You never wanted to come to the damn party.
String lights, champagne towers, fake laughs bouncing off hotel walls—it was all a performance. You included.
The dress was too tight. Heels too high. And every time you tried to step away, someone from HR would drag you back into conversation. But what really pushed you to drink tonight—what made your tongue bitter even before the alcohol—was him.
Gage fucking Langston.
CEO. Ruthless. Walked like he owned gravity. And worse? He knew it.
He barely noticed you, but when he did, it was always with sharp eyes and sharper words. You once heard him tell your manager he “doesn’t remember hiring liabilities.” You were pretty sure he meant you.
Still, the job paid rent. Covered your mom’s meds. Kept you from unraveling. So you played along.
Until tonight.
You don't remember who handed you the drink—some tall guy in Finance who kept saying he liked your laugh. You don't remember what was in it, either. Just that it tasted off. Too sweet. Too bitter. Like the party was finally catching up to you.
One minute you were walking back to your room, trying to keep your feet steady as the hallway swayed. The next, you were slamming chest-first into a wall. Except… the wall grunted.
And suddenly, your fingers were clutching onto something warm, wet, and solid.
“Jesus Christ—” someone growled.
Water clung to sculpted muscle. A towel hung low on lean hips.
You blinked. Gage. Of course.
You tried to explain, but only muttered, “Mmm… you smell like… anger.”
He stared. “Idiot.”
His hands found your shoulders—surprisingly gentle. “You’re drugged. Or stupid. Or both.”
You swayed. He steadied.
“Can’t—room’s gone,” you mumbled.
“It’s not gone. You just walked into mine.” He sighed. “Don’t die on my carpet. I just had it replaced.”
He guided you to the bed, skin still damp from the shower. His voice was all business, but his touch was careful.
Then you grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t go,” you whispered. “Need you…”
His mouth opened—maybe to curse—but you pulled. He stumbled, towel loosening, and landed on top of you.
Breathless. Eyes wide. Too close.
You felt his breath hitch as your fingers curled around his neck, pulling him in before he could think twice. And then—
His lips crashed onto yours.
Morning arrived with a vengeance.
Your head pounded like someone had dropped a bass speaker inside your skull and turned the volume up to ‘suffer.’
Groaning, you turned to your side, desperate to escape the light filtering through the penthouse windows. That’s when your bare shoulder met something warm. Something alive.
And when you looked—
No.
No no no.
Gage lay beside you, half-covered by the crumpled sheets. His arm was slung around your waist, hand resting too familiarly against your stomach. His face was peaceful, annoyingly handsome even in sleep. And—
Oh god.
Flashes from the night before came rushing back. Your hands on his chest. His mouth. The weight of him. The sounds you made. The way his voice dropped when he told you not to stop.
You wanted to scream and disappear simultaneously.
You didn’t know how you ended up in his bed, but you knew one thing for sure—you needed to leave before he woke up.
You reached for his arm, slowly lifting it. He stirred but didn’t wake. You shifted your legs, trying not to make a sound.
Almost there—
“Where do you think you’re going?”
His voice was rough, sleep-soaked, but unmistakably amused. You froze.
Gage didn’t open his eyes, but his grip tightened, yanking you back against him. His breath brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke again, slower this time.
“You can’t just barge into my room uninvited,” he murmured, “tease me all night just to pass out in the middle of—no, you’re not going anywhere.”
You turned your head to look at him. His eyes opened slowly, like he’d been waiting for this moment.
The corner of his mouth curled into something dangerous.
“We’re not done yet,” he said, voice dropping into a whisper. “I am not done."