Hiding the Evidence

Avery

Morning light sliced across my bathroom mirror as I stood under the harsh vanity bulbs, feeling like a wrecking ball shaped exactly like Declan Pierce had plowed straight through me. Deep soreness pulled at muscles I rarely used, while dark purple marks mottled the tender skin along my inner thighs.

"Pull yourself together, Avery," I whispered to the glass, dabbing a thick layer of concealer beneath my lower lashes. No matter how much product I blended into my skin, the woman staring back still looked thoroughly ruined.

Riding the downtown train into the financial district was pure physical misery. Every sudden jolt of the subway car and rattle of the tracks brought back the punishing rhythm of Declan moving inside me, the heavy vise of his fingers digging into my waist, and the sound of him breathing another woman's name against my ear.

Vivian. That single word ricocheted around the inside of my head without stopping.

I had stayed awake until three in the morning typing "Vivian Declan Pierce" into my search bar, coming up completely empty-handed. Not that jealousy had anything to do with it. Why would I care about some mystery woman my boss groaned for while out of his mind on whatever substance he had taken?

The express elevator up to the executive floor took forever to climb. I tapped my phone screen awake over a dozen times in half a minute, silently begging the universe that Declan hadn't texted me. The screen stayed blank. Thank God.

Stepping off into the quiet corridor, I craned my neck toward Declan's corner suite. The glass room stood dark and unoccupied, washing an almost shameful wave of relief through my chest.

I dropped into my ergonomic chair and pressed both palms over my face. "It's fine. Everything is totally under control. Chances are he blacked out the whole thing. And if his memory actually works, I can always pack my bags for the South Pole. Penguins probably need administrative support."

My cell vibrated against the wood veneer. I flinched so violently that my kneecap cracked straight into the underside of the center drawer.

Wincing, I massaged my bruised joint with one hand and unlocked the screen with the other. It was just junk mail advertising male enhancement pills I obviously had no use for.

The next two hours dragged by in a fog of pure nerves. Every click of dress shoes approaching down the hall made me stiffen upright in my seat like a kid caught shoplifting. By ten o'clock, the tendons along the back of my neck ached from whipping my head toward the doorway every few minutes.

Beside my keyboard, my ceramic cup sat bone-dry. I desperately needed a shot of espresso to survive the morning.

Scooping up the empty mug, I marched down the corridor toward the staff lounge and headed straight for the freshly brewed carafe.

"Avery! Exactly the girl I was hoping to bump into!"

My fingers slipped on the ceramic handle. Fiona from the accounting department sidled up beside the counter, wearing the exact same gloating smile she got whenever she caught someone padding an expense report.

"Morning, Fiona." I kept my gaze fixed on the dark liquid streaming into my cup, willing my wrist to stay steady.

"Tell me," she said, propping a hip against the laminate cabinet as her gaze darted over my face. "Big night out on the town?"

Hot coffee splashed over the porcelain edge onto the counter. "Excuse me? No. Where did you get that idea—"

"That is quite the souvenir you're wearing." She tapped a manicured nail toward her own throat, her mouth curving up at the corner. "Unless you joined an underground fight club after hours?"

My left hand shot up to my collarbone. Dread pooled in my stomach as my fingertips brushed the swollen, sensitive patch of skin right beneath my earlobe—the exact spot where Declan's mouth had latched onto me the night before.

My thoughts scrambled for a cover story. "Oh, that? Just my curling wand. I completely lost my grip on the barrel while getting ready." The laugh I forced out sounded like a hinge begging for oil.

"Must be one hell of a styling tool. From where I'm standing, it looks a lot more like someone was—"

"Look at the time!" I stared pointedly at my bare left wrist, despite not owning a watch. "Those quarterly spreadsheets aren't going to balance themselves!"

"Wait, you didn't even take your—"

Leaving the half-poured cup steaming next to the machine, I pivoted and practically sprinted out of the lounge on unsteady heels, the rapid tap of my pumps echoing down the tiled hallway like an SOS signal.

Once I made it back behind my desk, I sank into the cushion and tried to catch my breath, my fingers still unsteady as I reached for my mouse. What was wrong with me? A curling wand burn? Honestly? Admitting to a random bar hookup would have sounded ten times more convincing, though letting Fiona think I was sleeping around would only pour gasoline on the office fire.

Nasty gossip linking me to Declan had been making the rounds ever since the day I got promoted to his desk. Securing the top assistant spot after barely a year on the payroll had already painted a massive target on my back.

Half the floor was convinced I had traded favors on my back to skip the line ahead of senior staff. No matter how many seventy-hour weeks I logged, the ugly muttering behind my back never died down.

Coworkers who used to grab lunch with me now looked at the floor whenever we passed in the hall. Whenever I walked into the copy room, their low whispers cut off instantly, replaced by tight, fake grins and heavy silence.

Taking this promotion had never been my dream, but the massive pay bump was the only thing keeping my mother's mounting hospital bills paid on time.

