The Uninvited Guest

POV: Tessa.

The sharp click of my heels against the concrete is the only sound cutting through the fog of my suppressed rage. I storm away from the towering glass office building, my chest tight with a bitter, suffocating regret. I should have just said no. I should have looked him dead in the eye, stood my ground, and refused his ridiculous demands. But the cruel reality of my situation kept my mouth shut. Refusing him to his face meant risking my employment, and I need this job to survive. The mere thought of sharing a single, cramped hotel room with my demanding boss for two nights sends a shiver of pure dread down my spine. It is going to be an unbearable, agonizing nightmare of awkward tension.

The cool evening breeze finally starts to clear my head. It is only a short walk back to my apartment, a blessing since I left my car parked in the garage this morning. I focus on the rhythm of my breathing, trying to shake off the chaotic energy of the day.

I blame him. I place all the blame on that jackass. Harrison Vance walks through life believing the sun rises and sets on his command. He operates under the delusion that the world revolves around him, and everyone exists solely to cater to his whims. Well, I refuse to be just another pawn in his orbit. We are boss and assistant. That is the hard line. I am determined to maintain those strict professional boundaries throughout this forced weekend ordeal, no matter how much he tries to push them.

I have no clue where this wedding even is. I realize now I should have asked more questions before marching out of his office, but I was too furious to speak. Hopefully, he will give me the itinerary tomorrow. On top of everything else, I am dreading the shopping trip he mentioned. I hate shopping for formal wear. It is one of the most boring chores in the world to me. I pull my earphones from my purse, shove them into my ears, and turn the volume up high. Music always calms my fraying nerves. I hum along to the bass, losing myself in the familiar lyrics, desperate to block out the memory of his arrogant smirk.

I reach my apartment building in record time. As soon as I unlock my front door and step inside, I drop my heavy bag onto the floor with a dull thud. The silence of my living room is an instant balm to my headache. Right now, my demands for the evening are simple. I head straight for my bedroom, eager to shed the corporate armor I wear for Harrison Vance.

The restrictive pencil skirt and stiff blouse end up in a crumpled heap on my chair. I pull on my favorite oversized pajamas, the soft, worn fabric instantly grounding me. I pull the tight tie from my hair, letting the strands fall loose around my shoulders, and scrub the heavy remnants of the day's makeup from my face. I feel somewhat human again.

I grab my phone off the nightstand and place a massive fast-food delivery order, ignoring the voice in my head telling me to cook. Then, I walk into the kitchen and reach for a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge. Normally, I limit myself to a modest pour if I have to work the next morning, but tonight demands more. I pour a large measure into my glass, watching the pale liquid swirl. I take a long, deep sip, letting the crisp, dry taste wash over my tongue in a desperate attempt to decompress.

I walk over to the windows, grab the cords, and shut the blinds tight, sealing out the city lights and any reminder of the outside world. I settle heavily onto the cushions of my sofa, pulling a knitted blanket over my legs. I grab the remote, find a mindless show to watch, and sink into the upholstery. I do not plan on leaving this spot for the rest of the night.

Twenty minutes later, the sharp buzz of the intercom echoes through the apartment. I smile, setting my wine glass down on the coffee table. I grab my purse from the entryway, pulling out enough cash to cover the bill and a generous tip. I unlock the door to find Cody, my usual reliable delivery guy, standing in the hallway holding a steaming cardboard box and a paper bag full of mozzarella sticks.

"Good evening, Tessa," Cody greets, offering a tired but genuine smile.

"Good evening, Cody," I reply, handing him the cash. "How is your night going?"

"Not bad. It has been busy, so the shift is passing quickly. How was your workday?"

"I am just glad it is over," I laugh, taking the warm food from his hands.

We exchange a quick goodbye. I shut the door, slide the deadbolt into place, and carry my prize back to the living room. The rich, savory scent of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air. I sit back down on the sofa, flip open the cardboard lid, and pull a massive slice free.

I haven't even managed to take a single bite when another sharp knock strikes my front door.

I freeze, the slice hovering halfway to my mouth. Who the hell is that? I am not expecting anyone else tonight. My friends always text before showing up. A fresh wave of annoyance ripples through me as I drop the food back into the box. I drag myself off the comfortable sofa and march back to the entryway.

I press my eye against the peephole. My stomach drops, and an audible groan of immense dread escapes my throat.

No. This has to be a joke.

I take a slow, deep, fortifying breath, bracing myself for the collision of my two worlds. I unlock the deadbolt and open the door just halfway, using my body to block the entrance.

Harrison Vance stands in my hallway.

