Annie Miller sat hunched over her tiny sewing machine in the backroom of a small boutique in New York City. The dim light flickered above her as she carefully stitched the hem of a dress, her fingers working swiftly despite the fatigue creeping into her bones. Outside, the city buzzed with life—women in designer heels strutted past the boutique's window, their laughter mixing with the honking of yellow taxis.
Annie wished she could be one of them, not for the wealth but for the freedom. The freedom to chase her dream without worrying about rent, late shifts, or whether she could afford fabric for her next design.
"Annie! You almost done with that dress?" called her boss, Mrs. Langley, from the front of the store.
"Almost!" she replied, biting her lip as she guided the last stitch into place.
She longed to design her own creations, not just alter overpriced dresses for wealthy clients who barely noticed her existence. But for now, this job was all she had.
As she carried the finished dress to the front of the store, she caught sight of a sleek black car pulling up outside. The kind of car only the city's elite could afford. Annie didn't pay much attention—until the boutique's bell chimed and he walked in.
A tall, impeccably dressed man with piercing eyes and an air of quiet authority. The air in the boutique seemed to shift as if the temperature had dropped a few degrees. He glanced around, unimpressed, before locking eyes with Annie.
She had no idea that this moment would change her life forever.
Chapter Two: A Cold Encounter
Annie tightened her grip on the dress she was holding, her heart pounding as the tall man surveyed the boutique with a look of mild disinterest. His sharp jawline, neatly styled dark hair, and tailored suit screamed power and wealth—he was the kind of man who belonged in glossy magazines, not in her tiny workplace.
Mrs. Langley, sensing an important customer, straightened her posture and plastered on her best smile. "Welcome to Langley's Boutique. How can we assist you today, sir?"
The man barely spared her a glance. "I'm here to pick up an order. It should be under the name—" He paused, pulling out his phone to check. "Victoria Hayes."
Annie's breath hitched. Victoria Hayes. The supermodel. The same Victoria Hayes whose face graced billboards in Times Square. And, if the gossip columns were to be believed, his ex-girlfriend.
Mrs. Langley shot Annie a pointed look. "Annie, go get Miss Hayes' order from the back, please."
Annie nodded, disappearing into the storeroom as her mind raced. This was him—the billionaire businessman Victoria had dated for years before their highly publicized split. She didn't know much about him, only that he was ruthless in business and, according to the tabloids, completely cold-hearted.
She found the dress, a stunning custom-made evening gown, and returned to the front. The man was now scrolling through his phone, his expression unreadable. Annie hesitated for a second before clearing her throat.
"Here's the order, sir."
He finally looked up, his intense gaze locking onto hers. Annie felt a strange shiver run down her spine, but she kept her face neutral. He reached for the dress bag, his fingers briefly brushing against hers. Cold. His hands were cold.
"Thank you," he said, his voice deep and clipped.
No smile. No warmth.
Before Annie could respond, the bell chimed again, and in walked none other than Victoria Hayes herself—tall, gorgeous, and exuding confidence. She strode straight toward him, ignoring everyone else.
"Darling," Victoria purred, looping her arm through his. "I hope you didn't make them wait too long."
Annie glanced between them, feeling an unexpected pang in her chest. Darling? Weren't they broken up?
The man's jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't correct Victoria. Instead, he nodded toward Annie and Mrs. Langley. "We're done here."
Without another word, he turned and walked out, Victoria clinging to his side.
Annie exhaled, suddenly feeling an odd sense of disappointment. It was ridiculous—he was just another rich, untouchable man, and she was nobody.
But as she watched him disappear into the sleek black car, she couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't the last time their paths would cross.
And she had no idea just how right she was.
Chapter Three: Unfinished Threads
Annie tried to shake off the strange feeling lingering from her encounter with the cold businessman. She had work to do, dreams to chase—whatever his world was, it wasn't hers.
But that didn't stop his piercing gaze from replaying in her mind.
"Earth to Annie!" Mrs. Langley's voice jolted her back to reality. The older woman was giving her a pointed look. "Stop daydreaming. We have more orders to finish before closing."
"Right, sorry," Annie mumbled, hurrying to the back.
As she worked, she couldn't help but wonder—what was the real story between him and Victoria Hayes? If they had broken up, why did she still act like they were together? And more importantly, why did she care?
She forced herself to focus on sewing, letting the rhythmic hum of the machine drown out her thoughts.
Later That Night
Annie pulled her worn-out coat tighter around her as she stepped out of the boutique, the cold New York air biting against her skin. The streets were alive with glowing lights and honking taxis, but all she could think about was getting home to her tiny apartment.
