Chapter 1:
Briar Hawthorne's eyelids fluttered open, her consciousness emerging from the fog like a slow-motion scene from a rom-com. And there, in the high-definition clarity of the morning after, she found herself wrapped up in the arms of none other than Wesley Chase - the office heartthrob with a rep for being as hard-bodied as he was hard-driving in the boardroom. Yup, she was getting a live demo of his legendary six-pack, and let's just say, the man's abs weren't the only thing that was rock-solid.
As memories of the previous night's shenanigans played back in her head - every steamy, unfiltered second of it - Briar's hangover throbbed with the intensity of a bad bass drop. She didn't need a replay to know she'd crossed the line from professional to "Oh, hell yes" with her boss. The evidence was right there, skin to skin, his heart thumping a steady bass line against her ear.
And as crazy as it was, Briar's first thought wasn't about damage control or the office gossip mill that was going to have a field day with this. Nope. She was already drafting the perfect clapback for when the girls in accounting got all up about Wesley's chiseled torso. Spoiler alert: The guy was packing heat everywhere.
But rewind. How did she end up tangled in the sheets with the head of the System Integration Department, of all people? Oh, right. Yesterday happened.
Lunchtime with her now ex-boyfriend, Lance Goodwin, had been the opening act of this drama. Briar had ditched her usual "hiding in the IT closet" chic for a bombshell transformation - silky blouse, killer pencil skirt, and heels that could puncture a man's ego at twenty paces. She'd even rocked a swipe of daring cherry-red lipstick because, why not? She was feeling herself, ready to turn heads.
But Mr. "It's not you, it's my mom" had other plans. Four years down the drain because mommy dearest didn't approve? What was this, the 1950s? Briar's BS detector was pinging so hard it was a wonder it didn't short-circuit right there in the middle of the bistro. When she was climbing the corporate ladder and he was just a grad student, his family had no complaints. But as soon as he snagged a swanky job, suddenly she wasn't good enough.
It was all about his family's new snobby attitude and their side-eye at her background.
She could've lost it, beg and plead, cry a river, made a scene worthy of a reality TV meltdown. But no, Briar Hawthorne was nobody's desperate ex. The moment he used that lame excuse, they were donezo. No way was she going to be that girl, sobbing and clinging to some dude's leg, begging him to stay.
She flipped him the bird, her stiletto nails catching the light like tiny daggers of retribution, and with a flick of her wrist, sent his latte flying. It was a move worthy of a mic drop moment, and she strutted out of the caf , her heels clicking a fierce rhythm against the floor. Lance Goodwin, her now ex-boyfriend of four years, sat there spluttering, a latte-splattered disaster. That's what you get, she thought, when you mess with Briar Hawthorne.
Afternoon rolled in, and Briar had bigger fish to fry. She was set to ink a deal with the South Ring District Police on behalf of her company, and nothing, especially not a man, was going to derail her. Work was her true bae, and right now, it was calling her name.
As she plunged back into the grind, her heartache over Lance's betrayal evaporated like a Snap story - here one second, gone the next. What's legit in this life? Only the smarts in your head and the cash in your clutch.
The contract signing was a breeze. She was there with Wesley Chase, her boss, and Mr. Lee, the big gun from Lynnhaven headquarter. She'd been the brains behind the project from the get-go, so naturally, she was doing the intros and schmoozing with the police bigwigs.
The chief was all about the praise, telling Mr. Lee how Briar was the MVP of this whole operation. Mr. Lee nodded, dropping hints that she was the go-to gal for any hiccups down the road, but also throwing a nod to Wesley, making it clear who was ultimately holding the reins.
Chit-chat and handshakes done, they split. Briar, Wesley, and Mr. Lee shared a ride back, and Mr. Lee was laying it on thick, singing her praises. Briar caught the drift - Wesley, Mr. Lee's golden boy, was getting the high sign to bump her up the ladder.
