My Rival is My CEO

Chapter 15: One Bed, Two Pajamas

*ELENA'S POV*

The box was from La Perla. Of course it was. Charles Knight doesn't do Target.

Black silk for him. Red silk for me. The tags said _His & Hers — Honeymoon Collection._ Someone at PR thought this was funny.

20 executives left at 9:30 PM after eating all of Maya's pasta and taking 200 photos of us on that tiny bench. My father was last to leave. He hugged me — which he never does — and whispered, "You don't have to kiss him again tomorrow if you don't want to. But if you don't, Knight Corp dies in 14 days. Your choice, sweetheart."

Thanks, Dad.

Then it was just us. 62nd floor. 9:34 PM. One box. One bed. Two pajama sets that looked like they belonged on a honeymoon, not a fake marriage.

Damian locked the front door. Twice. Then he looked at the box like it might bite him.

"You open it," he said.

"No, you open it."

"I opened the last box that had your bra in it."

We both stared. Finally I ripped it open. Silk spilled out. Red, barely there. Shorts and a cami. Black for him — pants and a shirt, but silk, low cut.

"Oh my god," I said, holding up the red set. It was see-through in the light. "This is not pajamas. This is lingerie with a PR tag."

Damian picked up his. Black silk pants. No shirt? No, shirt was there, but unbuttoned. Three buttons only.

"Charles picked these," he said, voice tight. "He wants the 8 AM photo to go viral."

"Well, it's going to," I said, throwing the red set back in the box like it burned me. "I'm not wearing that in front of a Wall Street Journal photographer."

"You have to," he said. "Clause 12.2 — pajamas provided by PR team must be worn for verification."

"So I'm supposed to sleep in red see-through silk next to you, in our ONE bed, and then a man with a camera comes in at 8 AM to take a picture of us waking up?"

"Yes," he said. Then, after a pause, "Unless you want to wear my t-shirt instead and we lie to WSJ. Say PR team sent t-shirt."

He said it casually, but his eyes dropped to my dress. Still black office dress. Still barefoot since 7:51 PM.

I looked at the bed. King size, white sheets, two pillows. It looked bigger an hour ago. Now it looked tiny.

"Rules," I said, grabbing the box and walking to the bathroom. "New bedroom rules. For tonight only."

"I'm listening."

"Rule 1: I change in bathroom, you change out here. Rule 2: You look away when I come out, even though it's silk. Rule 3: Pillow wall in middle of bed."

"Pillow wall?" He almost laughed.

"Pillow wall. Like in movies. You stay your side, I stay mine."

"And Rule 4?" he asked.

I was already in the bathroom doorway, red silk in hand.

"Rule 4: What happened at the table — the kiss — that was for lighting check. It doesn't... it doesn't count for tonight."

He stared at me for a long second. Then nodded, jaw tight.

"Noted. For lighting check."

I slammed the bathroom door. Locked it.

*DAMIAN'S POV*

She slammed the door.

Red silk. I had seen her in black dress, velvet gala dress, white shirt for board meetings. Never red silk. Never anything that short.

I changed fast. Black silk pants, shirt unbuttoned because Charles only gave me three buttons. Looked in the mirror — I looked like a bad cologne ad. Good. Maybe if I look stupid enough she'll laugh and this will be less awkward.

The bathroom door opened at 9:47 PM.

Elena came out.

And I forgot how to breathe.

Red silk cami, shorts that barely covered anything, hair down now, no shoes, no makeup except smudged lipstick from the kiss at 8:17 PM still faint on her mouth. She was holding a pillow like a shield.

"Stop looking," she said, but her neck was red again. That tell.

"I'm looking away," I said, not looking away.

"You are not looking away!"

"I'm trying. It's hard when my wife comes out in red silk that my father bought."

"Fake wife," she corrected, but her voice was small.

She walked to the bed, fast, and built the pillow wall. One, two, three pillows down the middle of the king bed. A sad little wall that wouldn't stop anything.

"There," she said, satisfied. "Wall."

"Very strong wall," I said, deadpan. "Will protect you from... me."

She climbed in. Left side. Pulled the white duvet up to her chin, even though the shorts were still visible.

I climbed in. Right side. The bed dipped. The pillow wall wobbled.

We lay there. Staring at ceiling. Manhattan lights blinking outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. No curtains — Charles removed them for "natural lighting for 8 AM photo."

Silence. 10 seconds. 20.

Then Elena whispered, "Damian?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we really going to sleep like this? With a wall? And a photographer coming at 8 AM?"

"Yes. Unless you want to break Rule 3."

"I want to break all the rules," she muttered, so quiet I almost didn't hear it. "I'm cold. Your side has more blanket."

I looked over. The pillow wall was already half-collapsed. One pillow had fallen onto her red silk.

"Come here then," I said, before I could think.

"What?"

"For warmth. For... blanket. For Clause 12.1. Convincing evidence."

She turned her head. Our faces were a foot apart, pillow wall between us. Her red silk strap had slipped down her shoulder.

"For convincing evidence only?" she asked.

"For convincing evidence only," I lied.

She stared at me for three seconds. Then she pushed the middle pillow off the bed. It thudded.

She moved an inch closer. Then another inch. The red silk brushed my black silk arm.

"Damian," she whispered, eyes on my mouth, "If we wake up like this tomorrow and the photographer sees -"

The intercom buzzed. 9:59 PM.

We both jumped.

Downstairs voice: "Mr. and Mrs. Knight, sorry to disturb honeymoon, but your fathers left something outside your door. A... baby crib catalog? And a note that says 'Clause 13 — start thinking.'"

Baby crib catalog.

Elena froze, red silk, one pillow wall gone, hand on my chest again.

"Clause 13?" she whispered.

And the elevator dinged again. At 10:00 PM. Who comes at 10 PM?