Accidentally in the Billionaire’s Bed

How long you can pretend

~ Damien ~

‘The tie was crooked.’

I stared at it in the mirror, jaw clenched, willing my hands to stay still as I adjusted the knot for the third time. Useless. It still didn’t sit right. My cufflinks snapped into place with a little more force than necessary.

“Morning schedule,” Eric said behind me, flipping through his tablet. “We’ve got a board meeting at nine, conference call with the Tokyo branch at ten-fifteen, then a short internal pitch for the Q3 strategies, though let’s be honest, nothing is ever short when it involves George.”

I didn’t answer. My reflection glared back at me.

Eric, oblivious or pretending to be, continued. “Then we have a twenty-minute PR briefing—”

“How many reports today?” I cut in.

He blinked. “Six.”

“And?”

He stopped flipping because he knew what I meant. “Still nothing. No matches yet. Nothing even close.”

Of course not.

My jaw ticked. “You’re telling me in a city of eight million people, no one has seen a woman with red hair and bright blue eyes?”

Eric cleared his throat. “Well, red hair is surprisingly common, boss. And she… she might have dyed it.”

I gave him a flat look.

“She might have shaved it, for all we know,” he muttered, eyes back on the tablet.

I almost laughed. Almost. Instead, I walked past him and out the penthouse suite, my black coat trailing behind me like a damn shadow. The car ride was as grim as every other morning these past twelve months, except worse. I’d slept four hours. My jaw ached from clenching. And the sketch I’d drawn.

Yes, I f*****g drew a sketch with the best of my abilities! Surprisingly, I might be lacking in that area which is strange because I’m good at everything.

I’m Damien Castiel. I’m perfect.

The sketch sat folded in my inner coat pocket like a curse I had to carry around. It’s been a year now.

Eric knew better than to make small talk and I was happy for the peace. The moment we arrived at the building, everyone lined up like programmed toys. Interns, executives, assistants, all lined like ants waiting to bow.

My gaze swept past them until…

A scent.

Faint, yet sharp. Like the trace of something I’d buried in my skin and blood.

I stopped walking.

It was her perfume. I didn’t know the brand. Didn’t care. I just knew it. The air around me shifted. Like static crawling across my spine. I turned my head slowly.

A girl stood with her head lowered.

Black hair.

“You,” I said, cold and flat.

She didn’t move.

My eyes narrowed. “I’m speaking to you—”

The manager beside her nudged her elbow hard. She flinched and lifted her head.

My chest turned to stone.

It was her!

Those eyes. I remembered the way they had looked at me that night, full of heat, challenge, breathless surrender. Now? All I saw was fear.

The same fear every employee had when I looked at them.

She didn’t recognize me?

Liar.

I scanned her hairline, searching for any trace of red. Nothing. She had dyed it. Black as ink. She even covered the damn roots.

She noticed me staring. Her hand reached up to her head, almost reflexively.

The manager stepped forward, bowing low. “Apologies, sir. Her skirt is too short. I already reprimanded her. It’s her first day and she didn’t know the dress code.”

Skirt?

I hadn’t even noticed but now I did.

My eyes dropped. The hem was ridiculous. Corporate? Barely. Intentional? Absolutely.

Every breath around us was held.

She lowered her head again.

I said nothing. Just turned and walked into the building with my fists clenched so tight my nails bit into skin.

Inside the elevator, Eric looked like he wanted to dissolve into the wall. “Well. That was…”

“Silence,” I snapped.

She dyed her hair to change her appearance or was her red hair the dyed version? What else is she hiding?

She might’ve changed her name and ran away after using me and left cash like I was a one-night stand from a cheap club.

Is that what I was to her?

A temporary escape?

Meanwhile, I’d torn through the city trying to find her. Called in favors. Flipped files. Had facial recognition tech run through street cams. For what? So she could walk in here, look me in the eye, and pretend I was nothing?

Or worse…

Was seducing men just her thing? That skirt certainly hinted at it.

Back in my office, Eric tried to salvage the morning like the responsible assistant he was. “The strategy meeting is still on. Marketing’s final reports were turned in last night. Shall I have them printed—”

“Who handled the marketing projections?” I cut in.

Eric paused. “The intern team. I told you last quarter, we don’t send you those updates until the cycle ends. You said you didn’t want to waste time on half-baked results.”

“I want them now.”

He blinked.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” I said, voice cold as ice. Eric nodded. “I’ll tell the manager to deliver it—”

“No. Let the intern from earlier bring it.”

He choked. “You want the intern—”

“I said what I said.”

He stood frozen by the door. “I don’t like repeating myself,” I repeated, darker this time.

“Got it,” Eric said quickly. “The intern will be with you in a minute.”

Good.

Let’s see how long she can pretend.