Now everything was hanging by a thread. If a single person in this building caught wind of what went down in that penthouse, it would validate every disgusting theory they had about me using my body to climb the corporate ladder.

Nobody could ever learn that Declan and I had been together. Just picturing the fallout made my stomach turn over. All I could do was hope the drugs had wiped his slate completely clean.

Still, dodging him in the hallways wasn't a long-term strategy. Eventually I would have to walk into his suite and do my job. Dr. Brennan had assured me the sedative would leave him groggy, and even if fragmented pieces of the night came back to him, his mind would naturally fill in the blanks with Vivian.

Every socialite Declan dated was gunning for a ring on her finger. If he called Vivian up and asked whether she had been in his bed two nights ago, she would jump at the chance to take credit for it.

Twenty minutes later, the glass-walled boardroom felt suffocatingly tight as I walked the perimeter of the long mahogany table, laying down printed agenda packets while hyper-conscious of Declan sitting at the head. My fingers shook slightly as I set each folder down, keeping my focus locked strictly on the paper edges.

"Is that everyone?" Declan's deep baritone cut across the room, raising goosebumps along my arms—the exact same voice that had rasped filthy demands against my skin less than forty-eight hours ago.

I made the mistake of lifting my chin.

His sharp blue gaze locked straight onto mine, and in a split second, the sterile conference room dissolved into his dim bedroom—the heavy weight of his chest pinning me down, the heat of his palms sliding over my ribs. Heat surged up my neck, turning my cheeks bright red.

"Miss Sutton?"

I jolted upright, nearly scattering the remaining folders across the table. "Yes, Mr. Pierce?"

"Do you have the third-quarter revenue sheets?"

Work. Right. Be an executive assistant. Taking a shallow breath, I thumbed through the stack in my arms until I found the right clipped bundle.

"Right here, sir." My voice came out thin and pitched two octaves too high.

A slight crease appeared between Declan's dark brows. "Are you coming down with something? Your face is red."

No kidding my face was red.

"It's just a little stuffy in this room." I reached up to loosen my silk blouse collar, inadvertently pulling the fabric away from the faded purple bruise beneath my ear.

Declan's gaze dropped directly to the exposed mark on my throat, lingered for half a beat, and shifted back down to his spreadsheet. Nothing registered. Not a single flash of guilt, suspicion, or memory crossed his face.

The rest of the hour crawled by in a blur of corporate jargon. I typed meeting minutes on my tablet on autopilot, stealing brief looks at the head of the table whenever he spoke. He leaned back in full command of the room, dissecting profit margins as if he hadn't had me pinned to his mattress two nights ago.

When the directors finally stood up to file out, my brief moment of safety evaporated. Declan lifted one hand and crooked an index finger, signaling me to follow him into his private suite. My knees felt like water as I trailed behind his broad shoulders.

He sank into his high-backed leather chair with effortless authority while I lingered awkwardly by the threshold. Bright mid-morning sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling glass behind him, framing his sharp profile in golden light. It felt downright unfair that the man looked like a luxury watch advertisement while I looked ready to bolt for the fire stairs.

"Shut the door, Miss Sutton."

I pushed the heavy oak panel until the latch clicked, my palm damp against the brass lever. This was the end of the line. Either his memory had returned and he was about to hand me a pink slip, or he was going to lay down terms for keeping quiet. Both options terrified me equally.

"Sit down." He waved a hand toward the guest chair facing his desk.

I lowered myself onto the very front lip of the cushion, keeping my heels planted in case I needed to make a run for it. The expensive upholstery let out a loud, traitorous squeak under my weight.

Declan squared a stack of legal briefs against the blotter, his face carved from stone. My pulse hammered at the base of my throat as I waited for the axe to fall.

"There is an issue we need to address," he said, lifting those cold blue eyes to pin me in place.

He knew. My career was over, my reputation was toast, and I was going to be escorted out by building security before lunch.

"You failed to check in with me yesterday during my unscheduled absence."

Wait—what? Out of every possible infraction on earth, that was what he called me in here to discuss?

"As my personal assistant, I expect you to maintain communication lines at all times, especially when I am unexpectedly out of the office." His voice carried that icy boardroom edge that routinely made grown vice presidents sweat through their bespoke suits.

My lips parted, then closed again without producing a single sound. What on earth was I supposed to say to that? *Apologies for not calling, sir, I was too busy recovering from the night we spent together while you were high and calling me by another woman's name*?

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Pierce. I assumed..." I assumed you were sleeping off the drugs Dr. Brennan gave you. I assumed the last person you wanted to hear from was me. A dozen honest answers crowded my tongue, and every single one of them would get me fired on the spot.

"You assumed?" Declan's unblinking stare wiped the last coherent excuse right out of my head.

"I just figured... well..." My throat went completely dry as I scrambled for a professional lie.

A loud, piercing ringtone suddenly tore through the quiet suite, cutting my stammering short. Never in my life had a ringing telephone sounded so much like a choir of angels coming to my rescue.