The Promotion

Chapter Twenty

The shrill sound of my phone ringing tore through my sleep like an alarm I couldn't escape. I groaned softly, burying my face deeper into the pillow, my body heavy and unwilling to move. My eyes fluttered open, though not enough for the room to come into focus. Everything felt hazy, distant—like I was waking from a dream that hadn't quite released its grip on me yet.

I stretched my arm out blindly, fingers fumbling across the mattress until they found my phone. Still lying flat on my stomach, I squinted at the screen and pressed it a few times, hoping I'd answered the call correctly.

"What?" I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep.

"Good morning to you too," Sarah's voice replied, dripping with sarcasm.

"Shit—Sarah. I'm sorry. Good morning," I said quickly, wincing at myself.

"Are you still in bed?" she asked. "You do realise it's one in the afternoon, right?"

I groaned again, rolling onto my side and burying half my face in the pillow.

Instead of answering, I let out a tired, incoherent mumble.

She sighed loudly. "Get your arse out of bed. I want to meet up with you."

That did it. My eyes flew open.

"What about your mum?" I asked, suddenly alert.

"She'll be fine for a few hours. My sister's coming down. So—are you getting up, or do I need to come drag you out myself?"

"Yes!" I practically shouted, adrenaline rushing through me. "Give me an hour."

"Perfect. Meet me at Jo's Café."

"Got it. See you soon."

"See you later," she chuckled before hanging up.

I lay there for a second, staring at the ceiling, a small smile creeping onto my face. Seeing Sarah—really seeing her—was exactly what I needed. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, then sat upright.

And that's when everything came flooding back.

My breath hitched.

My pyjamas were scattered across the room like evidence—my top abandoned near the bathroom door, my shorts crumpled close to the window. The bedsheets were twisted and rumpled, barely covering me, the bed itself looking thoroughly undone.

I looked down at my bare skin.

And then I remembered.

Oh God.

Alexander.

Heat rushed to my face as the memories came crashing in—his hands, his mouth, the way my body had responded without hesitation. My stomach flipped.

I'd slept with him.

My boss.

My heart started racing. Panic bubbled up, followed quickly by something dangerously close to a giddy laugh. I turned my head to the empty space beside me. He wasn't there. Only the faint, unmistakable trace of his scent lingered in the air—clean, warm, intoxicating.

I inhaled without thinking, my lips curving into a small, almost disbelieving smile.

Then the doubts came.

Where was he? Had he left because he regretted it? How was I supposed to face him at work now? How could I sit across from him and pretend last night hadn't happened?

I shook my head, forcing myself out of the spiral.

Standing up, I wobbled slightly, my legs weak—not just from last night, but from the sharp pain that flared in my foot. I hissed softly, steadying myself, then hobbled into the bathroom.