The Night Before I Knew Him (June and Hermes) novel Chapter 3

~Hermes ~

Fuck!

The word echoes through the glass walls of my office like a bullet off marble.

I don’t whisper it. I mean it.

She messed up a date on the board presentation. One date. But it could’ve cost us a multi-million-dollar partner. I don’t tolerate sloppiness, especially not in the current situation I am.

So I fired her.

It’s barely 8 a.m., and my blood pressure’s already peaking. My jaw aches from clenching. I roll my shoulders back and pour a shot of espresso from the machine behind my desk, black as night. I swallow it like a drug and drop the glass back in the tray.

The office is too bright.

I walk to the window and let the sun cut into my face. I should be focused on the shareholder report, on the quarterly pivot for Apex’s innovation funnel, on… anything other than her.

But I’m not.

I can’t stop thinking about the girl from the bar.

That mouthy, tequila-soaked, hazel-eyed girl with the boldness of a poker player and the dress of someone who didn’t know the word “modest.”

Her eyes... Her eyes looks like she's about to swallow your pride, so well, you'll never forget the process.

She could have done it that night. I want her to do it. If I see her again. Fuck! I shouldn't been thinking of that now.

I told myself it meant nothing. Just a body. Just release. But God damn, it's a body that I want to keep hitting until I get tired of it.

She sat beside me like she had a right to. Asked for my number like it was a game. Said “A night?” without hesitation when I told her to.

God, that fucking night.

Her skin was soft. Tan. Smooth like heat and chaos and sunshine wrapped in sweat. Her mouth didn’t shut up, not until I buried myself inside her. And even then, she had the nerve to grin.

“Maybe you’re just huge.”

I loved the way she said it, that I made her say it again while I bury myself inside her again.

I didn’t leave her money. That’s a rule I never break. A little envelope, no name, no number. Keeps things clean and in control.

But I left her a note instead.

Thank you.

Like a fucking amateur.

I exhale, long and sharp, and go back to the desk. The board files are still open, so I swipe them shut.

"Need to focus," I mutter.

I pick up my phone to schedule a therapy session. I need the routine again. I’ve been spiraling since I took this damn job. Since the press started calling me Lucien’s Legacy. When I inherited a rotting empire I now have to bleach clean with my bare hands.

I tap the assistant line.

"Paul," I call when he picks up. "Get someone in here. Temporary secretary. I don’t care who. I just need competence and silence."

"Yes, sir."

I hang up and take the jacket off, toss it over the back of the chair.

The cuffs are too tight, so I roll them up, until my forearms breathe.

I’ve fucked my own hand too many times thinking about her. And it still doesn’t get her out of my head, instead, it fuels the unspeakable thoughts.

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