She had barely taken a few steps when a sleek black car, the same one from earlier, pulled up beside her. The window rolled down, and she froze.
It was him.
His face was just as unreadable as before, but now, without the glamorous boutique setting, something about him seemed even more intimidating.
"You work here late?" His voice was deep, controlled.
Annie blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… yes?"
He studied her for a moment, then glanced at the dimly lit street behind her. "It's not safe for a woman to walk alone at this hour."
She crossed her arms. "I've been doing it for years."
His expression didn't change. "That doesn't make it any safer."
Annie frowned, not sure why he suddenly cared. "Why do you—"
"Get in," he interrupted, gesturing toward the car door.
She let out a short laugh. "Excuse me?"
"I'll give you a ride home."
Annie hesitated. This man was practically a stranger, and he didn't exactly radiate warmth. But something about the way he said it—firm, certain—made it hard to argue.
Against her better judgment, she opened the door and slid into the car.
As the driver pulled into the traffic, Annie felt the weight of silence between them. She stole a glance at him. He was staring out the window, his jaw clenched, as if he regretted offering her the ride in the first place.
"Why are you doing this?" she finally asked.
He didn't look at her. "I don't know."
That answer should have unsettled her. Instead, it made her heart beat just a little faster.
Who exactly was this man?
And why did she feel like this was only the beginning?
Chapter Four: A Ride Into the Unknown
The silence in the car stretched between them, thick and unspoken. The city lights flickered through the tinted windows, casting fleeting shadows on his chiseled features. Annie shifted uncomfortably, feeling out of place in the luxurious interior. The leather seats, the soft glow of the dashboard, even the faint scent of expensive cologne—it all screamed his world, not hers.
She stole a glance at him. He hadn't said another word since I don't know. His gaze remained fixed outside, his fingers tapping absently against his knee.
Annie cleared her throat, needing to break the tension. "So, do you always offer rides to random women you barely know?"
That made him turn his head slightly, his piercing eyes meeting hers. "No."
A single word, spoken so simply, yet it sent a shiver down her spine.
She let out a breathy laugh, trying to play it cool. "Guess I should feel special, then."
He didn't smile, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. "It's late. The streets aren't safe."
She raised an eyebrow. "You said that already."
"Because it's true."
Annie studied him. There was something oddly protective in the way he said it, but it didn't make sense. He was a stranger—a rich, untouchable businessman who had no reason to care whether she got home safe or not.
"Look," she said, leaning back, "I don't know what you've heard, but I've been walking home alone for years. No billionaire in a suit is going to change that."
He didn't react at first, then turned his gaze forward. "That's a bad habit."
Her jaw almost dropped. "A habit?"
He nodded, as if it were a fact. "Reckless. Dangerous."
She scoffed. "Well, not all of us have drivers waiting for us outside fancy boutiques."
His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't argue.
The car slowed down as they reached her apartment building—a run-down complex on the quieter side of the city. Annie suddenly felt hyper-aware of how different their lives were.
Before she could reach for the door handle, he spoke again. "What's your name?"
She hesitated. He didn't know?
"…Annie. Annie Miller."
A small pause. Then, as if testing the name, he repeated, "Annie."
Something about the way he said it sent a strange warmth through her chest.
She forced herself to shake it off and opened the door. "Thanks for the ride. But next time, don't worry about me. I can handle myself."
He didn't reply, only watching as she stepped out.
Just as she closed the door behind her, she realized—she still didn't know his name.
The car pulled away, disappearing into the night, leaving Annie standing there, heart racing for reasons she didn't quite understand.
But one thing was certain.
This wouldn't be the last time she saw him.
And she had a feeling her life was about to change forever.
Chapter Five : Stitched Together, Falling Apart
The next morning, Annie woke up to the familiar chill of her tiny apartment. The heater barely worked, but she had long since gotten used to layering up and making do. She stretched, rolling her stiff shoulders before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Another day, another struggle.
After a quick shower, she pulled on a simple outfit—jeans and a sweater she had altered herself to make it look trendier. She glanced at her makeshift sewing corner in the living room, where her small machine sat next to a pile of fabric scraps. One day, this will be my real workspace.
For now, reality called.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't had a proper meal since yesterday morning. She checked her fridge—almost empty. A carton of milk, half a loaf of bread, and a lone apple. She sighed, grabbing the apple and a slice of bread before heading out.
The city was already alive with people rushing to work, taxis honking, and the scent of fresh coffee wafting from street vendors. Annie passed by a high-end fashion store with mannequins draped in expensive designer dresses—the kind she dreamed of creating one day.
But right now, she was just an assistant at Langley's Boutique, fixing other people's clothes for minimum wage.