The sight of him sends a jarring shock through my system. He is dressed down, wearing dark, fitted jeans and a comfortable charcoal hoodie. The casual attire is a stark, almost disorienting contrast to his usual custom-tailored, intimidating business suits. Without the silk ties and expensive jackets, he looks broader, rougher, and somehow even more imposing.

"Mr. Vance, what are you doing at my apartment?" I ask, my voice clipped. I struggle to hide the deep annoyance bleeding into my tone. My sanctuary has been breached. I firmly believe my personal life should never intersect with my boss.

Harrison does not answer immediately. He confidently looks me up and down, his gaze dragging over my baggy pajamas and messy hair. An arrogant smirk tilts the corner of his mouth. Without a word of permission, he places a large hand flat against the wood of the door and pushes it wide open, stepping right past me into my private space.

"Hey!" I protest, turning to watch as he strolls unceremoniously into my living room, taking in his surroundings with sharp, calculating eyes. I shut the door behind him, my patience wearing thin, and follow his broad shoulders.

He stops near the coffee table, his gaze locking onto the open cardboard box. He lifts a judgmental finger, pointing directly at my greasy dinner.

"What are you doing eating crap like this?" he asks, his tone dripping with condescension.

"Excuse me?" I snap back, stepping around him to stand between his towering frame and my food. "There is nothing wrong with my dinner. My eating habits are none of your business. I take care of myself, and I make sure to treat myself once a week. It has nothing to do with you. What do you want?"

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, looking utterly unbothered by my hostility. "I was bored. I wanted to come by to discuss the extensive details for the upcoming wedding. We need to be on the exact same page."

I stare at him, baffled by his sheer entitlement. "It couldn’t have waited until tomorrow at the office? Like a normal business meeting?"

"No," he states flatly, refusing my perfectly reasonable suggestion. "I am a man of action. Something needs doing; I do it as soon as possible."

"Fine," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "We can discuss whatever you want, but I will be eating my dinner while we talk. I am starving."

Harrison’s smirk twists into something malicious. He takes a deliberate step closer, his height casting a shadow over me. "Or I can throw it in the trash and make you eat something healthier."

A hot flare of anger ignites in my chest, burning away any lingering shreds of professional restraint. I close the distance between us, tilting my head back to meet his gaze.

"You touch my pizza, I will kick you in the balls," I hiss through gritted teeth, my voice shaking with raw defiance. "What I do with my life is none of your damn business. You are my boss, not my father or boyfriend."

The sudden, vicious outburst severely shifts the atmosphere in the room. The air between us grows instantly thick and suffocating.

Harrison's relaxed posture vanishes. His large hands pull from his pockets, and he grips the edge of my sofa. I can see the muscles in his forearms straining under his skin. His strong jaw clenches, the sharp line of his bone structure prominent as a muscle feathers in his cheek.

He stares down at me with a predatory intensity. The usual cool, calculated amber of his eyes turns darker than I have ever witnessed before, shifting into a deep, dangerous abyss. He watches me exactly like a wild, starving animal waiting to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. He does not blink. He does not move. He just consumes me with his gaze.

"You wouldn’t have such an attitude probably if you were mine," he growls.

The sound is a low, terrifyingly seductive register that vibrates straight through my bones.

My lungs freeze. My heart pounds hard against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in my ears. I am left speechless, the raw dominance of his statement knocking the wind right out of me. The ground beneath my feet feels unstable. The sheer gravity of what he just said, the possessive, primal edge to his voice, scrambles my thoughts into chaotic static. I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

He watches the shock wash over my face. His lips curl into a slow, triumphant smirk. "Speechless?"

His mockery snaps me out of my trance. I shake off the visceral shock of his words, refusing to let him see how deeply he rattled me. I need to pull myself together.

"No," I shoot back rapidly, lifting my chin. "Annoyed."

Harrison chuckles, a dark, rich sound that does nothing to ease the tension in the room. He releases his white-knuckled grip on the sofa and takes a casual step back, effortlessly brushing off the intense moment as if nothing happened. "I am sure you will get over it. Now, we need to talk about the wedding."

He pivots back to business with an ease that gives me whiplash. My mind races, trying to process his shifting moods. I decide in a split second that it is probably best for my own mental safety not to unpack whatever the hell just happened between us. If I examine that dark, possessive growl, I will lose my mind.

I force my stiff facial muscles to cooperate. I fake a polite, tight smile, masking the lingering tremor in my hands.

"Okay," I say, my voice steady despite the chaos inside my head. "Tell me everything I need to know."

I internally attempt to reassure myself as I look at him. It surely can’t be that hard to simply play along with his demands. There can’t be too many intricate details for me to memorize.