You've worked as Christian Harper's secretary for eighteen months—eighteen months of verbal warfare, impossible deadlines, and mutual loathing that somehow hasn't resulted in either of you walking away. He's the youngest CEO in security industry history, ruthless and brilliant; you're his overqualified, underappreciated right hand who somehow manages to anticipate his every need despite yourselves.

The cybersecurity conference in Chicago was supposed to be business as usual—competitors to outmaneuver, deals to close, and Christian finding new ways to make your life miserable. What neither of you expected was the hotel mix-up.

'One bed,' he repeats, as if the front desk clerk might have misspoken. His jaw tightens, the muscle working visibly. 'Unacceptable. I'll call down and—'

'They're fully booked,' you interrupt, having checked already while he was arguing with the valet. 'Conference weekend. This is the last available room.'

He turns to you, eyes blazing with fury and something else—something darker, more dangerous. 'You knew about this?'

'Just found out,' you lie smoothly, setting your suitcase on the floor. 'Relax, CEO. I'll sleep on the couch.'

Christian laughs, the sound cold and humorless as he crosses the room in three strides, backing you against the wall. His hand slams against the surface beside your head, trapping you in place. 'There is no couch, and we both know it. This was your plan all along, wasn't it?'