When she arrived at work, Mrs. Langley was already barking orders. "Annie! We have a rush alteration for a VIP client. You need to fix this dress in an hour." She shoved a gorgeous emerald-green gown into Annie's hands.
Annie studied the dress. "The seam is completely undone. This will take—"
"An hour, Annie. Make it happen."
Annie bit her lip but nodded. She had no choice.
She worked quickly, her fingers expertly guiding the fabric under the needle. She had been sewing since she was a child, fixing hand-me-downs at the orphanage. That skill had gotten her this job, but it wasn't enough. She wanted more.
As she worked, she overheard two customers chatting.
"Did you see the news about Alexander Carter?" one of them whispered excitedly.
Annie's hands froze. Alexander Carter.
So that was his name.
"The billionaire?" the other woman asked.
"Yes! There was a rumor that he was seen with Victoria Hayes again. People are saying they might be back together."
Annie's chest tightened unexpectedly. Why did she care? She shook her head and focused on her stitching.
By the time she finished the dress, her fingers ached, but she had made the impossible deadline. She handed it to Mrs. Langley, who barely gave her a nod before rushing off.
No thank you, no great job. Just another day of being invisible.
As she stepped out for her short lunch break—just enough time for a cheap sandwich—her phone buzzed with a message from her landlord.
Rent due by Friday. No extensions.
Annie's stomach dropped. She barely had enough saved, and payday was still a week away.
She sighed, rubbing her temples. How was she going to make this work?
Lost in thought, she didn't notice the sleek black car parked across the street.
Inside, Alexander Carter sat in the back seat, watching her with an unreadable expression.
Chapter Six: An Unexpected Offer
Annie tightened her coat around her as she walked down the bustling New York street, her mind racing with worry. Rent was due in two days, and she was barely scraping by. She had tried to pick up extra shifts at the boutique, but Mrs. Langley had only scoffed, reminding her that "money doesn't just fall from the sky."
As if on cue, a sleek black car pulled up beside her.
The window rolled down, and there he was—Alexander Carter.
His gaze was just as intense as before, sharp and unreadable. "Get in."
Annie blinked, thrown off by his directness. "Excuse me?"
He glanced at the busy sidewalk, then back at her. "I won't repeat myself."
She scoffed, crossing her arms. "You do realize this sounds a lot like kidnapping, right?"
A flicker of something—amusement?—passed through his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly. "I have a proposition for you. One that could solve a few of your… financial problems."
Her stomach clenched. How did he know?
She hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her. Against her better judgment, she opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. The car smelled like leather and something distinctly expensive.
Alexander studied her for a moment before speaking. "I need a personal stylist for an upcoming charity gala."
Annie frowned. "And you think I'm qualified?"
"You work at a boutique, don't you?"
"Yeah, but I alter dresses—I don't dress billionaires."
He leaned back, his gaze unwavering. "Then consider this a new challenge."
Annie narrowed her eyes. "Why me?"
There was a brief pause before he answered. "Because I don't trust people who chase money. And you… don't seem like the type."
She swallowed hard. He wasn't wrong—money had never been her goal. But it was ironic, considering he was offering exactly what she needed right now.
"How much?" she asked, testing him.
A ghost of a smirk appeared. "More than you make in a month at that boutique."
Her heart pounded. This could solve her rent problem in an instant. But was working for Alexander Carter really worth it?
She exhaled. "Fine. But I have one rule."
He raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"
"I don't take orders. If I'm dressing you, then you wear what I say."
For the first time, he actually looked intrigued. Then, to her surprise, he gave a slow nod. "Deal."
Annie wasn't sure whether she had just made the smartest or most dangerous decision of her life.
But either way, there was no turning back now.
Chapter Seven: Bound by a Deal
The car ride was silent as Alexander's driver navigated through the streets of New York. Annie sat with her arms crossed, trying to process what she had just agreed to. She was going to be Alexander Carter's personal stylist.
She stole a glance at him. He was looking at his phone, scrolling through something with a detached expression.
"Where are we going?" she finally asked, breaking the silence.
"My office," he replied without looking up.
Her stomach twisted slightly. His office? What had she gotten herself into?
"Why?"
His fingers paused on the screen. He turned his head toward her, his gaze sharp. "You need to know what you're working with, don't you?"
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to feel intimidated. "I suppose."
The car pulled up to an impossibly tall glass building in the heart of the city. The kind of place that screamed power and exclusivity.
Alexander stepped out first, and Annie hesitated for a second before following. The moment she walked through the revolving doors, she felt completely out of place. The marble floors gleamed, and the air smelled of expensive perfume and ambition. People in suits moved with purpose, barely glancing her way.
Alexander didn't stop to explain anything. He simply walked, expecting her to follow.