Then Mr. Lee dropped the bomb. "Briar's got what it takes to rise up the ranks." His eyes darted to Wesley, and Briar's radar pinged.
A sideways glance at Wesley got her nothing, his poker face giving zero away. But Mr. Lee wasn't about subtlety. "End of last year, when the suits were scrambling for the director gig, Wesley here put your name in the hat. And guess what? You're it. Expect the press release to hit your inbox any day now."
Briar's heart did a little victory dance, but she kept her cool. This was her moment, and she wasn't about to let anyone see her sweat. It was time to level up, and nothing, not even a coffee-soaked breakup, could stop her now.Briar's mood was straight-up vibing on cloud nine talk about a slice of job promotion heaven! She was buzzing with determination, a promise spilling from her lips like a pinky swear to a BFF. "Watch me kill it in this new gig!" Her grin was infectious, electric, a tell-tale sign of a paycheck glow-up on the horizon.
Her heart did a little somersault when she overheard Wesley singing her praises. "She's got her game on lock," Wesley said, all cool and casual. "Handed her projects like a boss, and she's nailed them all. No sweat off my back. With her stepping up, she'll be the connect we need, the go-to gal for all the inter-departmental jazz and even pinch-hit for me in those snooze-fest meetings."
Mr. Lee kept it short and sweet, just a nod and a pivot to some snoozy report they had to jazz up for the suits upstairs.
Briar, meanwhile, gave the gents their space and slid into the passenger seat like she was sinking into a bubble bath of pure job promotion bliss. Sure, her love life might be a string of left swipes and ghosted DMs, but this career high? It was like a double tap to her heart. Life was serving her lemons, and she was whipping up a lemonade martini.
Back at the office fortress, after Mr. Lee dipped out in the elevator, Briar and Wesley hit the eighth floor their techie kingdom. Alone in the corridor, Briar's voice tiptoed out, "Boss?"
Wesley, fresh from signing some big-deal contract, was all laid-back swagger. "Hmm?" he hummed, his baritone voice sending a shiver down Briar's spine.
Let's talk about workplace hazards, shall we? Like having a boss who's a full plate of handsome with a side of smolder. Briar was playing a dangerous game of 'Don't Stare Too Long or You'll Melt,' every time she had to report to him. Because, let's be real Wesley wasn't your cookie-cutter pretty boy. Nope. This 29-year-old slice of suave was dishing out mature-man vibes like he was born in a suit.
Wesley, the youngest hotshot manager at Lynnhaven Regional Enterprises, was the dude who could rock a boardroom like it was his personal stage. Surrounded by the old-timer brigade, he stood out with his millennial mojo, steering one of the company's big-deal departments like it was NBD.
The guy had a love affair with suits, and let me tell you, his gym sessions paid off. The suit clung to him like it was custom-made for his broad shoulders and sculpted chest a sight that had every office fashionista double-taking. Peel him out of the jacket, and you've got a shirt-straining testament to his pecs-and-abs dedication.
Word on the office grapevine? His daily strut through the front doors was like a bonus scene from a high-fashion flick. Every step down the hallway was his own personal catwalk.
And that man? That paragon of workplace perfection? He was Briar's boss. Talk about job perks.Briar Hawthorne was all about that hustle, chasing paper with a laser-sharp focus that left zero room for distractions - especially of the tall, dark, and Wesley Chase variety. The dude was a walking thirst trap, and the ladies were lining up for a sip, from the front desk fangirls to the C-suite climbers. They all had their sights set on snagging the title of Mrs. Chase - or, hell, just scoring a night between the sheets with the man himself was a brag-worthy win.
And there she was, Briar, waking up with the realization that the very same Wesley Chase was out cold next to her. No surprise, really; they d gone at it like the world was ending last night, and her body hadn t quite forgotten the workout. The man was solid in all the right places, and his stamina? Off the charts. Bagging a night with Wesley Chase? That was a jackpot moment if there ever was one.
