Missing Pieces

Declan

A toxic pulse hammered inside my skull. I let out a rough groan, dragging myself away from the blinding glare bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Terrible decision. The penthouse tilted violently on its axis.

"Morning, Mr. Pierce." Dr. Brennan’s clinical tone sliced through the haze. "How is the head?"

I pried one eye open. "Why the hell are you in my bedroom?"

"Miss Sutton called me last night. Found you in quite a state."

Disjointed flashes from the Gallagher party slammed into my consciousness. The suffocating ballroom. That arrogant board member running his mouth. The sudden, unnatural sweat. The walls shrinking.

"What went wrong?" I dug the heels of my hands directly into my temples.

"That is what we need to determine." Brennan clicked a medical penlight on. "Track the beam."

I knocked his wrist aside. "Drop the bedside routine and hand me a painkiller."

"Way ahead of you." He nudged two white tablets and a glass of water across the nightstand.

I threw them back, swallowing past a heavy, chemical tang. "Thanks, Doc."

"We have to review the timeline." Brennan took the corner chair, his expression grim. "What is your last clear memory?"

I shut my eyes. "The Gallagher event. That overcrowded ballroom." My collar had turned into a noose. The oxygen just evaporated. "I lost my breath entirely. I had to leave."

"And then?"

"I got a car back here. The rest is completely wiped." I gestured vaguely toward the empty room.

"Your assistant located you. Getting ahold of me was the right call."

"Avery?" My chest tightened. "Why would she—"

I snatched my phone off the charging pad, swiping straight to my outgoing texts. The evidence stared right back, delivered to her contact: *325 Park Avenue, Penthouse. Come now.*

I tossed the device onto the mattress. "That was meant for you."

"Well, you missed. And this situation is critical." He leaned forward. "Your symptoms, combined with the condition I found you in... Someone likely slipped a narcotic into your drink."

The lingering heat in my blood vanished. "What?"

"Disorientation, memory loss, elevated heart rate. Classic signs. We must investigate who had access to your glass."

I dragged a hand down my jaw. The crowded ballroom played in reverse. The bartenders. A particularly aggressive investor. That damn board member.

"Take this seriously, Declan. If you are an active target—"

"I know." I cut him off, wincing at the volume. "I will have security pull the hotel surveillance."

"Good. And strictly bottled water at public events until we sort this out." He got to his feet, packing his medical bag. "Your morning schedule is cleared. Rest. I will check in this afternoon."

The heavy door clicked shut. I stared at the glowing screen, fixated on that blind command. What exactly had she walked into? And how was I supposed to face her at the office?

I forced myself under a scalding shower, trying to strip away the fog. The heat helped, but fragments broke loose in the steam. Muffled moans. The sweet scent of vanilla. The undeniable taste of cherry lip gloss.

The next morning, I walked through the doors of Pierce Industries projecting complete control. The baseline headache remained, but my head was finally clear.

Avery was stationed at her desk. Her posture was stiffer than usual. The second I approached, her chin dipped, entirely avoiding my gaze.

"Good morning, Miss Sutton."

She offered a split-second glance. "Good morning, Mr. Pierce."

I paused, expecting the standard daily briefing. Instead, she just kept typing with mechanical precision.

"Everything alright?" I kept my tone casual.

"Yes, just catching up on some work." Her delivery was clipped, professionally armored to a fault.

"Alright then." I turned and stepped into my private suite.

Closing the heavy door behind me, I sank into my executive chair. Seeing her sitting right there triggered the missing hours. Vivid memories crashed over me in a violent rush.

I remembered the exact texture of her bare skin and the sharp hitch of her breath when I kissed her neck. Her breasts had felt heavy and warm as I cupped them, teasing her nipples until they peaked rigidly against my fingers.

Sensory fragments flickered like an erratic film reel. Her gasp when I pinned her against the wall. That messy, open-mouthed kiss flavored heavily with cherry. The frantic strength in her grip, clinging to my shoulders to keep her balance.

I could feel the weight of her curves molding perfectly to my hands, her hips violently arching into my touch, desperate for more friction.

The phantom sensation hit me—sliding my fingers low, discovering how obscenely wet she already was. She had been incredibly tight. My groin throbbed remembering the exact friction of pushing inside her, inch by inch, stretching her until she cried out my name.

Her moans echoed in the quiet office as I recalled the brutal pace we set. Each thrust drove deeper into her tight pussy, our bodies colliding. Her fingernails had carved into my back, urging me on.

I could still see her face the exact second she shattered, those big eyes snapping wide as she came around me.

