Amelia's POV
It had been a week since the fundraiser, and I had chosen–no, committed–to acting like nothing happened.
Well.
Mostly.
I had chosen to act like what happened that night in the limousine with Adrian never happened. And I had been doing a damn good job of it.
Or at least I had been trying.
Because of my subconscious? Oh, my subconscious had other ideas.
Case in point: the absolutely filthy s*x dream I had about him this morning.
Like, a full-blown, borderline-illegal, should-probably-be-censored kind of dream. The kind that had me waking up tangled in my sheets, hot and bothered, pulse racing, and with the worst case of morning regret ever.
And as if that wasn't bad enough, the minute I walked into work, I had to share the elevator with him. Alone.
