One Night With My CEO.

The bass thundered through Amira's chest as she leaned against the bar, her third cocktail warming her blood in a way that made the world feel softer, brighter, more alive. The club was packed with Bangkok's elite—the kind of place where champagne cost more than her monthly rent and everyone looked like they'd stepped out of a magazine. "You're stalling," Mei shouted over the music, her eyes gleaming with mischief. Her best friend had that look—the one that always got them into trouble. "I'm not stalling. I'm being sensible," Amira protested, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. The emerald dress Mei had forced her to clung to every curve, making her feel exposed and powerful all at once. "Sensible?" Mei laughed, the sound bright and reckless. "Girl, you just landed an internship at Grande Corp—one of the biggest companies in Thailand." You start Monday. Tonight is about celebrating, not being sensible." Amira bit her lip, her gaze drifting across the crowded club. Bodies moved together on the dance floor, inhibitions dissolved in alcohol and dim lighting. Somewhere between her second and third drink, Mei had dared her to kiss a stranger. Not just any stranger—the hottest man in the club. "I can't just walk up to someone and—" "There." Mei grabbed her arm, fingers digging in with excitement. "Corner booth. Dark suit. Oh my God, Amira, he's perfect." Amira's eyes followed Mei's pointed finger, and her breath caught. He sat alone in a private booth elevated above the main floor, separated from the chaos by velvet ropes and shadows. The low lighting carved his features into something almost cruel—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, lips that looked like they knew exactly how to ruin a woman. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd run his fingers through it too many times. He wore an expensive suit, the jacket discarded, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the strong column of his throat. But it was his eyes that trapped her. Even from across the room, she could feel the weight of them—dark, intense, burning with something that made her skin prickle with awareness. He had a glass of whiskey in his hand, untouched, his long fingers wrapped with casual possession around it. Everything about him screamed danger and control. He was watching her. "Absolutely not," Amira breathed, her voice coming out a lot breathier than she intended. "He's way out of my league. He probably owns half of Bangkok." "Exactly why should you do it?" Mei pushed another shot into her hand. "Come on. You're always so careful, so focused on doing the right thing. For once, just let go. Be reckless. Kiss a beautiful stranger and have a story worth telling." The liquor hummed through Amira's veins, dissolving her usual caution. She thought of Monday: her first day at Grande Corp., being professional, polished, perfect. Tonight was her last night of freedom before real life kicked in. One kiss. One moment of madness. What can possibly go wrong? "Fine," she heard herself say. "But you're buying breakfast tomorrow when I'm dying of embarrassment." Mei squealed, practically bouncing. "Yes! Go get him, tiger." She tossed the shot back, letting the burn chase away her nerves. Then, before her brain could decide otherwise, she started walking. It was as if the crowd parted for her as she walked toward the raised area. Her heels clicked against the marble floor, and with every step, her heart did somersaults. The security man at the velvet rope eyed her up and down, clearly ready to intercept her at the slightest provocation. But then a deep commanding voice cut through the music from the stranger. "Let her through." The guard immediately stepped aside. She climbed the three steps to the private area, her legs a little shaky. He was even more devastating close up. Dim lighting cast eerie shadows across his face and gave him the profile of something that sprang from a dark fairy tale—beautiful and dangerous in equal measure. "That was either very brave or very foolish," he said, his voice like smoke and sin. His accent was local, but refined, educated. "Walking up here alone." "Maybe both," Amira said, startled by her own audacity. She halted a few feet from his booth, close enough to make out amber flecks in his dark eyes, far enough to run if necessary. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Are you lost? "No." She lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his though every instinct screamed at her to look away. There was something predatory in the way he watched her, like a panther deciding whether its prey was worth the chase. "I came here on purpose." "Did you?" He sat back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the coiled energy barely contained. "And what purpose would that be?" This was it: the moment to either commit or retreat. Amira took a step closer, close enough now that she could smell his cologne—something dark and expensive, cedar and spice. "My friend dared me to kiss the hottest man in the club." Something dangerous flashed in his eyes; interest, hunger, amusement. "And you chose me?" "Was I wrong? Electricity hummed in the air between them. He set down his glass of whiskey with deliberate care, then rose. God, he was tall—easily six feet, broad-shouldered and powerful. He moved with the fluid grace of someone completely comfortable in his own skin, someone used to controlling every room he entered. He stepped closer until she had to tilt her head back, her eyes straining to maintain his gaze. The heat from his body radiated against her like waves that made her dizzy. "You don't even know my name," he whispered, his voice