one nightstand with MR CEO

Praize’s POV The glass in her hand sweated under her grip, cold and untouched. Her lipstick clung to the rim in a smudge she didn't bother wiping off. Around her, the hotel bar buzzed softly—muffled laughter, the clink of ice, the low hum of a jazz cover spilling from the corner speakers. She hated jazz. Tonight, she hated everything. Her phone lit up again: ”We’ll revise your proposal and circle back Monday.” No apology. No credit. Just her manager taking the win, again. She exhaled slowly through her nose and pushed the phone screen-down on the bar. That was the third time today she'd swallowed her anger. Her pride tasted like cheap champagne. Then he sat down beside her. She didn’t look right away. Just felt it—the shift in air, the clean spice of expensive cologne, the quiet confidence of someone used to owning rooms. His fingers drummed once on the wood before signaling the bartender with a glance. Neat. Whiskey. "Long day?" His voice was deep. Warm. Like midnight. Praize turned slightly. Sharp jaw. Dark eyes. No wedding ring. She shrugged. “Could say that.” He didn’t press. Just nodded, as if that answer was enough. They sat in silence for a beat. Then another. “You don’t look like you’re celebrating,” he said. She smiled, barely. “Maybe I’m just hiding it well.” His lips twitched—half amused, half interested. “Or maybe you need a better reason to celebrate.” Their eyes locked. She should have stopped. Should’ve said goodnight and left with her dignity intact. But the warmth in her chest felt new. Dangerous. Tempting. “Maybe,” she said, tilting her head, “you have one to offer?” The elevator ride was a blur. Buttons. Breath. A brush of fingers. Her back met the cool wall with a gasp as his lips found her neck. Hands in her hair. Her laugh caught in his mouth. The suite door shut with a soft click. Shoes dropped. Clothes whispered to the floor. Nothing else existed. He kissed like he meant to be remembered. His hands mapped her skin like he’d been here before in another life. And she—she let him. Let herself unravel under his touch, under the weight of a night that made her feel seen, wanted, ruined in the best way. When she woke, the sheets beside her were cold. Only a faint trace of cologne remained. No name. No goodbye. She sat up slowly, ran a hand through her tangled curls, and stared out the window. The city blinked back indifferently. Just one night. It didn’t have to mean anything. *** Three days later, she looked up from her desk as the boardroom doors opened. New CEO. Black suit. Same cologne. Same eyes. He met her stare and smiled like the universe was in on a joke she hadn’t heard the punchline to. “Everyone,” her manager said, “this is Mr. Xavier Thorns.” Her pulse fluttered. Her stomach dropped. And he didn’t look away. His name echoed in her ears like a threat. Xavier Thorns. Her heartbeat stuttered. No—pounded. Hard and loud, like it was trying to break through her chest and flee the room without her. She couldn't look away. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think beyond the memory of his hands on her skin, his mouth against her neck, the way her name—God, her name—had sounded falling from his lips just nights ago. Now here he was, suited and polished, standing at the head of the boardroom like he owned it. Because now, apparently, he did. The room clapped. She blinked. Everyone was clapping. Smiling. Oblivious. Her fingers twitched against the file in front of her, but she kept them still. Steady. Pretend. Xavier's eyes flicked across the team like a king surveying his court. Then they landed on her—briefly, deliberately—and lingered. A spark. A curve of his mouth that wasn’t quite a smile. He remembered. Oh, he definitely remembered. Her stomach twisted. She dropped her gaze, fixating on the edge of her notepad like it held answers. Heat crept up her neck. Could they see it? Could anyone tell? Was it written all over her that she'd slept with the man now signing her paycheck? What if he said something? No—he wouldn’t. Would he? Her thoughts spiraled. What if HR found out? What if her team suspected? What if he thought this meant something—*meant access*, leverage, expectation? What if *she* did? This wasn’t just awkward. This was dangerous. One night. One stupid, perfect night she couldn’t take back. And now, she had to sit through a welcome briefing with the man who had tasted her skin and kissed the side of her knee like it was sacred. Amara inhaled—quiet, sharp. Don’t panic. Too late. She forced her hands to stay still in her lap, even though her palms were slick and her heartbeat hadn't slowed since Xavier Thorns walked in. Correction: Mr. Thorns. Her boss. She could feel his presence like