one nightstand with MR CEO

chapter 3

Praize’s POV

She made it three full weeks without touching him.

Three weeks of clipped hellos in the hallway, of his quiet restraint in meetings, of late-night emails that said everything and nothing all at once. Three weeks of pretending her body didn’t tense every time he stood behind her in the elevator. Three weeks of him being careful—too careful.

Until the charity dinner.

Corporate required. Black tie. Full attendance.

She wore black satin, clean lines, low back, high sl*t. Polished, elegant, guarded.

She walked in alone.

But Xavier saw her first.

His gaze didn’t linger like a man undressing her—it held, like he was remembering how she felt when he already had. And she felt it. All the way to the soft space behind her knees.

He didn’t approach right away.

He didn’t have to.

He found her later on the balcony.

She was alone, arms wrapped around herself, staring out at the glittering city lights and pretending she wasn’t hiding from the weight of the ballroom.

“Ms. Williams,” he said behind her.

She turned, slowly. He looked unreal. Black suit, no tie, top button undone like control didn’t own him tonight.

“Mr. Thorns,” she replied, dry.

He smiled softly. “You always this good at pretending you don’t want to be seen?”

“I’m not pretending,” she lied.

He didn’t move closer. Just studied her.

“You look beautiful,” he said, quiet. Like it wasn’t for show. Like he just needed to say it.

“Thank you,” she said. Then added, “This is inappropriate.”

“I know,” he said.

And then he did step closer.

Not touching. Not reaching. Just—close.

“I’m trying to respect your space,” he said. “I’ve done it exactly how you asked.”

“You have,” she whispered.

“But I’m at war with myself every time I look at you.”

Praize swallowed hard. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I do,” he said, firmer now. “Because I’ve said nothing for weeks. I’ve watched you bite back reactions. I’ve watched myself turn away from instincts. And it’s killing me.”

Silence pulsed between them. Her breath faltered.

“Then what do you want?” she whispered.

He stepped in fully now. Close enough that her bare arm almost brushed his jacket.

“To kiss you,” he said. “To stop pretending you weren’t the best and worst decision I’ve ever made.”

Praize closed her eyes. Just for a moment. Just to hold back the ache.

“Xavier—” she started.

“Tell me to walk away,” he cut in. “I will.”

She looked up at him.

And said nothing.

Because she didn’t want him to walk away.

He waited.

She still said nothing.

So he leaned in.

Slowly. Gently.

And kissed her like it was the first time.

Not hurried. Not desperate.

Just honest.

Her hands found his lapels. His fingers found the bare skin of her back. She melted without permission.

And when they pulled apart, breathing uneven, foreheads almost touching—

The line wasn’t blurred anymore.

It was gone.

His lips left hers slowly, reluctantly—like his body hadn’t quite agreed to let go. Xavier’s hand still rested at the small of her back, warm and grounding, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Praize’s breath trembled between them.

They were still standing on the balcony. Still surrounded by a city that didn’t know them, didn’t care. But in the cocoon of that moment, she felt stripped bare. Exposed. Seen.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, even though her fingers were still curled in the front of his jacket.

Xavier’s voice was low. “You didn’t stop me.”

“I didn’t have the strength.”

He touched her jaw then. Just one finger, trailing up behind her ear. “You always have the strength. You’re just tired of pretending.”

God. That was the problem.

She was tired.

Tired of looking away. Tired of shutting her feelings in a box labeled “career first.” Tired of holding her breath every time he got too close.

But this was still a mistake.

Her hands dropped from his chest. She took a small, careful step back.

“I need to go,” she said.

Xavier didn’t argue. He just nodded, lips pressed into a line.

“Will you tell anyone?” she asked quietly.

His brow furrowed. “Of course not.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

And then she turned, heels clicking against stone as she reentered the ballroom, head high, heart screaming.

—

Later That Night

Praize didn’t go straight home.

She drove around the city in silence, letting the radio play low static while her mind tried to untangle everything she felt. Shame. Hunger. Anger. Longing.

She wanted him.

God, she wanted him.

But she also wanted the corner office. The promotion she was being considered for. The respect she’d worked so d*mn hard to earn. One wrong step with Xavier, and it would all look tainted—like she’d traded integrity for proximity.

She wasn’t that woman.

She wouldn’t let herself become her.

By the time she made it home, her body was sore with conflict.

She showered. Scrubbed her skin too hard. As if that would erase the way his fingers had felt at her back.

It didn’t.

She climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling for hours, trying not to imagine his hands on her pillow instead.

—

Monday Morning

Back to routine.

Back to power suits and bulletproof composure.

But the moment she stepped out of the elevator on her floor, she felt it.

His presence.

Not visual. Just… sensed.

And sure enough, minutes later, a soft knock on her glass door.

Her heart stuttered.

He stepped inside, holding a thick envelope.

“Your revised proposal packet,” Xavier said evenly, voice all business.

“Thank you,” she replied. Voice neutral. Controlled.

He didn’t hand it to her directly. Just placed it on her desk.

She didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

Until he said—

“I’ve scheduled myself out of your approval chain.”

Her eyes shot up.

“What?”

