My Boss’s Hidden Heir (Elara and Marcus) novel Chapter 1

The Fire Exit

Victor’s text hit Elara’s phone at 9:47 PM.

*Final notice. 48 hours or we seize the house.*

She read it three times in the bathroom stall of the Thorne Dynamics ballroom, her hands shaking hard enough to nearly drop the phone into the toilet. Outside, two hundred of New York’s elite celebrated another record quarter. Inside this stall, Elara’s life was collapsing.

Seven figures. That’s what the debt had become over ten years. Medical bills from Leo’s leukemia. Her mother’s cancer treatment. Her father’s gambling addiction. Numbers that had stopped feeling real and started feeling like a life sentence.

The fire stairwell was empty. She kicked off her heels, and sat on the concrete steps. Sipping the remaining champagne, it was the 5th glass she’s had, pulling her knees to her chest, her expensive navy dress bunching around her thighs.

Professional. Composed. That’s what she’d been for three years as Marcus Thorne’s executive assistant, you have to be, if you work for Marcus you’ll know he’s the Devil in Dior.

The stairwell door opened.

Marcus descended slowly, his jacket unbuttoned, his tie loosened. The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, carved jaw, dark eyes that missed nothing. He stopped two steps above her. He’s the type of man that turns heads when he enters a place, handsome? Yes, sexy? Yes, when it comes to work? a nightmare in black suits

“You left the gala,” he said.

“I needed air.”

“You’ve been gone for eleven minutes.” He moved closer. “I don’t employ people who disappear.”

She looked away. “I’m sorry it was a family emergency, there’s nothing you can fix.”

“Try me.”

Three years working under him, he literally gets off making her life miserable. Unreal goals, Inhuman workload, impossible deadlines, yet she always delivered and made sure she’d maintained perfect distance. Hated his guts, he was always set out to make her work difficult.

Now, drunk on champagne and desperation, she felt it crumble. “My brother. Financial trouble. A debt collector. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars by tomorrow.”

He pulled out his phone immediately.

“No.” She grabbed his wrist. “You can’t just….”

“You work for me. Your problems are containable.” His eyes locked on hers. “We’re going to contain this.”

Something broke open inside her. For the first time in three years, she wasn’t alone with it.

He reached out, and for a terrifying second, she thought he would touch her face. Instead, his fingers brushed the collar of her dress, adjusting the thin strap where it had slipped on her shoulder.

“Let go of control, just for a moment,” he said, his thumb resting where her neck met her shoulder, the heat searing her skin.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“Yes, you can.”

He closed the final inch, ran his hands through her short dress, Elara felt electric waves through her.

His mouth descended, not with the arrogance of a boss, it was gentle but with the demanding hunger of a man who had not been with anyone for too long.

She kissed him back.

It wasn’t tender. It was desperate, her mouth against his, tasting cologne and expensive scotch. She expected him to pull away. Marcus Thorne didn’t blur professional lines. Marcus didn’t blur anything.

Instead, he kissed her again.

His hand gripped the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, destroying the careful pins. The other hand pulled her close until there was no space between them. He tasted like control and power, and she wanted to drown in it.

He spun her around and pressed her back against the brick wall. His mouth moved to her neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks she’d have to hide tomorrow.

“Tell me to stop,” he said against her skin.

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