"Mr. Carter—" A polished-looking assistant hurried up to him. "Your three o'clock meeting is waiting."
"Reschedule it," he said smoothly, not breaking his stride.
The assistant blinked. "But, sir—"
"I said reschedule." His tone left no room for argument.
Annie raised an eyebrow. "You're really rearranging meetings for this?"
He gave her a sideways glance. "If I'm going to let you dress me, I expect you to do it properly. That requires time."
"How generous," she muttered under her breath.
They stepped into a private elevator, and as soon as the doors closed, the silence grew heavier. Annie shifted awkwardly. Why did he make everything feel so intense?
"You're nervous," he stated.
She scoffed. "I'm not nervous."
His lips pressed into something that wasn't quite a smirk. "You keep fidgeting."
She stilled immediately, annoyed that he had noticed. "I just don't do well with fancy offices and power-hungry billionaires."
"Not all billionaires are power-hungry."
She let out a short laugh. "Says the guy who made his assistant reschedule an entire meeting for him."
Alexander didn't respond right away. Instead, he studied her with that same unreadable gaze.
"You don't like rich people," he observed.
Annie exhaled. "I don't like people who think money makes them better than everyone else."
Something flickered in his expression—just for a second. But before she could read into it, the elevator doors slid open, revealing his massive office. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline, and minimalist furniture filled the space.
"Impressive," she admitted before she could stop herself.
He walked to his desk, setting his phone down. "This is where you'll work, at least for the next week."
Annie blinked. "Wait—here? I thought I'd just pick out a suit, and that'd be it."
Alexander leaned against his desk, arms crossed. "I don't like rushed decisions. You'll work from here and oversee everything—fabric choices, fittings, details. You'll have full control."
She hesitated. Full control? That was more trust than she expected.
"Fine," she said slowly. "But I need an advance."
He raised an eyebrow. "Already negotiating?"
"I have bills to pay," she said bluntly.
He studied her for a long moment before nodding. "You'll have it by the end of the day."
Annie exhaled, relieved. "Then I guess we have a deal."
As she turned to take in her new workspace, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just stepped into something much bigger than she had anticipated.
And as Alexander watched her, his gaze lingering just a little longer than necessary, she wondered if he felt the same.
Chapter Eight: Close Quarters
Annie sat at a large table in Alexander Carter's office, flipping through fabric swatches and sketching rough ideas in her notebook. She had been here for less than an hour, but the weight of the situation was already settling in. She was designing for one of the most powerful men in the world.
And he was standing just a few feet away, watching her.
She could feel his gaze, even though he said nothing. The silence between them was thick—not exactly uncomfortable, but not easy either.
"You're quiet," Alexander finally said, breaking the tension.
Annie didn't look up. "I work better that way."
He leaned back against his desk, arms crossed. "Most people in this position would be trying to impress me."
She smirked, still focused on her sketch. "Good thing I'm not most people."
A pause. Then—"No, you're not."
Something about the way he said it made her grip her pencil tighter.
She cleared her throat and flipped to a clean page. "Okay, let's talk style. Do you have a preference, or am I supposed to guess?"
Alexander walked over, standing next to her. Too close. His cologne—woodsy and expensive—filled the space between them.
"You tell me," he said smoothly.
Annie exhaled slowly and turned her focus to him. She let her gaze travel from his tailored suit to the way he carried himself—controlled, composed, powerful. His style wasn't just about clothes; it was about presence.
"You like clean lines, nothing flashy," she murmured, tapping her pencil against the page. "You dress to command attention without asking for it."
His lips twitched. "Go on."
She glanced up, meeting his gaze. "You don't follow trends—you set them. That means classic cuts, deep colors, sharp details. Nothing too soft, nothing too casual."
A beat of silence passed. Then, to her surprise, he gave a small nod. "Impressive."
She shrugged. "It's my job."
Alexander studied her for a moment, then stepped back, putting space between them. "I trust your judgment, then. Choose whatever you think works."
That caught her off guard. "No opinions at all?"
"I hired you for a reason." His voice was steady, but there was something else there—something she couldn't quite place. "I don't waste time second-guessing experts."
Annie didn't know why, but that simple statement made warmth spread through her chest. He trusted her.
Before she could say anything, the office door swung open.
"Alex, darling, I—"
An unmistakable voice.
Victoria Hayes.
Annie turned just in time to see the stunning model strut into the room like she owned the place. She was breathtaking—long legs, perfect waves in her golden hair, and a designer dress that screamed money.
Her sharp blue eyes landed on Annie, scanning her quickly before flicking back to Alexander. "Who's this?"
Annie felt her spine straighten. Here we go.
