Trapped by Fate

"You?" The single word barely escapes my lips, sounding more like a breathless gasp than an actual question. I stare in horror at the six-foot-something man sitting casually behind the massive mahogany desk. My mind scrambles, desperate to reject reality. This has to be a hallucination brought on by stress. I look over at Paige, who stands beside me wearing a bright, oblivious smile, and then I look back at the man in the tailored suit.

"No," I stammer, shaking my head as panic begins to claw at my throat. "No, this is a mistake. My boss was an older guy. He had silver hair and a kind smile. You are..."

Vance leans back in his expensive leather chair. He rests his elbows on the armrests and steeples his fingers together. He nods, his expression unreadable and steady. "You must have met my father. Arthur Voss. He was handling the final round of interviews on my behalf while I was out of town on business."

I stare at Vance. I curse the cruel, twisted fate that keeps screwing with my life at every possible turn. Of all the architectural firms in London, of all the billionaires in the world, it had to be him. "So, you are my boss?"

Vance reaches up and fiddles with his silver cufflinks. His dark brows pull together, forming a deep crease above his nose. "It sure looks that way."

Paige chimes in, her cheerful voice cutting through the thick tension in the room. "Oh, you two have already met before-"

"Paige, leave us," Vance commands. His deep baritone voice echoes across the spacious office, leaving no room for argument. His piercing dark eyes never leave mine.

Paige blinks, startled by the abrupt dismissal. Her cheerful demeanor falters for a split second. "Of course, Mr. Voss." She turns on her heel and scampers out of the room. The heavy oak door clicks shut, sealing me inside with my worst nightmare.

The silence stretches. It suffocates me. I lose my mind. I start pacing the length of the office like a lunatic. My heels click frantically against the polished hardwood floor, measuring the distance between the staggering floor-to-ceiling windows and the plush guest chairs.

"This is a joke, right? Because this cannot be happening," I mutter, my voice rising in pitch. I brush my trembling fingers through my hair, gripping the strands at the roots. "It just can't be."

Vance rubs the back of his neck. He watches my frantic pacing with a calm, calculated gaze. "Maya, why don't we sit down and talk about this?"

"No. I cannot sit," I snap, spinning around to face him. The panic blooms into full-blown indignation. "I feel like I am trapped inside some bizarre nightmare. I keep waiting to wake up, but I am still here. I am still looking at you." I cross my arms over my chest. I narrow my eyes at his handsome face. "Are you stalking me?"

Vance pauses. A beat of silence passes. Then, a deep belly laugh erupts from his chest. It fills the room, rich and genuine, bouncing off the abstract paintings on the walls. He laughs so hard he has to lean forward, bracing his hands on the desk to catch his breath.

"Stalking you?" he asks, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. "I should be asking you that question, sweetheart. You are the one showing up everywhere I go. It cannot be a coincidence."

My jaw drops. Furious indignation burns through my veins, replacing the cold panic. I march right up to his desk. I grip the orientation folder in my hands and slap it down onto the polished wood with a loud, resounding smack.

"Excuse me?" I challenge, stepping right into his personal space. He stops laughing and sits up, watching me with a mix of curiosity and intense amusement. "Are you implying that I am some psychotic fan girl following you around?"

I reach out across the desk. I fiercely poke him right in the center of his broad chest. The muscle beneath his crisp dress shirt feels like solid granite. "I think you will find that it was you who approached me at the club."

Vance smirks. He arches a dark brow, refusing to lean away from my touch.

I poke his chest a second time, pressing my finger harder against his sternum. "And it was your brilliant idea to leave the club together."

His smirk grows into a devastating grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"And," I add, my voice echoing in the quiet room, "it was you who kissed me. So please, explain to me how I come off as the stalker in this scenario?" I plant my hands firmly on my hips, glaring down at him, daring him to counter my logic.

Vance licks his bottom lip. He gives a casual, unapologetic shrug. "I was just kidding. But I must say, it is nice to see you have a feisty side. I adore that in a wife."

I let out an exasperated groan. My hands ball into tight fists at my sides. I am going to murder this man.

"I am not your wife," I grouse heatedly. The air between us crackles with unresolved tension. "And come to think of it, I am not your assistant either. I quit."

I spin around on my heels and march toward the heavy oak door. I just need to get out of this building. I need to run away from this impossible situation.

"Maya, wait."

Before my fingers can even graze the brass handle, a large, warm hand clamps around my arm. The grip is firm, stopping me dead in my tracks. A jolt of electricity shoots up my skin at the contact.

I glare down at his long fingers wrapped around my forearm. I yank my arm out of his hold. I stalk over to one of the cream-colored guest chairs and grip the back of it, needing a physical barrier between his towering frame and my trembling body.

Vance walks around his massive mahogany desk. He stands a few feet away from me, leaning his hips back against the edge of the smooth wood. He crosses his arms over his chest. His playful demeanor drops, replaced by the serious, commanding presence of a CEO.

"You don't have to quit," he pleads, his voice softening. "We are both adults. We can work together. We can handle this professionally."

"How?" I argue, throwing my hands in the air. "How can we possibly work together after everything that happened in Vegas? We are married, Vance. Or did you forget that minor detail?"

