Hired to seduce him

chapter 4

The game of seduction isn’t won with desperate moves; it’s won in the details.

At six in the morning, while dawn was just beginning to color the Boston sky, I was already prepared for my first official day. Nathaniel had asked me to meet him directly at his penthouse. He had a nine o'clock business flight and wanted to review a crucial contract before leaving.

In front of Maya’s mirror, I knew exactly what I was wearing. My outfit was a storm-gray pantsuit, sharp and professional. But the real trap was underneath the blazer. Instead of a stiff button-down, I opted for a cream silk top with a soft cowl neckline that draped over my chest, hinting at just enough with every movement. I pulled my hair into a high, polished ponytail, leaving my neck completely exposed.

Elegant to the world. Lethal up close.

I was ready to step into his territory.

The private elevator opened directly into Nathaniel’s penthouse foyer. The moment the doors slid back, the apartment's quiet luxury hit me: soaring ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a minimalist design of dark tones and rich wood.

But what actually caught my breath was him.

Nathaniel answered the door himself. He wasn’t wearing his usual armor. Instead, he wore black dress pants and a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The top three buttons were undone, revealing a glimpse of tanned chest. His hair was slightly damp and unstyled.

Without the shield of his corporate formality, Nathaniel Cole was dangerously human. And incredibly sexy.

"Miss Quinn," he said. His eyes drifted down my figure, lingering a millisecond too long on the drape of my silk top before snapping back to my face. "You're punctual."

"Good morning, Mr. Cole," I replied, flashing my best professional smile as I walked past him.

I let my perfume trail after me. I caught the slight flare of his nostrils right before he closed the door. Point one for me.

"Make yourself comfortable. The documents are on the kitchen island," he said, gesturing toward the massive slab of marble where two mugs of coffee were steaming. "The flight leaves in three hours, and the acquisitions team in London needs these clauses signed before I take off."

We went straight to work. I sat on one of the leather barstools and opened my tablet, crossing my legs so the fabric of my trousers tightened against my thigh. For the next hour, we ran through numbers, contracts, and schedules.

"I'm not sold on the phrasing of article four," Nathaniel murmured, standing up. He walked over and stepped right up behind me, leaning over my shoulder to look at my tablet.

His proximity hit me all at once. His chest practically brushed my back. I could feel the heat radiating from him, and the scent of clean soap and woodsy cologne drowned out my perfume.

"If we change this word here..." he said, reaching out to slide his finger across my screen. His forearm, mapped with dark hair and prominent veins, rested millimeters from my shoulder.

I turned my head slowly to look at him. We were so close our breaths mingled. My eyes dropped instinctively to his lips—firm and perfectly sculpted—before locking back onto his gray eyes.

Time froze. Nathaniel’s jaw clenched. I watched his gaze drop to my mouth, caught for an instant in the same spark that had rattled us yesterday. His breathing turned heavier, and for a split second, I thought he was going to close the distance.

Then, he cleared his throat.

He stepped back abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets as his icy mask slid right back into place.

"Make that change and send it to legal," he said, his voice noticeably rougher. "And remember to keep your distance, Miss Quinn."

I fought a smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear—a calculated move to keep my neck exposed.

"Of course, Mr. Cole. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."

Before he could reply, the hissing sound of the private elevator opening shattered the silence. We both snapped our heads around.

It was Claire Cole. My undercover boss. The woman paying me half a million dollars to sleep with her husband.

"Well, I didn't know you had company this early, Nate," Claire said. Her voice was smooth, but completely devoid of warmth.

I stood up immediately, smoothing down my clothes and slipping perfectly into character. Claire and I locked eyes. Not a single flicker of recognition crossed her face—just the cold detachment of a high-society woman interacting with the staff.

"Claire," Nathaniel answered, his tone heavy with an overwhelming formality. "I wasn't expecting you until the weekend."

"A change of plans with the interior designer," she said, stepping toward the kitchen island. She stopped a few feet away from Nathaniel. She didn't try to kiss his cheek, touch his shoulder, or reach for his hand. Nothing. "And she is...?"

"My new executive assistant, Scarlett Quinn," Nathaniel introduced. "Scarlett, this is my wife, Claire."

"A pleasure, Mrs. Cole," I said, offering a polite nod. "I've heard so much about your charity work."

Claire flashed a perfectly practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"The pleasure is mine, Scarlett. My husband is a very difficult, demanding man. I hope you have the stamina to keep up with him. Few last in this position."

"I assure you, I'm very resilient," I replied, holding her gaze with the exact right blend of respect and confidence.

I watched them interact over the next few minutes. It was chilling. There was no explicit hatred, but the air between them was a complete desert of affection. They were two strangers sharing a luxury property, tolerating each other only because society demanded it.

"I need to finish packing," Nathaniel said finally, cutting through the tension. "Scarlett, wait for me in the car downstairs. The driver should be ready."

"Understood, Mr. Cole. Excuse me, Mrs. Cole," I said, grabbing my things and heading for the elevator.

The moment the metal doors slid shut, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

I leaned against the mirrored wall, staring at my reflection. My fingers unconsciously traced the bandage on my wrist.

Nathaniel Cole was strict and demanding, but he had also bandaged my hand with a disconcerting gentleness. So far, I hadn't seen a single c***k of the monster Claire claimed him to be. He seemed like the perfect husband.

"What is so wrong with this man that his wife hates him this much?" I wondered as the elevator hit the garage.

Claire was willing to spend an absolute fortune to destroy him, void their prenup, and leave him with nothing. Who was the real villain in this marriage? Nathaniel, with his facade of ice... or Claire, with her designer smile and her hidden agenda?

For the first time since I signed that contract, a cold thread of doubt coiled down my spine.

Was I playing for the right side? Or was I turning myself into the pawn of a much worse monster?