Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}

Chapter 54*

I take a deep breath, stomach lurching slightly as the elevator jolts to a stop at the twenty-fifth floor. The hallway is eerily quiet, light filtering in through the blinds in the hallway while the noise of the city is dampened by a mixture of the glass walls and the height of the building.

I can't help but feel a sudden windfall of nervousness, the trepidation building with each echoing click of my high heels against the tile, every step taking me closer and closer to him.

New York, while a near-disaster thanks to its rocky start, had turned into a surreal dream. The air was crisp, the almost-spring weather was sunny and inviting, and the vibe was entirely different than Los Angeles.

I had expected the trip to be a week of overly long, boring meetings inside chilly conference rooms in high rises with straight-laced suits; but it wasn't. It was casual lunches, hip restaurants, and eighteen holes with some of Harry's oldest and best friends, who just so happened to also be in the business,

I can't recall a time I've ever had more fun at work. It was effortless — merely needing to hand him the paperwork he needed in between bites of the best sushi I've ever had, or quietly whispering numbers to him while we were on the sixth hole of the most exclusive country club, with views of the city I could never even imagine. We even took a day to head to Martha's Vineyard, soaking in the beach and exclusivity of the most elite of NY-adjacent islands while he met with the head designer of his new clothing company to discuss a potential new swimwear line. I even got to try a few on.

But between all of that, were the smiles and the touches, which seemed innocent to everyone but us. His hand would brush my thigh under the table, which would set my skin on fire — while one look at him over my shoulder would ignite him like an out-of-control blaze. The second we were alone, we were clawing at each other's clothes, teeth nipping at exposed skin and bodies humming in perfect harmony with the most explosive of orgasms. Afterwards, we were dazed and sheepish, straightening our clothes in a somewhat awkward silence until one of us would crack a joke, and then we would laugh it off as if it never happened.

There was always the silent promise of never again, certain unspoken boundaries set between us; but deeper still was the knowledge that there was no stopping this thing. The guilt had been replaced by something stronger — something wild — a lust that neither of us could deny. And while we never sought each other out, and we certainly never made a consorted effort to come together on purpose, that didn't stop it from happening when raw hormones got the best of our judgment.

There wasn't a single thing on Earth, not even Eleanor herself, that could stop us from falling to the floor the second we entered my suite, nor him from bending me over the dining room table in his expansive penthouse. The lust was overpowering and potent, suffocating while equally maddening. And while I know that this is a poor excuse for my actions, it didn't seem to keep me from relenting when his flesh seared mine.

But that was New York.

The giddy post-sex high that had clouded my mind the entire week began to clear as I settled back into my apartment, unpacked my suitcase, and pulled out what I was going to wear for work the next day. It would be another day at the office, a day of doing Eleanor's bidding.

Eleanor.

It was then that the ramifications of our actions began to settle in for me. It wasn't just one time, anymore. It wasn't just two times, not even three. I knew the number, but I wouldn't allow myself to even think about it.

Except I couldn't stop my mind from replaying each time over and over again, every touch branded deeply into my memory.

As the night wore on, and my first morning back in the office loomed closer, the tug of pleasure in my stomach at those memories turned to butterflies, and then to dread.