## Prologue
Jace's hands burned against Amara's skin as he pressed her against the hotel room wall. "We shouldn't," she whispered, even as her fingers found his tie, pulling him closer. "I know," he breathed against her neck, his voice rough with want. "But I can't stop."
*****
Monday mornings at Sterling & Associates were usually predictable. Coffee brewing, keyboards clicking, and the low hum of another week beginning. But Amara Blake could feel the weight of eyes on her the moment she stepped off the elevator.
She kept her chin up, heels clicking against the polished marble as she walked toward her desk. Last weekend was a mistake. Beautiful. Reckless. Unforgivable.
"Blake."
His voice stopped her cold. Deep, controlled, with just enough edge to make her pulse quicken. She turned slowly, meeting Jace Donovan's steel-gray eyes across the open floor.
"Mr. Donovan." Her voice came out steadier than she felt, even as her fingers tightened around the coffee cup she held. Professional. Distant. Everything Saturday night hadn't been.
He stood in the doorway of his corner office, arms crossed, that expensive suit doing nothing to hide the tension in his shoulders. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The air between them crackled with everything they couldn't say here, in front of thirty-seven other employees who had no idea their boss and star strategist had spent the weekend tangled in hotel sheets.
"Conference room. Five minutes." His tone was pure business, but his eyes told a different story.
Amara nodded once and turned away, ignoring the curious glances from her coworkers. She'd worked too hard to get here. Seven years climbing from junior assistant to senior strategist, earning every promotion through late nights and brilliant campaigns. She wouldn't let one weekend of weakness destroy everything.
The conference room felt smaller with Jace in it. He closed the door behind him, and suddenly the corporate setting felt intimate, dangerous.
"We need to talk about what happened," he said, not moving from the door.
"Nothing happened." The lie came easily. It had to.
His jaw tightened, and she caught the way his hands clenched at his sides. "Amara."
"We're at work, Mr. Donovan. Nothing happened that concerns Sterling & Associates."
Before he could respond, the door opened. Patricia Mills, the senior partner, walked in with her usual brisk energy, followed by the rest of the leadership team.
"Perfect timing," Patricia announced, settling into her chair at the head of the table. "We have some exciting news to share."
Amara took a seat across from Jace, careful not to look at him directly. Whatever this was about, she needed to focus. Her career depended on it.
"The Morrison campaign," Patricia continued, "is our biggest opportunity this quarter. The client specifically requested our best team, and after reviewing everyone's performance, we've made our decision."
Amara's heart pounded against her ribs. The Morrison account was worth millions. Landing it would set her up for the promotion she'd been working toward for two years.
"Amara Blake will be leading the campaign."
The words hit her like a shock. Around the table, faces turned toward her, some congratulatory, others carefully neutral. She managed a professional smile, though her hands trembled slightly in her lap.
"Thank you for the opportunity. I won't let you down."
"I know you won't," Patricia said. "Which is why you'll be working directly with Jace as your supervisor. He'll be overseeing the entire project."
Amara's smile faltered for just a second. Across the table, Jace's expression remained perfectly controlled, but she caught the slight tightening around his eyes. Something flickered there. Warning? Concern? Or something else entirely?
"Of course," Amara said. "I look forward to working with Mr. Donovan."
The meeting continued with project details and timelines, but Amara barely heard the rest. Working under Jace meant late nights, close proximity, and a constant reminder of the line they'd already crossed. After what had happened between them, it felt like walking into a minefield.
As the team filed out, she lingered, gathering her notes slowly. Jace waited until they were alone again.
"This changes nothing," he said quietly.
"I know."
"We keep it professional. Always."
"Of course." She looked up at him then, saw the conflict in his eyes that matched her own. "I can handle working with you, Jace. The question is whether you can handle working with me."
She left him standing there, knowing she'd scored a point but feeling no satisfaction in it. This promotion was everything she'd wanted, but it came with a complication she hadn't expected.
Back at her desk, she threw herself into research, pulling files on Morrison Industries and their previous campaigns. She needed to prove she deserved this opportunity, regardless of whatever was happening between her and Jace.
Hours passed before she took a real break. The office had quieted, most people gone for lunch. She was walking back from the break room when she heard voices from the empty office near the copy machine.
"...perfect setup. She has no idea what she's walking into."
Amara froze, her breath catching in her throat. Selene Grant from HR, speaking in hushed tones to someone Amara couldn't see.
"The Morrison account has killed careers before. One mistake, and she's finished."
"And Donovan?"
"He'll have to choose between protecting her and protecting himself. Either way, someone goes down. The partners are already asking questions."
Amara's blood ran cold, her palms growing damp. She pressed herself against the wall, straining to hear more, but footsteps approached. She quickly walked away, mind racing.
They were setting her up to fail. But who was "they"? And why? The way Selene spoke, it sounded like this went deeper than office politics.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of paranoia and determination. She double-checked every email, every document, looking for signs of sabotage. By six o'clock, she was exhausted but no closer to answers.
Her desk phone rang just as she was packing up.
"Blake."
"Conference room. Now." Jace's voice was tight with something she couldn't identify.
She found him standing by the windows, tie loosened, looking out at the city lights beginning to twinkle in the dusk. His shoulders were rigid with tension.
"We need to establish some ground rules," he said without turning around.
"Such as?"
"No more personal conversations. No lingering looks. No accidental touches." He finally faced her, and she saw something haunted in his expression. "What happened this weekend was a mistake we can't afford to repeat."
The words stung, even though she'd been thinking the same thing. "Agreed."
"Good." But his eyes were saying something entirely different as they traced her face. "The Morrison campaign starts tomorrow. I expect your preliminary strategy by end of week."
"You'll have it."
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her at the door.
"Amara." Her name sounded different when he said it, rougher. "Be careful who you trust around here. Not everyone wants to see you succeed."
Before she could ask what he meant, he was walking past her, leaving her alone in the conference room with more questions than answers. The way he'd said it, like he knew something specific, made her stomach churn.
She gathered her things and headed for the elevator, mind churning over everything that had happened. The promotion, the overheard conversation, Jace's warning. It all felt connected somehow, like pieces of a puzzle she couldn't quite see.
The elevator was empty as she rode down to the parking garage. She was checking her phone when she noticed the manila folder on the floor of her car. It hadn't been there this morning.
With shaking hands, she opened it.
Inside were photographs. High-resolution, professional quality images of her and Jace at the Riverside Charity Gala. Saturday night. Her hand on his arm as they talked by the bar. His fingers brushing her cheek on the hotel balcony. The two of them in the elevator, her back against the wall, his body caging her in.
The last photo was a kill shot. Her hand in his, entering his hotel room.
At the bottom of the folder was a single note, typed on plain paper: "Some secrets are worth more than others. We'll be in touch."
Amara's hands trembled as she stared at the evidence of everything she'd tried to keep hidden. The charity gala was supposed to be neutral ground, a place where their paths crossing wouldn't raise eyebrows. They'd been so careful.
But someone had been watching.
And now they had exactly what they needed to destroy both their careers.