The CEO's Forbidden Desire

Chapter 5

**Derek

I woke up alone.

The hotel bed felt massive without Anna beside me, and I knew she was gone before I even opened my eyes. Her side of the bed was cold, like she'd been gone for hours. I sat up and looked around the room, hoping maybe she was just in the bathroom or getting coffee, but I already knew better.

That's when I saw the note.

It was folded on the nightstand next to my phone, sitting there like it was waiting for me. Her handwriting was careful, neat. The kind of writing teachers probably loved in school.

*Derek,*

*Last night was incredible and exactly what I needed. I'm not ready for anything complicated, but if you'd like to talk or continue, my number is below. Thanks again*

*– Anna*

*555-0847*

I read it three times. Each time it felt different. First time, I was impressed by how mature she sounded. Second time, I felt like she was letting me off the hook too easily. Third time, I realized she was protecting herself.

Smart girl.

The number sat at the bottom of the page like a dare. Ten digits that could connect me to her voice whenever I wanted. I ran my thumb over the ink, wondering what she'd sound like if I called right now. Probably surprised. Maybe happy. Maybe not.

I could picture her in some tiny apartment, probably overthinking everything that happened last night. She'd be wearing one of those oversized sweatshirts, curled up with coffee, and trying to pretend she wasn't thinking about me.

But she gave me her number. That had to mean something.

I grabbed my phone and started dialing before I could talk myself out of it. 5-5-5-0-8...

Then I stopped.

My thumb was hovering over the 4, but I couldn't make myself press it. Something cold settled in my chest, that old familiar warning that had kept me alive in business and relatively sane in life.

"Don't be an i***t," I said to the empty hotel room.

Claire's face popped into my head, uninvited and unwelcome. She'd been beautiful too. Sweet too. Said all the right things and made me believe I was special, right up until I found her with my assistant in our bed.

The humiliation still stung three years later. Not just that she cheated, but that I'd been so blind to it. Sarah had been lying to my face for months, and I'd bought every excuse. Late nights at work. Girls' weekends. Needing space. I'd even thanked her for being so understanding about my schedule.

I was supposed to be smart. I could spot a lie across a conference table, read people like books when money was involved. But put me in a relationship and apparently I turned into a complete moron.

That's when I'd made the rule: no attachments. No girlfriends. No promises. Keep it simple, keep it physical, keep it from meaning anything.

It had worked perfectly for three years.

But Anna felt different.

"f**k," I muttered, because that was exactly the kind of thinking that got me into trouble. Every woman felt different at first. That was the whole point. The rush, the excitement, the stupid belief that this time would be special.

Anna was young. Barely out of college. She probably watched romantic comedies and believed in soul mates and happily ever after. What did she know about the real world, about how people actually treated each other when the shine wore off?

My body was telling me to call her right now. To go to her apartment and make sure she understood she belonged to me. The way she'd responded last night, matching my intensity, not backing down when things got rough between us - that wasn't something you just walked away from.

But my brain knew better.

I set the phone down and walked to the window. The city looked the same as always, predictable and honest in its ugliness. This was reality. Business deals and power plays and people trying to get what they wanted from each other. Anna's world was different, softer, full of hopes and dreams that would just get crushed eventually.

Better to crush them now, cleanly, than let her build them up into something that would really hurt when it fell apart.

The war in my head was getting louder. Call her. Don't call her. She gave you her number for a reason. She's protecting herself for a reason. You're not the same man who got played by Claire. You're exactly the same man who got played by Claire.

I picked up the note again. No pressure, she'd written. Like she already expected me to disappoint her. Like she was giving me an easy out because she knew I'd take it.

Maybe she was right to.

I walked over to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer. It was mostly empty except for the usual hotel bible and some tourist pamphlets. I placed Anna's note inside and shut the drawer hard enough that it rattled.

There. Done. Out of sight, out of mind.

But I didn't delete her number.

I stared at my phone for a long minute, her contact information right there on the screen. It would take two seconds to delete it. Clean break, no temptation, no looking back.

Instead, I just closed the phone and tossed it on the bed.

I told myself I was being practical. Maybe I'd need to contact her about something later. Maybe there'd be a reason. It wasn't because some part of me couldn't let go completely.

That would be stupid.

I ordered room service and tried to focus on work emails, but my mind kept drifting back to her. The way she'd looked at me like I was something special instead of something to be managed or endured. The way she'd said my name when I was inside her, like she'd never said anyone else's name quite the same way.

By afternoon, I'd convinced myself I was overthinking everything. One night with a beautiful woman didn't have to mean anything more than what it was. Good s*x, mutual attraction, perfect timing. Nothing worth turning my life upside down for.

But that night, lying in the same hotel bed where we'd been together, I could still smell her perfume on the pillows. Her note felt like it was burning through the drawer, and her phone number was memorized in my head whether I wanted it there or not.

I told myself it was better this way. Cleaner. Safer. Anna would move on, find some guy her own age who could give her everything she deserved. I'd go back to my controlled life where nobody could surprise me or hurt me or make me feel like an i***t for believing in something that wasn't real.

So why couldn't I stop thinking about her?

The question followed me into sleep and was still there when I woke up the next morning. Still there when I checked out of the hotel and drove back to my real life. Still there three days later when I was sitting in my office, staring at my phone and wondering if she was thinking about me too.

Or if she'd already forgotten I existed.