"Fuck," I muttered to the empty room, scrubbing a hand over my face. The memory was far too vivid to be a hallucination. Avery's scent lingered on my sheets; her taste was permanently burned into my mouth.

Sitting there, the truth cemented itself. It had been completely real, and she had been incredible.

I had the physical proof. I had found a frayed purple hair tie with a tiny butterfly charm tangled in my sheets this morning. I had seen her wear them during meetings. Now, that small detail stood out like a beacon.

My mind jumped back to an absurd altercation involving a dumped glass of water months ago. I had stood close to her, trying to defuse the situation, and caught a glimpse of that exact purple band securing her ponytail.

And last night, it had ended up buried in my mattress. Case closed.

I watched her through the glass partition. She typed away flawlessly, appearing perfectly composed. Unlike women who might try to leverage our encounter, she actively pretended nothing had happened.

I found myself staring at her differently. The memory of her curves pressed against mine and those explicit sounds spiked my adrenaline. She wasn't just my hyper-competent assistant anymore. She was a highly responsive woman who had shared an explosive night with me and seamlessly buried it.

I had never viewed her through that lens. She always deflected my casual flirting with bored sighs. I thought she was attractive, a little dorky even, but strictly valuable for her logistics.

Testing her boundaries had always been a playful game. I knew nothing about her private life, but she certainly didn't strike me as the casual fling type.

A slow smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth. Here was this woman remaining perfectly unruffled after getting wrecked in my bed, while I sat here practically vibrating as I replayed every second.

Then IT dropped a security report on my desk, flagging severe anomalies on her computer. Wedding planning portals. Virtual assistant modules. External client contracts. My impeccably organized, rule-abiding assistant was moonlighting for other companies on my clock. I almost laughed out loud.

Instead of terminating her immediately, I held back. It was wildly out of character. I was curious to see what she was doing.

When I uncovered the crushing medical debt tied to her mother's care, a highly calculated, wicked strategy formed in my mind.

I called her in. I held up the purple hair tie, watching her face flush crimson. The butterfly charm caught the morning light, a silent witness to our night together.

"So, about that night," I started smoothly, leaning against my desk. "Turns out my physician located traces of an unknown narcotic in my bloodstream."

Her eyes widened.

"Thanks to you calling the doctor." I twirled the elastic between my fingers. "But it confirms I have a target on my back, which presents a complicated situation."

She shifted nervously in her chair. "How so?"

"Medical advice dictates extreme caution. No random hookups or one-night stands. It is too risky." I watched her reaction carefully. "Combine that with this other matter—your unauthorized moonlighting activities."

Her face went from red to chalk-white in record time.

"Here is what I am thinking." I dropped my voice, stepping closer. "You need money for your mom's medical bills. I require someone I can trust. Someone discreet." I gestured briefly between us. "We clearly have chemistry."

"Mr. Pierce—"

"I will ensure your mother receives top-tier care. Private specialists, premium facilities, the works. And we forget all about those contract violations."

Avery sat perfectly still, frozen like a statue. Then something fractured in her expression. Profound hurt flashed across her features, instantly swallowed by a blinding, unprecedented rage.

She surged up so fast her heavy office chair slammed backward into the wall. "You know what I thought when I first started working here? That despite your Playboy reputation, you actually valued competence. That you saw my abilities."

"I do—"

"No." A harsh, broken laugh ripped from her throat. "You see an opportunity. Someone desperate enough to manipulate." Her knuckles turned stark white as her hands balled into fists. "Is that how you became so successful? Finding people at their absolute lowest and exploiting them?"

"That is not—"

"If you are looking for a personal prostitute, I suggest you try elsewhere." She spat the words like venom. "I would rather lose my job than lose my self-respect."

The insult hit with the physical force of a slap. I just stared at her, caught off guard by the sheer venom in her delivery. An unfamiliar, uncomfortable knot twisted in my chest, but I quickly shoved it aside. If anything, her fierce moral resistance only fueled the thrill of the chase.

I had expected pushback. She wasn't the type to fold easily into bed. Her absolute refusal just added immense appeal to the dynamic.

But *personal prostitute*? That stung. It made me sound like a sleazy corporate villain.

"You are completely misunderstanding me." I straightened up to my full height, slowly adjusting my silk tie. "What if I offered something far more legitimate?"

She narrowed her furious eyes at me. "Like what?"

"Be my girlfriend."

Avery's jaw literally dropped open. "Excuse me?"

"One year." As the words left my mouth, I realized exactly how much I warmed to the idea.