heat against her skin, even from across the boardroom. He hadn’t looked at her again—not directly—but the damage was done. Her body remembered him. Her mind wouldn't shut up about him. “Mr. Thorns will be reviewing departmental structures over the next few weeks,” her manager was saying, voice tight with fake enthusiasm. “He’s hands-on—likes to understand the operation from the inside out.” Of course he does, Praize thought bitterly, then immediately flushed at where her mind went. She didn’t dare look up. Didn’t dare meet those eyes again. He spoke next. “Efficiency and innovation are my priorities. I’m not here to micromanage, but I will pay attention.” His voice. God, that voice. It rolled over her like it had the night he whispered into her neck—slow, deep, deliberate. She clenched her pen tighter. Keep your face blank. Keep your breathing normal. Don’t look rattled. When it came time for introductions, she stood with the rest of her team, her name passed around the room like it meant nothing. He didn’t react. No flicker. No smile. Just a polite nod in her direction—neutral. Professional. It should have calmed her. It didn’t. She sat down, her knees barely holding. Her pulse still throbbed at her wrist. Around her, the meeting droned on—plans, projections, timelines. She took notes she wouldn’t remember. Nodded at comments she barely heard. Everything blurred at the edges, sharpened only when he spoke. And yet… she held it together. By the time the meeting ended, Praize stood with practiced poise, gathered her notes like her insides weren’t tangled in knots, and walked out of the boardroom without a glance in his direction. Until she reached the door. “Ms. Williams ” Xavier’s voice said from behind her. Calm. Smooth. Inevitable. She stopped. Her team kept walking. Her breath caught. Slowly, she turned. He didn’t move closer—just stood with his hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly, lips quirked like he was still deciding how much trouble to cause. “We should talk soon,” he said. “Privately.” It wasn’t a request. Praize met his gaze, spine stiff. “Of course… sir.” Then she turned on her heel and walked away, heart slamming against her ribs like a warning bell. She’d survived the meeting. Barely. But the real storm was coming. --- Praize’s POV Her heels clicked too loudly against the marble floor. Every step toward the executive suite felt like walking into a trap—set by her own recklessness. ”We should talk soon.” Those words had echoed in her mind all day. She reached the frosted glass door that now bore his name: ’Xavier Cole Thorns‘. Bold. Sleek. Authoritative. Untouchable. Her knock was quiet—too quiet. But he heard. “Come in.” She did. He stood behind his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the clean lines of his forearms. His posture—relaxed. His eyes—anything but. “Ms. Williams” he said, almost like it amused him. “Close the door.” She did, carefully, resisting the urge to slam it. She stood straight, shoulders tight, face unreadable. “I assume this is about the night we don’t speak of,” she said flatly. That smile again. Slow. Sharp. Familiar. “I wasn’t planning on discussing it.” He walked around the desk, casually leaning against the edge. “Unless you want to.” Praize didn’t answer. Didn’t move. He studied her in silence for a moment. Not leering—just watching, like he could still read her the way he had with his hands that night. “I didn’t know who you were,” she said. “I didn’t know you’d end up being my boss.” “I didn’t know either,” he said, tone unreadable. “But here we are.” She hated how steady his voice was. Like nothing rattled him. Like he hadn’t been inside her three nights ago whispering her name like a secret. “You’re not going to… make this difficult, are you?” she asked quietly, arms crossed to hide the tremble in her fingers. “Not unless you do,” he replied. There was a beat of silence. Heavy. Tense. “Are you planning to keep it professional?” she asked. His eyes darkened slightly. “Can you?” That landed like a challenge. Praize’s breath hitched, but she didn’t look away. “I can.” Another beat. He nodded slowly. “Then we’re fine.” He pushed off the desk and circled back behind it, just like that—like the conversation hadn’t pulled the air taut between them. “You’re sharp, Ms. Williams. Your file impressed me,” he said, businesslike now. “Don’t let one night make you doubt your place here.” Her spine stiffened. “I don’t.” He gave a small, satisfied nod. “Good.” She turned to leave. Hand on the door. “And Praize” he said. She froze. “You weren’t a mistake.” She didn’t turn back. Didn’t respond. She walked out with her heart thudding and her throat dry. Professional? Sure. But nothing about this was over.