He shrugs, looking utterly unbothered by the giant elephant in the room. "Yeah, so? Who here knows we are married besides us? You are overreacting. My father hired you for a reason. You must be very good at what you do."

I let out a heavy sigh, shaking my head in disbelief. "Overreacting? I married my boss. I went from being an eager new architectural assistant to the office slut who slept with the CEO before her first day on the job."

Vance straightens his posture. He runs a hand through his dark hair, looking frustrated by my stubbornness. "Maya, you are overthinking this. No one will ever find out what happened between us. I swear it to you."

I study his face. He looks genuine. His dark eyes hold a promise of discretion. But the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach refuses to fade.

I narrow my eyes at him. A new thought crosses my mind, momentarily overriding my panic. "You must have thought I was a dimwit for not knowing who you were at the club. Why didn't you say something? Why did you hide your identity?"

Vance offers a warm, soft smile that reaches his eyes. "I thought no such thing. Honestly, it felt good."

"Felt good?"

"Yes. It felt good to be treated like a normal human being, rather than a notorious billionaire playboy. I liked that my money didn't faze you. You just saw me as a guy."

I scoff, rolling my eyes at his arrogance. "Why would your money faze me? Money does not make you superior. Just because you have a massive bank account does not make you better than anyone else. When cut, you bleed red just like the rest of us mere mortals."

Our eyes lock. The challenge hangs in the air between us. Instead of getting angry or defensive, Vance looks deeply pleased by my defiance. He smiles, shaking his head slowly as if I am the most fascinating puzzle he has ever encountered. He walks back around the desk and sinks into his leather chair.

"It is almost noon," he notes, glancing at the luxury watch on his wrist. "Would you like to go out for lunch?"

"Lunch?" I repeat, staring at him as if he has lost his mind.

He leans back, lacing his fingers together over his stomach. "Yeah. We can head down to the breakfast bar. Share a plate of pancakes."

I groan loudly. I turn my back to him and stomp toward the exit. "I hate you."

His deep chuckle follows me across the room. "Hey, what happens in Vegas..."

"Shut up!" I yell, pulling the heavy oak door open. I cast one last glare over my shoulder. He is watching me leave, a massive grin plastered on his handsome face. I storm out into the hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I bypass Paige's desk without saying a single word. I make a beeline for the women's restroom at the far end of the corridor. I push through the door, the cold fluorescent lights glaring down at me. I quickly check under the stalls. Empty. I am alone.

I lock myself inside the furthest stall. I sink down onto the closed toilet lid, burying my face in my hands for a brief moment. I pull out my phone with trembling hands and dial Gia's number. She picks up on the second ring.

"Yo ho, what's up?" Gia chirps through the speaker.

"What's up? Let me tell you what is up," I hiss into the receiver, trying to keep my voice down so it doesn't echo off the bathroom tiles. "Remember that billionaire I accidentally married?"

"The hot billionaire, yes. Kind of hard to forget."

"Well, that hot billionaire is not only my dear husband... he is also my new boss."

A harsh sound of coughing erupts through the speaker. Gia is clearly choking on whatever she was drinking.

"You dead?" I ask dryly.

"I am good," she wheezes, clearing her throat loudly. "What do you mean he is your boss?"

"He is the CEO. The man who interviewed me last week was his dad, Arthur Voss. How did I not connect the dots, Gia? I held his business card in my hand! I am a smart girl. At least, I thought I was. He probably thinks I am an idiot. Jesus, I am mortified."

"Hey, a lot has happened in the space of four days," Gia says, using her soothing voice to calm me down. "My mind cannot even cope with half of this. I don't know how you are dealing with everything so calmly."

"Calmly? I am freaking out, Gia! I cannot work here. It is way too awkward. Working side by side with the man I drunkenly married, day in and day out? No. I am going to march back out there and quit."

"Maya, no," Gia shoots down my plan instantly. Her tone turns firm, stripping away the sympathy. "Do not do that. You cannot quit."

"Why not?" I whine, resting my forehead in my free hand.

"Because you need this job! Think about your architectural degree. Think about your family's survival. This salary is the only thing keeping your folks afloat right now. You cannot throw away your future over one awkward Vegas mistake. This job will open every door for you. Just focus on your work. Endure it. When you become a kick-ass architect, it will all be worth it."

I close my eyes. A heavy sigh escapes my lips. Stressed resignation washes over me, heavy and cold. She is right. As much as this situation sucks, I need the money. I need the experience. Running away will only hurt my family.

"But I slept with him," I whisper miserably.

"So what?" Gia counters smoothly. "A guy like that has slept with dozens of girls. Hundreds, probably. He won't care, so you shouldn't either."

I bite my lower lip, staring blankly at the bathroom tiles. "I suppose. He did promise to keep our marriage a total secret."

"There you go. See? Just chill out. Enjoy your first day. It is all going to be okay."

"I hope you are right," I mutter. "Because I honestly cannot take much more."

We say our goodbyes and I hang up. I slip the phone back into my pocket. I have to brave the office dynamic. I have to march back out there and work directly under my secret husband.

I stand up and unlock the stall door. I just pray my luck doesn't worsen. Knowing my disastrous life, he will probably end up being my long-lost brother on top of everything else.

I shudder at the mere thought. Heaven forbid.