4.

THALASSA

It had been weeks since I accidentally flashed my fiancé’s uncle in the kitchen. Weeks since his hand had been on my breast, his voice in my ear, and his eyes burning into me like I was already his.

And now, here I was, sitting in the empty lobby of Reyes Global Logistics, my CV clutched so tight to my chest the folder edges cut into my palms.

The receptionist didn’t even look at me. Her nails clicked against the keyboard in sharp, impatient taps while I tried to keep my breathing steady, trying to act like this was just an interview, and there was no way he could touch me here.

But my stomach was a mess of knots. Because the man behind those doors wasn’t just a CEO. He was the person I couldn’t stop fantasizing about.

When he’d left that next morning, I thought it would be easier. He’d flown back out for business, and I’d locked myself in my own room whenever he returned again, determined to avoid him. I thought if I stayed out of sight, I could erase the way my body had almost betrayed me that night.

Instead, all I’d managed to do was fall deeper into the mess with Caleb.

While his uncle was gone, he and I had been having sex nearly every night. At first, it felt like a relief—like I could drown Adam out by losing myself in my fiancé. Only… it wasn’t that simple.

Because Caleb only liked one thing. One position. Bent over, his hands on my hips, taking me from behind like that was all I was good for. And I’d let him, because it was easier than asking for more. But in my head, I imagined other things. Imagined someone else.

I’d tried to change it. Once, I climbed on top of him, tried to ride him slowly. He let me—for a moment. Then his hands clamped hard on my waist, flipping me over and shoving me back on my knees. Another time, I coaxed him into missionary, craving the intimacy of his face close to mine, his weight pressing me down. But within minutes, he was pulling out, pushing me forward, bending me over the mattress like he couldn’t stand anything else.

And then there was three nights ago when he tried something I hadn’t agreed to.

The sharp, shocking pain had ripped through me before I even realized what he was doing. “Cay!” I screamed, jerking away, scrambling forward on the bed.

“Relax,” he grunted, holding me tighter. “You’re always complaining we do the same thing. I thought you wanted something different.”

“Not like that,” I sobbed, my whole body shaking. “You can’t just shove it in—God, Cay, give me a warning at least. That’s my fucking ass Cay.”

He pulled away, frustration flashing across his face as he fell back on the mattress. “So what, you’re done now? Just like that?”

I’d curled under the blanket, turning to the wall. “I can’t. Not tonight.”

That was the last night we’d touched.

No apology. No attempt to bridge the gap. He’d just… stopped. Some nights he didn’t even come home, leaving me alone in the house, wondering if I’d broken something between us. And when Adam came back? Caleb was magically around again. Eating dinner. Sleeping in his room and not mine anymore. Acting like nothing had happened.

Coincidence? Maybe. But I couldn’t shake the gnawing in my gut.

“Miss Winslow?”

The receptionist’s voice jerked me back to the present. My nails had left half-moon crescents in the folder, my knuckles pale.

I stood, my legs trembling as I smoothed down my skirt.

“Mr. Reyes will see you now.”

Mr. Reyes. Not Adam. Just Mr. Reyes.

The office was bigger than I expected. Dark colored walls, black leather chairs, bookshelves that looked more decorative than useful. But my eyes went straight to him.

For a forty-four-year-old man, he looked unfairly good. Built. Solid. His black polo stretched across his chest, sleeves hugging biceps I couldn’t stop staring at. The fabric strained like it hated being on him. Even the veins in his forearms seemed intimidating.

“Sit.” His voice was calm, but commanding enough that my body reacted before I could think.

I sank into the chair across from his desk, clutching my CV as if it was some kind of shield. He flipped it open, scanning without much expression. My gaze flickered helplessly over him. The faint grey strands at his temples made him look… distinguished. Powerful.

His jaw flexed as he read, the line of his Adam’s apple drawing my eyes down his throat.

God. I was staring at his Adam’s apple.

And of course his name was Adam. Adam with an Adam’s apple. My brain, traitor that it was, immediately started spiraling. Imagine being named Adam and not having one. Or worse—having like, two. Double Adam. What the hell was wrong with me?

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to snort at my own thoughts. Get it together, Thalassa. You’re in a job interview, not a stand-up comedy routine in your own head.

“All you’ve ever done is work at an art gallery, correct?”

The question jolted me back to earth. “Y–yes, Mr. Reyes.”

“Adam.” His eyes flicked up, pinning me. “I’ve told you to call me Adam.”

“At home,” I whispered, straightening in the chair. “This is work.”

He arched a brow, “Even at home you don’t call me Adam, Ala.”

The way it left his lips, like gravel and silk all at once. .

Oh God. My chest tightened instantly, heat rushing between my legs just from the way he said it.

“Can we not do this?” I breathed.

His jaw ticked. Then his voice dropped, dangerously. “Do you want the job or not, Thalassa Janet Winslow?”

Hearing my full name from his lips was like a slap. I froze, too stunned to form words.

“That’s what I thought.” His eyes remained on me. “You know how to read and write?”

“Yes, sir,” I managed, biting the inside of my cheek.

“Use a laptop? A printer?”

My mouth parted. Was he serious? Did he think I was stupid—or was this another one of his games?

“When I ask a question, I need an answer, Ms. Winslow.” he said.

“Yes, sir.” My voice came out small.

“Good.” He snapped the CV shut, tossing it aside as if it were useless. “You have the job.”

My mouth fell open. “I—what?”

“You start tomorrow. Assistant. Your office is just outside mine.” He tapped his laptop screen, already dismissing me. “Tessa, my receptionist, will give you your ID. Work starts at nine a.m. sharp. I don’t ever want to get here before you.”

“O-okay,” I stammered, the words tumbling out clumsy. Just like that, I had a job. His assistant. Not even a clerk or receptionist. His assistant.

“You may leave now.” His tone was flat, his eyes already back on his computer.

I stood on shaky legs, forcing the words out. “Thank you, Adam—”

“It’s Mr. Reyes.” He cut me off in a harsh tone, before I could even thank him properly.

My lips parted. He was the one who wanted me to call him Adam a few moments ago. And now—this? Mr. Reyes?

Bollocks.

“My apologies. Thank you, Mr. Reyes.” I said flatly, forcing a smile to my face, as I turned on my heel, eager to escape before I lost all composure.

“And, Ala—”

I stopped. My breath caught in my throat.

“Lose the contact lenses.”

I whipped back to him, startled. “I’m not wearing any.”

He chuckled, “A red-haired with green eyes? Crazy.”

Heat rushed to my face, but I didn’t wait for more. I stormed out.