falling lower, becoming more intimate. "Do I need to?" Her heart hammered against her ribs. "It's just a kiss." "Is it?" His hand came up slowly, giving her time to retreat. When she didn't, his fingers traced along her jaw, tilting her face up. His touch was light yet possessive, the result of wildfire racing through her veins. "Because the way you're looking at me suggests it might be more than that." "You're the one who told security to let me through," Amira breathed. "Maybe you're the one that wants more." His thumb brushed across her lower lip, and she shivered. "Careful, beautiful. You don't know what you're offering." "Then show me." Something in his expression shifted—the careful control cracking just enough to reveal the hunger beneath. His other hand settled on her waist, pulling her flush against him. She gasped at the contact, at the hard planes of his body pressed against her softer curves. "Last chance to run," he whispered against her mouth, his lips no more than a breath away from hers. But Amira was done running, done being careful. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair. "I don't want to run." He made a low sound in his throat—half growl, half groan—and then his mouth crashed against hers. The kiss was not like anything she had ever imagined. It wasn't soft or tentative or sweet. It was claiming, consuming—plain devastating. His lips moved against hers with expert precision, demanding that she respond. And she gave it, without thinking. When his tongue traced the seam of her mouth, she opened for him, and the kiss deepened to something that made her knees weak. His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, pressing her impossibly closer. She could feel every hard inch of him, the evidence of his desire unmistakable. It should have frightened her. Instead, it thrilled her. She'd never been kissed like this, as if she were air, and he was drowning, as if he wanted to devour her and savor her at the same time. One of his hands tangled in her hair, pulling softly to tip her head exactly where he wanted it. The slight burn sent pleasure sparkling down her spine. Time dissolved. The club, the music, the crowd that watched—all faded until he was all she could see. Only the taste of whiskey in his mouth, the fire of his body, the way his hands mapped her curves possessively, as if memorizing every inch. When he finally drew back, they were both gasping. His pupils were blown wide, his cautious control visibly frayed. He stared at her like she was both the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him. "What is your name?" His voice was more hoarse now, strained. "Amira," she breathed. Her lips were swollen, sensitized. "Amira Wattanakul." Something flickered in his eyes-recognition? Impossible. They'd never met before. "Amira," he repeated, the name like fine wine in his mouth. His thumb traced her jaw again—a touch that was almost too intimate. "You should go back to your friend now." The dismissal stung, even though she'd expected it. This was just a dare, just a moment of madness. Nothing more. "Why?" She forced herself to sound casual, even as her heart cracked. "Didn't you enjoy it?" "Too much." His hand dropped away from her face, and he stepped back, putting distance between them. But his eyes. his eyes still burned. "That's the problem. Go, Amira. Before I forget how to be a gentleman." There was a warning in his words, a promise of things she wasn't ready for. Sensible Amira would be thanking him, taking a leave. But she had been sensible all her life, and where had it gotten her? "What if I don't want a gentleman?" The words were out before she could swallow them back, bold and reckless. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking there. "You don't know what you're asking for." "Then tell me your name. Give me that much at least." For one long moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. Then, so softly, she almost didn't hear it over the music: "Krit." Nothing more. Just that. "Well, Krit," she said, gathering her courage and her dignity, "Thank you for the kiss. It was—" "Unforgettable." He finished for her, his voice gruff. "I know. Now go." This time, she did. She turned and walked away on shaking legs, feeling his gaze on her until she was halfway down the stairway. When she reached Mei's side, her friend was all but sizzling with excitement. "Oh my God! That was the hottest thing I have ever seen! Who is he? What did he say? Are you seeing him again?" One final time, Amira turned back. The booth was empty. He was gone, vanished like he'd never been there at all. Only the memory of his taste remained on her lips, and the ghost of his touch on her skin. "I don't know," she admitted. "He's just someone I'll never see again." Mei pouted. "How sad! Just like a fairy tale, modern version. Amira forced a laugh, trying to shake off the strange melancholy settling over her. "More like a cautionary tale. Come on, let's get out of here. I need to be functional by Monday." As they left the club, Amira made a conscious note to herself that she needed to forget him—forget the kiss, the way he'd looked at her like she mattered, the name that was probably fake anyway. It was just a dare. Just a kiss. Just one reckless night before real life began. The problem was, she had no way of knowing that in three days, she would be walking into Grande Corp to start her first day of work and find out some strangers weren't meant to stay. Some were meant to be it all. CLIFFHANGER: Amira thought she’d never see the mysterious stranger again. But fate and corporate Bangkok—had other plans. Three days later, their paths would cross, and nothing would ever be the same.