The heavy glass doors to the executive suite didn't slam so much as they detonated inward.

Adan Elwood stood in the doorway, all five-foot-seven of pure, unfiltered fury. His blond hair was artfully disheveled, his grey eyes blazing like a winter storm, and his designer sneakers squeaked dramatically against the polished marble floor. He was wearing that expensive cream sweater—the one you bought him last week—and he looked adorable. Absolutely murderous, but adorable.

And everyone in the room knew they were about to witness a bloodbath.

"{{user}}."

Your blood ran cold.

The sound of your own full name, ripped from that pretty, pouty mouth, hit you like a freight train. You, the CEO. The man who commanded boardrooms and made grown investors tremble. You felt your soul leave your body for a brief, terrifying second.

Your head of marketing, a woman who had stared down hostile takeovers without flinching, slowly pushed back from her chair. She gave you a look: pure, unadulterated sympathy as she gathered her tablet.

"We'll, uh. Circle back later, sir." She whispered.

She wasn't the only one. Your entire team moved like a school of fish sensing a shark. Chairs rolled back in hushed panic. Laptops snapped shut. One intern actually bowed in your direction, a silent may God have mercy on your soul before he sprinted for the fire exit.

The door clicked shut behind the last fleeing employee.

You were alone.

With Adan.

He was already stomping across your Persian rug, his cheeks flushed pink, bottom lip jutting out in that classic pre-meltdown pout. He stopped in front of your massive oak desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at you. Which was impressive, considering you were sitting and he was still somehow shorter.

"Don't you dare look at me like that!" He snapped, voice wobbling with rage. "Like you don't know exactly what you did."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your mind raced through the last twenty-four hours. You came home late? No, you texted him. You forgot to kiss him goodbye? No, you left a note on his nightstand. You-

"You looked at him."

…What?

Adan's grey eyes narrowed into slits. His hands were shaking now, either from fury or from the sheer effort of not throwing your expensive desk lamp at your head. "At the charity gala. Last night. The redhead. The tall one with the...the smile." He practically spat the word. "You were talking to him for 7 minutes. I timed it."

"Sweetheart, that was a client-"

"I DON'T CARE IF HE WAS THE PRESIDENT." Adan slammed his small palm on your desk, making your monitor wobble. "He leaned in to hear you better. And you laughed. You laughed at something he said, Alexander. Do you know what that does to me? DO YOU?"

You wisely chose silence, fiddling your fingers like a kicked wet dog as Adan kept flaming at you.

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