Alexander's expression didn't change. "My stylist."
Victoria's perfectly shaped eyebrows lifted. "Oh? Since when do you need a stylist?"
"When I decide I do."
Annie couldn't help but notice the way Victoria's expression faltered for a fraction of a second. But then, just as quickly, she smiled—too sweet, too fake.
"Well," she purred, stepping closer to Alexander, "I was hoping we could do lunch. Like old times."
Annie turned back to her sketches, pretending to be uninterested. But she wasn't deaf—she heard the way Victoria's voice softened, the way she positioned herself just close enough to remind him of what they used to be.
Alexander, however, didn't move. "I'm busy."
Victoria pouted. "Oh, come on, Alex. You work too much." She glanced at Annie. "I'm sure your little stylist can manage without you for an hour."
Annie clenched her jaw. Little stylist?
Alexander's response was instant. "No."
Victoria blinked, clearly not expecting that.
His tone was final, his expression unreadable. He didn't explain, didn't offer an excuse. Just no.
Something shifted in the air. Victoria's eyes flickered between the two of them, and Annie had a sinking feeling that the model had just picked up on something Annie herself hadn't fully processed yet.
Victoria let out a light laugh, flipping her hair. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice—just enough that Annie almost didn't hear it.
"You can't avoid me forever, Alex."
And then she was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of expensive perfume and unspoken history.
Annie exhaled, turning back to her work. She refused to ask, refused to let it get to her. It wasn't her business.
But as Alexander walked back toward his desk, his jaw clenched slightly, she realized something.
Maybe Victoria wasn't the only one unsettled by what had just happened.
And that thought sent an unfamiliar shiver down her spine.
Chapter Nine: A Spark Ignites
Annie tried to focus on her work, but the tension in the air was impossible to ignore. The way Victoria had looked at her, like she was insignificant. The way Alexander had shut her down without hesitation.
And the way he was looking at her now.
She could feel his gaze as she flipped through her sketchbook, her fingers gripping the pencil tighter than necessary. The silence stretched between them, charged with something different this time.
"You're overthinking," Alexander said suddenly.
She glanced up, confused. "Excuse me?"
He nodded toward her sketchpad. "You've redrawn that same line three times."
Annie's lips parted slightly. Had she?
She cleared her throat, setting the pencil down. "Maybe I just want it to be perfect."
He stepped closer. "Or maybe you're distracted."
Her breath hitched slightly. Was he calling her out?
She forced a casual shrug. "It's not every day a supermodel walks in and treats me like a nobody."
Alexander's expression darkened slightly. "You're not a nobody."
Something about the way he said it made her pulse race. It wasn't just a statement—it was firm, certain.
Annie swallowed, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck. "I don't care what she thinks."
"Good," he said, his voice lower now. "Because I don't either."
His gaze lingered, and suddenly, the space between them felt smaller. She was hyper-aware of everything—his scent, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms.
And then he did something that caught her completely off guard.
He reached forward, his fingers brushing against her wrist as he picked up the pencil she had set down. The touch was fleeting, but it sent an unexpected jolt through her.
"You're shaking," he murmured.
She stiffened. "I am not."
A smirk ghosted over his lips. "Liar."
Her heart pounded. Was he teasing her? Was Alexander Carter, the cold and distant billionaire, actually flirting with her?
She straightened, snatching the pencil from his fingers. "Maybe you're the one who's distracted."
Something flickered in his gaze—amusement, intrigue. "Maybe."
The word hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.
For a split second, she wondered what would happen if she leaned in just a little. If she tested the energy crackling between them.
But then the office door swung open again.
"Mr. Carter, your driver is waiting," his assistant announced.
The moment shattered, and Annie exhaled sharply, turning back to her work as if nothing had happened.
Alexander, however, didn't move right away. His eyes stayed on her for a second too long before he finally stepped back, adjusting his cufflinks.
"We'll continue this tomorrow," he said smoothly.
Annie nodded, pretending her hands weren't still tingling from his touch.
As he walked out, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
What just happened?
One thing was clear—whatever it was, it had just changed everything.
Chapter Ten: A Dangerous Game
The next morning, Annie arrived at Alexander's office early, determined to act like nothing had happened yesterday.
It was just a moment. A fleeting second of tension.
It didn't mean anything.
She repeated the thought like a mantra as she set up her workspace. Sketches, fabric swatches, measurements—this was what she needed to focus on. Not the way her skin still tingled where he had touched her wrist.
The door opened, and she tensed before she could stop herself.
Alexander walked in, looking as put together as always, his tailored suit sharp and precise. But there was something different in his eyes when they landed on her—a flicker of something unreadable.
