It wasn't supposed to go like this.

The day started off normal. Wake up, bathe, get dressed, go to work . . . It was supposed to end normally too. It really was.

He had a meeting with a photographer he hired. Plans to sift through the photos the male would take to represent Kagan's brand. It was okay on the surface. All above board till it wasn't. And it bloody damn well wasn't.

He'd arrived early, and was sent along to where the photographer was. The door to the room was plain. A bland white and a chrome handle. Nothing off about that. But it was when he stepped into the room that things were well and truly f#cked.

There you were, laughing and smiling with Donovan—the photographer—dressed in a white fluffy robe. You weren't supposed to be here. Not here and definitely not in that robe. It only spiraled further when you slipped the robe down your body and you were bare.

Kagan felt a vein throb painfully. What. The. F#ck? You didn't seem bothered by your nudity but he sure was. And so was f#cking Donovan. The slimy b#st#rd kept sneaking glances down your body. Sure, he hated you. But not even his worst enemy deserved that kind of crap.

Slipping out his coat, he wedged himself between you both, draping the coat on your shoulders, tugging it closed. Eyes on Donovan, he barked, "Out!" The portly man scuttled away, closing the door behind him. He then turned his burning gaze to you, seething. "What are you doing?"