Chapter 7 First Day- Work

Macy woke up with a pounding headache and a throat so dry she felt like she had swallowed fire. A low groan escaped her lips as she pushed herself upright, every movement sending a dull ache through her body.

Her sheets still smelled faintly of him.

His cologne.

His skin.

His breath.

His hands.

"Oh... God..." she whispered to herself, pressing her palms to her burning face.

Every memory of last night flashed like lightning-his mouth on hers, the way he pulled her closer, the way her body melted against him as if it had been waiting for him all her life.

She stumbled out of bed, desperate for water, for air, for anything to distract her mind from the way her lips still tingled.

The house was dim and quiet, early dawn stretching soft shadows across the hallway. Macy dragged herself to the kitchen, barely awake-

And froze.

William stood in front of the fridge in nothing but his briefs.

His back was turned, muscles shifting under smooth, fair skin. That signature platinum blonde hair-longer now, tousled from sleep-fell messily down his neck. His hips were lean, his body powerful in a way that made her thighs clench.

He turned his head, noticed her, and his slow, knowing smirk appeared.

"Well, good morning, beautiful."

Her breath vanished.

Just like that.

Color flooded her cheeks, hot and humiliating and erotic at the same time. Every memory from last night hit her again, harder.

"G–good m–morning," she managed, voice embarrassingly small.

He shut the fridge and leaned his shoulder against it, arms crossing over his bare chest. His eyes dragged over her-sleep-mussed hair, the thin strap of her tank top falling down her shoulder, her flushed morning face.

"I'd ask how you slept," he said, voice dripping with heat, "but I already know you didn't get much rest."

Her entire body flushed.

William chuckled softly, stepping closer-close enough for her to feel his warmth, smell the faint scent of his skin.

"Well," he murmured, "I should get ready. You should too."

"Ready... for what?"

He gave her a look that made her heart tighten. "Work, Macy. We resume today."

Work.

Right.

Reality.

Disaster.

"We leave by seven-thirty," he added. "Be ready."

And then he walked past her-his bare chest brushing her arm, his scent wrapping around her like a trap.

Her knees nearly buckled.

Back in her room, Macy ripped open her wardrobe, adrenaline mixing with humiliation. She needed to look powerful. Unshakable. In control.

Not like the girl who had melted under William Sinclair's touch.

She needed an outfit that said confidence. Authority. Power. A boss lady with taste, intelligence, and control.

But she also wanted to look just a little sexy...

Okay, maybe more than a little.

She wanted William to choke on his coffee the moment he saw her.

Red.

Red was bold. Red was lethal. Red said, Don't play with me unless you can handle me.

She pulled out her red jumpsuit.

It hugged her body like a lover-tight at the waist, dipping low enough at the chest to make a man lose his mind. The fabric clung to her hips, her curves, her every outline.

Her hair went up into a sleek, serious bun.

Her makeup-bold lips, flushed cheeks, eyes that could kill.

She wanted to look like the kind of woman who could destroy a man like William.

A knock.

"Macy?" His voice, deep and impatient. "We're going to be late. It's seven already."

"I still have thirty minutes," she replied, pretending she didn't care.

"I leave at exactly seven-thirty," he warned. "With or without you."

She smirked.

He wouldn't dare.

She finished dressing, added silver jewelry, grabbed her heels and purse-and rushed downstairs two minutes late.

"William, I'm so sor-"

He wasn't there.

Not in the living room.

Not in the kitchen.

Not in his room.

He had actually left her.

After last night.

Her heart cracked in a way she refused to acknowledge.

Anger burst through her veins-hot, sharp, shaking her entire body.

He left without her.

He left her after touching her like she meant something.

He left her like she was nothing.

Fine.

She'd show him nothing.

Her blood boiled so hot she almost saw red.

Storming out and locking the door behind her, she marched to the street and waved down a taxi.

"Where to, miss?" the driver asked.

"Fourth Avenue. SnA Mega Corp."

"Alright. Off we go."

As the car pulled away, Macy's anger throbbed in her chest. SnA-the company her new stepfather built from nothing-rose tall like a monument of success.

Macy knew the story by heart: the small dusty storage room, the sleepless nights, the name "SnA" chosen to honor his mother Sofia and his middle name, Adam.

It was a legacy.

A legacy she thought she deserved.

A legacy William had stolen.

Her chest tightened again. She still couldn't believe he left without her. Furious and embarrassed, she crossed her arms and stared out the window.

He was so infuriating.

And irresistible.

And infuriating.

But mostly infuriating.

"Miss, we've arrived."

The driver's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

The SnA tower rose before her-beautiful and intimidating-but the fire in her chest flickered again. The closer she came to the entrance, the more her anger trembled into anxiety.

She suddenly wished William were standing beside her.

She took a shaky breath and forced herself forward.

One step.

Then another.

Then another.

"Macy?"

She froze.

That voice.

She turned slowly. "Ajax?"