"Good. You're here," he said casually, as if yesterday hadn't happened.
Annie nodded, keeping her tone professional. "I have some concepts for your gala suit. Want to see?"
He walked over, standing close enough that she could smell that same intoxicating cologne—woodsy, rich, undeniably him.
She forced herself to focus as she flipped open her sketchbook. "I've designed three options. The first is classic—black, sharp-cut, timeless. The second has a modern edge—deep navy with subtle embroidered detailing. And the third…"
She hesitated before turning the page.
His brows lifted slightly as he studied the last sketch. A dark velvet suit, a deep shade of emerald green with sleek, sophisticated lines. It was bold but elegant.
"This one," he said, tapping the page.
She glanced up. "You're sure? You didn't even hesitate."
"I don't waste time when I know what I want," he said, his voice calm. Then, his eyes flicked to hers, as if the words meant something more.
Annie's pulse jumped. This was dangerous.
She cleared her throat, breaking eye contact. "Good. Then I'll get the materials ordered."
Alexander didn't step away immediately. She could feel his presence beside her, could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"Have dinner with me tonight."
Annie's breath caught. "What?"
His expression remained unreadable. "It's just dinner. Consider it business. I want to discuss the final details of the design."
She narrowed her eyes. "You have a fully functional office for that."
A ghost of a smirk appeared. "So you're saying no?"
Annie hesitated. Every logical part of her brain screamed at her to refuse. This was already a dangerous line they were walking.
But another part of her—the part that had felt that undeniable spark yesterday—whispered something else entirely.
"It's just dinner?" she asked cautiously.
His gaze held hers. "Just dinner."
A slow, simmering heat settled in her stomach.
"Fine," she said, forcing her voice to stay even. "But if you try to make me talk about anything other than suits, I'm leaving."
His lips curved slightly. "Noted."
As he walked away, Annie let out a slow breath, pressing a hand against the table to steady herself.
This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
But for some reason, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to stop it.
Chapter Eleven: A Taste of Temptation
Annie stood in front of the restaurant, her nerves betraying her despite her best efforts. It's just dinner, just business, she reminded herself.
But nothing about tonight felt like business.
The restaurant was nothing short of luxurious—warm lighting, sleek decor, the kind of place where power and money whispered through the air. She had dressed accordingly, choosing a fitted black dress that wasn't overly fancy but still elegant. Professional, yet just tempting enough to remind Alexander that she wasn't easily overlooked.
She stepped inside, and almost instantly, she spotted him.
Alexander Carter sat at a private table, dressed in a dark suit that only made him look more effortlessly commanding. But it wasn't his tailored perfection that made her pause—it was the way his eyes traveled over her as she approached. Slow. Unhurried. Appreciative.
Annie's breath hitched slightly. That was not a business look.
"You're late," he murmured as she slid into the chair across from him.
"You're early," she countered.
His lips twitched. "Touché."
A waiter arrived, pouring wine into crystal glasses. Annie reached for hers, needing something to steady herself. The moment she took a sip, she realized her mistake—it was smooth, rich, expensive. Just like him.
Alexander leaned forward slightly. "So, tell me, do you always hesitate this much?"
She frowned. "Hesitate?"
He traced the rim of his glass with one finger, watching her intently. "You were going to say no to this dinner."
She lifted a brow. "And yet, here I am."
His smirk deepened. "Interesting."
She rolled her eyes, pretending the warmth pooling in her stomach wasn't from the way he was looking at her. "Let's talk about your suit, shall we?"
Alexander didn't answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her.
"What?" she asked, shifting under his gaze.
"You deflect when you're uncomfortable."
Annie nearly choked on her wine. "Excuse me?"
He took a slow sip of his drink, completely composed. "You don't like discussing things that make you feel exposed. So you change the subject. Like now."
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. "I don't know what you're talking about."
A deep chuckle escaped him. "And you lie when you don't want to admit I'm right."
Annie inhaled sharply. Oh, he was playing a dangerous game.
She leaned forward, mirroring his posture, and gave him a challenging look. "You think you know me that well already?"
His gaze flickered down to her lips, just for a second. "I'm learning."
Her heart stuttered. The air between them felt different now—charged, heated, toeing the line between professional and something much more dangerous.
The waiter returned with their food, momentarily breaking the tension. Annie exhaled, forcing herself to focus on her plate instead of the man sitting across from her.
They ate in silence for a few moments, but she could still feel it—that slow, smoldering undercurrent of something neither of them wanted to name yet.
Then, out of nowhere, Alexander reached across the table.
Annie froze as his fingers brushed against her hand, his touch deliberate and slow. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
"You have ink on your fingers," he murmured, his thumb grazing a smudge of graphite near her knuckle.