“I’ve asked the board to assign oversight of your projects to your director again. Any evaluations of your performance will go through someone else.”

Praize blinked, stunned.

“That’s—why?”

“Because I want you to know,” he said, gaze steady, “that I’m not here to leverage power over you. Whatever’s between us—if anything will be between us—it has to be outside this office.”

Her throat tightened. “You think we can keep the lines that clean?”

“I think we owe each other the chance to try.”

She looked down at the envelope again.

Then back up at him.

“You scare me,” she admitted.

His expression softened just a little. “You undo me.”

The silence that followed was loaded. But not tense.

Just… fragile.

“I’m still not saying yes,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. “But you’re not saying no either.”

He turned and left her office without another word.

Praize sat still for a full minute after the door closed.

Then whispered to herself—

“What the hell am I doing?”

—-

Friday Evening

‘Praize Williams’ Apartment, Downtown Chicago’

“I don’t like your face right now.”

sophia’s voice came from somewhere between a smirk and genuine concern as she dropped her tote on the kitchen island and kicked off her boots like she owned the place. She wore a thrifted leather jacket over leggings and a sarcastic T-shirt that read ‘Don’t Text Your Ex’. She looked chaotic in the way that made sense—effortlessly unfiltered, caffeine in her veins, danger in her laugh.

Praize raised a brow. “You always open conversations like that?”

“Only when your face says ‘I’m spiraling but pretending it’s a yoga pose.’”

Praize rolled her eyes and opened a cabinet, pulling out two wine glasses. “It’s been a long week.”

“You texted me ‘bring snacks and distractions’ at 2 a.m. last night. That’s not a long week. That’s a ’code red’.”

Sophia pulled out a bottle of Pinot Noir from her oversized bag like it was a defibrillator. Alongside it came a container of spicy takeout noodles and two bars of dark chocolate.

“Talk,” she said. “I’ll chew.”

Praize poured wine, then paused. “He kissed me.”

Amara blinked. “CEO guy?”

Praize gave her a look. “Who else would I be talking about?”

“You know I was hoping for the doorman. I really liked his energy.”

Praize sank into the couch, wine glass in hand, stomach tight. “It was after the charity dinner. Balcony. Classic cliché. And yes—I let him.”

Sophia joined her, cross-legged and too calm. “Do you regret it?”

“I regret that I didn’t want it to stop.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Sophia said. “You look like someone who’s gone twenty rounds with self-control and lost every one.”

“I’ve worked too hard to get where I am. I don’t want to be the woman they whisper about in boardrooms.”

“And you won’t be,” Sophia said firmly. “He’s the CEO, not your savior. You made one impulsive choice. That doesn’t erase your credentials, Praize.”

Praize stared into her wine like it might offer clarity.

“He said he removed himself from my performance review process.”

Amara’s brows rose. “That’s actually… respectable.”

“It’s also terrifying.”

“Because now it means whatever happens next is entirely your call.”

Praize looked up.

And said nothing.

Because that was the truth she hadn’t been ready to sit with.

—

Later that night, after the takeout was cold and Sophia had Ubered home with a threatening “don’t ghost me tomorrow,” Praize stood alone at her window, looking out over the skyline. City lights blinked like stars pretending to be still.

Her reflection stared back from the glass.

Same sharp jaw. Same unreadable eyes.

And still—she could feel his mouth on hers like memory didn’t respect boundaries.

———

Absolutely. Let’s stay close to Praize—inside those quiet, restless moments where thoughts of Xavier creep in uninvited, where desire and doubt mix in the silence. No drama yet—just her, trying not to want what she already does.

—

Praize’s POV

Saturday was supposed to be her reset day.

She’d turned off her alarms, left her laptop untouched, and swore to herself—no work, no wine, no Xavier.

It lasted eleven minutes.

He wasn’t doing anything.

He hadn’t texted. Hadn’t called. Hadn’t shown up in her inbox with some thin excuse to follow up on a file she already submitted.

But that was the problem.

The silence made space for him.

And in that space, he multiplied.

She saw him in the mug she reached for—the one she bought from that artsy hotel downtown, the same weekend they met. She heard him in the low saxophone that played from her speaker, reminding her of the lobby music and the way he’d leaned across the bar with that unreadable look.

“You don’t look like you want company.”

“I don’t.”

“But you’ll let me sit anyway.”

She should’ve said no.

She should’ve meant it.

But now it was months later, and she couldn’t pick up her hairbrush without remembering his fingers threaded through her curls, gentle and deliberate, like touching her had been his only job that night.

She hated that it hadn’t ended at the hotel.

She hated more that she didn’t want it to.

Praize tossed her phone under a pillow. She sat on the floor beside her unmade bed and closed her eyes, knees to chest. The room was quiet, clean, neutral.

Still.

But her head wasn’t.

Her thoughts kept making the same mistake: remembering how it felt instead of what it meant.

Xavier Thorns wasn’t a fantasy.

He was real. Intentional. Patient in a way that unnerved her.

She didn’t doubt his interest.

She doubted her ability to survive it.

Because the longer he waited, the more she wanted to break her own rules—and she wasn’t sure what scared her more:

”The moment he’d stop chasing…

or the moment she’d finally let herself be caught.”