wanted to instill a sense of awe and borderline fear, like Silver. And goodness, the way she instilled awe and fear in me was intoxicating.

When she'd grabbed my wrist, pressed herself against me, shoved me into the hotel room wall, pinned me under her on the bed—she was the master. And I was nothing but her servant.

In the most literal of professional ways, that was. Seeing this relationship as anything but that was...perilous.

"So," Silver's swift timbre took me out of my dreams, "in the coming weeks I have two stores opening on opposite ends of town." She shoved a few papers out of the way and motioned at flyers with Silver — Grand Opening! listed at the top.

"Meatpacking and Upper-East-Side," I said, staring at the addresses, trying not to hiss through my teeth. "Yeah, those aren't close-by, for sure."

"Precisely." Silver tugged another paper to her; one containing a rush of scratches in red ink. "I'm clueless, as you might have noticed. I need a map, guidance from a local to navigate all this. You," she squinted at me, "you said you were native of the area, correct?"

I nodded. "Born and raised—well, mostly raised." I bit my tongue before spilling out my entire family history, which she didn't need to know about.

Or she already did, and she'd opted not to bring it up, which I preferred.

"Good. Because before we launch, I have mountains of shit to do." Silver rubbed under her eye, puffing out a lengthy breath. "So much shit."

I pressed down on the eraser part of my pencil. "Like what? I should take note."

Silver quirked an eyebrow. "Okay, efficient. We like that." She crossed her arms and leaned forward, her gaze switching between me and her red pen-written list. "I need to run around gathering materials. I have brunches, lunches, dinners; an early-morning breakfast meeting, too. And then there's a fashion show next week—"

"Miss Bell," I said, cringing at my too-polite tone.

She stopped, her mouth hanging open. "I told you to call me Silver."

"Silver," I swallowed, "you could give me your notes and contacts and I can start organizing everything. There's great software for that, phone apps...much better than," I sneered at her paper, "scribbled stuff."

She furrowed her brow, but the corners of her lips twitched upward. "This stuff?" She waved her scrunched list at me. "Think you can read my handwriting?"

I chuckled, relaxed that that was her primary concern. "I've temped in doctor's offices and pharmacies. A lawyer once. Try me."

I clamped my mouth shut, tensing, worried that saying try me might have been too tempting an offer for her. That it'd imply I wanted her to sample me again, to swipe everything off her desk and have me right then and there.

But she was in professional mode, thankfully. I was the one with my mind in the gutter.

"Impressive," she said, cocking her head as she fell back into her chair. "I have a lot to do this week, Eden. I'll be adding things to that list constantly. Either by taking it from you and writing more, or texting you, emailing you, saying it in person. You good with that?"

In a motion of pure defiance—or because I knew damn well what I was capable of, professionally—I smirked at her. All my jitters from earlier evaporated, put on the spot about my competence.

"More than good. You saw my resume. You know what I'm best at. Trust me, Silver—this is what you hired me for, right?"

The tiniest parts of me craved for her to say that she'd hired me so she could disrobe me and fuck me whenever she wanted.

But I knew better than to let that fantasy go too far.

"Indeed. Well, then, that's settled." She hefted to her feet and unfastened the buttons of her jacket, revealing the silk shirt underneath. It was slightly see-through—of course it was—and I sighted a slither of a red bra beneath the material. "Here," she handed me the paper, her fingers touching mine and electrifying me, "show me what you can do."

I folded the paper and put it between the pages of my notebook. "I'll get it all typed up and share the calendar link with you once it's finished. There's a computer in my room, I suppose that's all set up for me?"

Silver's smile was so charged with intrigue and surprise that it nearly made me mold into my seat. "It is. Credentials are in the drawer, and you can change those as you see fit, but make sure to communicate them with me. I must have access to everything at any time. My email and phone numbers are in that drawer, too."

I refrained from asking about the phone numbers, plural; a high-level CEO like her probably had five different phones.

She tilted her head to the side again, an air of analysis in her features. "You're right, I did see your resume. I re-read it several times. And while it said you were a go-getter and proactive and assertive...well, it's nice to witness that in real-time. Nice to know I didn't make a mistake in hiring you."

I gritted my teeth to hold in my thoughts. This was a mistake. Putting two hungry, lustful women like us in the same room, alone? After how we'd seen each other exposed, dripping wet for one another, racing towards pleasure, chasing screams of exaltation?

It was the dumbest thing she could do, hiring me. And the dumbest thing I did was to accept.

But I needed that money, and she needed...me. Her local guide, her go-to, her scheduler, her coordinator.

"Make it all fit," she said, sighing as she marched around the desk. She stood near me, giving me enough space to breathe, yet not enough for me to not smell her, to wish to drink her in.

She was a handful, this woman. A grumpy boss, but occasionally cracking a smile to show she had a heart, a conscience. She was elevated, rich as fuck, designed her own clothes from scratch, and was a wonder to behold.

I'd bend over backwards to ensure she succeeded here in New York. We weren't like L.A., we didn't function the same; and while her grumpiness would fit in quite well here, I wasn't sure the rest of her would. I didn't know her, why she'd left L.A., and what drew her here to us.

I'd find out, in due time. Meanwhile, I'd help her get settled.

"I'll get started," I said, removing myself from the chair and getting as far away from her as I could.

No pressure whatsoever. Silver Bell had a packed schedule that I needed to set up and get in order. She'd need to be on-time for all her meetings, introduced to the right locals to source whatever she needed.

I recalled she'd mentioned searching for a chef, so I'd have to look into that, too. Contracts to establish with local shops to carry her brand, advertising for the new locations...

"If you have any input..." she said, not blocking my way as I passed her, but sending me a glance I couldn't decipher.

"Keep it to myself?" I ventured, assuming she wouldn't take anyone's advice but her own. She was smart, highly educated; what would she want my advice for?

"Actually," she narrowed her gaze, "do share it. Did your resume not say you went to business school? You'll have some experience in meetings and negotiations and contracts, and the like?"

My cheeks heated. "I did study business management, yes, but I...I didn't graduate. Only made it halfway through. I know some stuff, but I...I wouldn't be qualified to..."

She turned away from me. "One month or five years, makes no difference to me. I know how business classes work; they drill shit into you from the beginning. And that shit stays," she patted a finger to her temple, "in your head forever."

I didn't dare contradict her; what she said was true. I'd dropped out years ago but still remembered my first class and how it had left me unable to sleep for days.

"What's more, you're from here. You know the market, you know the city. Again, if you have any input, Eden," she whipped around so quickly, it nearly knocked me backwards though we were standing far apart, "please let me know."

I slammed the notebook to my chest as I nodded and raced out of there as fast as I could.