She swallowed, unable to look away. "Hazard of being a designer."
His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable. "A beautiful hazard."
Annie's breath hitched. This wasn't business anymore.
She should pull away. She should remind him that this was professional, that they had boundaries.
But she didn't move.
Because for the first time since she met him, she realized something dangerous—she didn't want to.
And judging by the way his fingers lingered against her skin, neither did he.
Chapter Twelve: Crossing the Line
The moment Alexander's fingers brushed against Annie's skin, the world outside their private table faded.
Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved.
But the tension between them—thick, unspoken, electric—demanded an answer.
Annie should have pulled away. Should have made a joke, brushed it off, something to remind them both of the professional line they weren't supposed to cross.
But she didn't.
Instead, she let it happen.
Alexander's thumb lingered on the inside of her wrist, his touch deliberate, as if testing the weight of the moment. His eyes held hers, dark and unreadable, but there was something there—a flicker of desire, something raw and unguarded.
"You're playing with fire," she murmured, her voice softer than she intended.
His lips curved slightly, but his grip didn't loosen. "Am I?"
Annie swallowed hard. "You tell me."
For a second, he didn't answer. And then—slowly, carefully—he turned her hand over, his fingertips grazing her palm. It was the smallest touch, barely anything, but it sent a sharp, unexpected heat straight through her.
"Tell me to stop," he said quietly.
Her heart pounded.
This was the moment. The line was right there, waiting for her to step back.
But she didn't.
Instead, she met his gaze, her pulse hammering. "You don't strike me as the type of man who listens when told no."
Alexander let out a quiet, amused breath. "Only when I want to."
Annie exhaled sharply, trying to steady herself. This was insane.
And yet, she didn't move her hand from his.
The air between them crackled, every second stretching into something heavy, something dangerous.
Then, just as she thought he might actually kiss her, he did something worse.
He let go.
Annie blinked, startled by the sudden absence of his touch.
Alexander leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable, as if he hadn't just completely unraveled her with the simplest touch.
"You should get used to this," he said smoothly, as if nothing had happened.
Her brows furrowed. "Used to what?"
His lips quirked. "Me winning."
Annie let out a breathy laugh, though her body still hummed from his touch. This man was impossible.
She picked up her wine glass, meeting his gaze with newfound determination. "We'll see about that, Carter."
And as she took a slow sip, she saw it—the brief flicker in his expression that told her she had just made this a game.
One she wasn't sure she could win.
But God help her, she wanted to play.
Chapter Thirteen: Losing Control
Annie knew she was playing a dangerous game.
The moment Alexander's fingers had left her skin, she had felt the loss like an ache—one she shouldn't have felt at all.
But now, as they walked out of the restaurant together, the tension between them wasn't just simmering anymore. It was boiling.
"Let me drive you home," Alexander said smoothly, his voice calm, controlled. Too controlled.
Annie hesitated. She should say no. She should call a cab, put distance between them before this got worse.
But instead, she nodded.
Mistake number one.
Alexander led her outside to where his sleek black car waited. A driver held the door open for her, and she slid inside, feeling the luxurious leather beneath her fingertips.
Moments later, Alexander joined her, the space between them far too small, far too intimate. The air was thick with something unsaid, something neither of them was willing to name.
The car started moving, but Annie wasn't paying attention to the city lights passing by.
Because Alexander was watching her.
Not just watching—studying. Like she was something he wanted to unravel, something he wanted to claim.
Her pulse pounded.
"This is a bad idea," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
Alexander smirked slightly. "Then why aren't you stopping it?"
She turned her head to meet his gaze, her breath hitching at the intensity in his eyes. "Because you keep looking at me like that."
His smirk faded. His jaw clenched slightly, as if her words had struck something deep.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them was charged, suffocating.
And then, suddenly—he moved.
Not quickly. Not roughly. Deliberately.
He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips brushing the side of her neck. The touch was light, but it sent a devastating shiver down her spine.
"Like what?" he murmured, his voice low, dangerous.
Annie's breath was shallow now, her heart racing. "Like you're about to do something reckless."
His fingers lingered at her jaw, his thumb grazing her skin. "Maybe I am."
She should stop this. She should pull away.
But instead, she tilted her head slightly, a silent invitation she didn't mean to give.
His eyes darkened. And then—he was closer.
Close enough that she could feel his breath against her lips. Close enough that if she moved just an inch, their mouths would touch.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered.
Annie's fingers curled against the seat.
She couldn't.
Because she didn't want him to.
The car slowed to a stop, breaking the spell.
Annie inhaled sharply, her entire body trembling with something she couldn't name.
"We're here, sir," the driver announced.
