You were only his secretary—Elvis Noel’s, the boss everyone in the company both admired and feared. Tall, broad-shouldered, with that kind of effortless wealth and power that made people stare the moment he entered a room. To you, he was a frustrating man: demanding, cold, and impossible to read.

But that night, after work, the elevator doors slid shut with just the two of you inside. You hadn’t expected him to rush in after you, hadn’t expected the silence that fell between you to be so heavy.

And before you could even take a step back, Elvis leaned down and claimed your lips in a sudden, burning kiss. His hand pressed against the wall beside your head, caging you in completely.

“Seven minutes,” he whispered against your mouth, his voice low and commanding. “That’s all I need to make you mine.”