Chapter 4
1017 Words
JENNA
The next few weeks pass in a blur of tension so thick I can barely breathe.
Every day, I sit outside his office, typing reports, answering calls, pretending I don’t feel his eyes on me every time he walks past. Pretending I don’t replay that almost‑moment in his office every night before I fall asleep.
Pretending I’m not falling.
Fast.
And he’s not helping.
Not when he watches me like he’s starving.
Not when his voice drops when he says my name.
Not when he stands too close, breath brushing my neck, pretending it’s accidental.
We’re both pretending.
Until the night we stop.
**
It’s late. Everyone has gone home except me and Jaxon. I’m finishing a report when I hear his office door open.
“Jenna.”
I look up.
He’s standing in the doorway, jacket off, tie loose, eyes dark with something I’ve seen building for weeks.
Something dangerous.
“Come here,” he says.
My heart stutters. “I—I’m almost done with the—”
“Now.”
The word sends a shiver down my spine.
I stand slowly, walking toward him. He steps back into his office, and I follow, pulse racing.
The moment I cross the threshold, he closes the door behind me.
The soft click feels like a lock on my fate.
He turns to me, jaw tight, eyes burning. “I can’t do this anymore.”
My breath catches. “Do what?”
I'm thinking, I'm done. I'm going to be fired any moment now.
“Pretend I don’t want you.”
The air leaves my lungs.
He steps closer, backing me up until my spine hits the wall. His hands cage me in, palms flat on either side of my head.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
I can’t.
I don’t.
He leans in, lips brushing my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my mouth.
“Jenna,” he whispers, his voice breaking, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the night I saw you in that bar.”
My knees nearly buckled.
“But you’re my boss,” I breathe.
“I don’t care anymore.”
“You said we had to be professional.”
“I lied.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
He presses his forehead to mine. “I want you in my bed. In my arms. In my life. I want you everywhere.”
I swallowed hard. “Jaxon…”
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes.
“I’ll take care of you,” he says. “All of you. Everything you need.”
My stomach flips. “I don’t need—”
“I’ll pay for your apartment.”
“No.”
“I’ll cover your bills.”
“Jaxon—”
“I’ll make sure you never worry about anything again.”
My voice shakes. “I don’t want your money.”
His eyes soften. “I know. That’s why I want to give it to you.”
I blink, confused. “That makes no sense.”
“It does,” he says quietly, “because you’re the first woman who hasn’t asked me for anything.”
He lifts my chin gently.
“Let me do this,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you.”
My resolve crumbles.
I nod.
His lips crash into mine.
The world disappears.
**
The next month becomes a secret I wear under my skin.
At work, we’re professional.
Cold.
Distant.
Untouchable.
But the moment we clock out—
He picks me up in a different car every night.
He takes me to his penthouse.
He kisses me like he’s starving.
He touches me like I’m something precious.
He holds me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
And I fall.
Hard.
One night, his friend Hayes calls me.
“Jenna? It’s Hayes. You need to come get him.”
My stomach drops. “What happened?”
“He’s drunk. Really drunk. He can’t drive.”
I rush to the bar.
Jaxon is slumped in a booth, head tipped back, eyes half‑closed. Hayes stands beside him, looking apologetic.
“He wouldn’t let anyone else call,” Hayes says. “Only you.”
My heart twists.
But Beckett—Jaxon’s other friend—leans against the bar, smirking.
“Well, well,” he drawls. “So this is the girl. I remember you.”
I stiffen. “I’m just here to take him home.”
He steps closer, breath smelling like whiskey. “You sure you’re not here for something else?”
I ignore him.
He laughs. “Relax. I’m just saying—Jaxon doesn’t do relationships. Don’t get attached.”
Hayes shoots him a glare. “Beckett. Enough.”
I help Jaxon up. He leans heavily on me, murmuring my name like a prayer.
“Jenna…”
My heart breaks a little.
I take him home.
I tuck him into bed.
He grabs my wrist before I can leave.
“Don’t go,” he whispers.
I stay.
**
A week later, on my day off, I met Faith for brunch.
She stares at me across the table, eyes wide. “You’re glowing. Spill.”
I hesitate.
Then I tell her.
Not everything.
But enough.
Her smile fades. “Jenna… he’s your boss.”
“I know.”
“And he’s rich.”
“I know.”
“And he’s older.”
“I know.”
“And he’s… Jaxon Vale.” Those two words, Faith uttered in a whisper.
I swallow. “I know.”
She leans forward, voice soft but firm. “I’m worried he’s playing you.”
“He’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
I look down. “I trust him.”
She sighs. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. And if the company finds out—”
“I’ll be fired,” I whisper.
Faith squeezes my hand. “Just be careful.”
I nod.
But deep down, I know it’s already too late.
I’m in too deep.
And I don’t want out.
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