Alexander didn't move immediately. His eyes stayed on hers, his fingers still ghosting against her jaw.
Then, slowly—agonizingly slowly—he pulled back.
Annie exhaled, trying to steady her racing heart.
Without another word, Alexander pushed the door open and stepped out. A second later, he held out his hand for her.
She hesitated.
If she took it, she knew there would be no going back.
But she took it anyway.
And as his fingers curled around hers, she realized—
She had already lost control.
Chapter Fourteen: Fighting the Inevitable
Annie knew she should step away.
The second she placed her hand in Alexander's, she felt it—the pull, the inevitability of it all.
But she also knew what this was.
A mistake waiting to happen.
As he helped her out of the car, their hands lingered for just a moment too long. The city lights cast a golden glow over them, the air thick with the tension they refused to name.
"Thank you for dinner," she said, her voice steadier than she expected.
Alexander didn't let go immediately. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, barely there, but enough to set her entire body on edge.
"You're welcome," he said smoothly.
She swallowed, forcing herself to take a step back. Distance. She needed distance.
Alexander, however, didn't move.
"You're overthinking again," he murmured.
She let out a breathy laugh, crossing her arms. "And you're doing that thing where you act like you know me better than I know myself."
His lips twitched. "Maybe I do."
Annie's heart pounded. This was dangerous.
Because the more time she spent around him, the more she realized—he got under her skin in a way no one else ever had.
She cleared her throat, lifting her chin. "I should go."
For a split second, something flickered in his expression—something unreadable, something restrained. But then he nodded. "Goodnight, Annie."
She turned and walked up the steps to her apartment, forcing herself not to look back.
Not to wonder if he was still standing there.
Not to think about how close they had come to crossing that final, fragile line.
But when she reached her door, her hand hovering over the handle, she hesitated.
Just one look.
Slowly, she turned her head.
And her breath caught.
Alexander was still there.
Still watching.
Still waiting.
The tension between them stretched—heavy, unbearable.
For a brief, reckless moment, she considered it.
Considered going back down the steps.
Considered giving in.
But then, as if sensing her hesitation, Alexander did something she didn't expect.
He turned and walked away.
Annie exhaled sharply, gripping the doorknob as she watched his figure disappear into the night.
He had left.
He had let her go.
So why did it feel like he had won?
Chapter Fifteen: Giving In
Annie barely slept that night.
She had done everything she could to push Alexander from her mind—distracting herself with sketches, pacing her tiny apartment, even attempting to read a book. But none of it worked.
Because all she could think about was the way he had looked at her.
The way he had touched her hand.
The way he had waited—knowing she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
And then he had walked away.
It should have been the end of it. But it wasn't.
Because somehow, she knew it wasn't over.
The Next Evening
Annie wasn't sure why she was still in the office so late.
She could have finished her sketches at home. She could have gone out with her coworkers. But instead, she was here—alone—waiting for something she refused to name.
And then, as if the universe had read her mind, the door opened.
She knew it was him before she even turned around.
Alexander stepped inside, his presence commanding, his gaze locking onto her instantly.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them moved.
But the air between them shifted.
Annie swallowed hard, gripping the edge of her desk. "You're working late."
His lips curved slightly. "So are you."
She exhaled, forcing herself to look at the designs in front of her, but she wasn't seeing them. All she could feel was his gaze—heated, relentless, stripping away every excuse she had left.
And then—he moved.
Slow. Deliberate.
Annie's breath caught as he walked around the desk, stopping only when there was nothing left between them.
"You don't want me here, do you?" he asked, his voice low, smooth.
She met his gaze, her pulse hammering. "That's not what I said."
Alexander reached out, brushing his fingers along her wrist—the same place he had touched the night before.
Annie inhaled sharply, her entire body going still.
"Tell me to leave," he murmured.
She couldn't.
Because she didn't want him to.
Instead, she did something reckless.
She reached up and grabbed his tie.
Alexander's breath hitched—just slightly—but he didn't stop her.
Didn't pull away.
Instead, his hands came to rest on her waist, his grip firm, grounding.
Annie looked up at him, her heart pounding so hard she thought he might hear it.
"This is a bad idea," she whispered.
His gaze flickered to her lips. "I don't care."
And then—finally, finally—he kissed her.
The moment his mouth met hers, Annie felt herself unravel.
It wasn't slow. It wasn't hesitant.
It was fire, heat, hunger.
Alexander's hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, as if he had been waiting for this just as long as she had.
Annie gasped against his lips, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss, making her lose herself completely.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, her body pressing against his without thought, without hesitation.
Because this was inevitable.
There had never been a way to fight it.
And now, there was no going back.