Romancing my Boss

Chapter 5

Which brings me to that fateful Friday morning - the dreaded day after "The Incident."

Bright and early, an ominous text from none other than my hellish ex-fiancé pierced through the usual morning tranquility. 'I hope you enjoy your 15 mins of fame,' he taunted.

Puzzled but unbothered, I shrugged it off. The man would do anything for attention, but I had finally broken free. I wasn't about to let him worm his way back into my life.

How wrong I was.

An icy dread gripped my spine as I scrolled through the morning's push alerts. Dozens...no, hundreds of salacious headlines assaulted my bleary eyes:

@PageSixGossip: How Maximilian Pemberton's Assistant Became His Mistress...and Broke Her Ex's Heart

@BuzzfeedCeleb: You'll Never Guess Which CEO is Seriously Dipping the Company Pen 🔥🍑

@DeuxMoiDarling: Ooh La La, Le Scandale! NYC's Most Elite Bachelor Caught in Torrid Office Affair

@USWeekly: Ex-Fiancée Tells All, Album of Original Pics Found on Max's New Beau

My thumb hovered over the lurid thumbnail gallery - no doubt my meticulously doctored snaps revealing Max's figure achieving viral infamy before my very eyes. As those shamefully compromising photos achieved meme-worthy status, I felt the blood drain from my face.

The comments flooded in mercilessly:

"Ngl, Pemberton is a total hunk😍 I'd risk it all too!"

"Yassss, my NYC king has finally been locked down! We're not worthy!!!"

"Imagine taking it from the notorious monster boss of manwhores!!"

I gagged audibly, prompting sidelong glances from entering employees. Ever the polished professional, I attempted nonchalance with a breezy hair toss - though the hot rush of mortification prickling my skin betrayed my calm veneer.

How could I have been so foolish? This ridiculous scheme was meant to deter Brad, not nationally broadcast my shame! As I glanced around the sleek office, a fresh wave of dread washed over me.

The piercing glass and chrome haven suddenly felt like a gilded cage, mocking me at every gleaming turn. I was trapped, merely waiting for the axe to drop.

With trembling fingers, I fired off a text to my last remaining family - my dad Oscar, now in the grips of Alzheimer's. I solicited his prayerful thoughts and hoped for sound advice.

Selfishly, I found myself mourning once again for mom. If ever I needed her unshakeable wisdom and pep talks, it was during this catastrophic meltdown of my personal and professional life. But all I had was radio silence from the great beyond.

So consumed was I by spiraling shame that I barely registered the muted ding of the elevator...the measured cadence of fine Italian leather on marble tile...the nuclear chill seeping through the air vents.

Until an ominous shadow loomed over my desk.

I glanced up, choking on my own shallow breaths as I took in the sight of Maximilian "The Undertaker" Pemberton. He regarded me cooly, the brutish intensity of his stare enough to disintegrate souls. I withered under that scorching steel-jade glare, slouching deeper into my ergonomic desk chair in a pitiful effort to simply...disappear.

Every micro-movement resonated with controlled power and barely restrained fury - a bloodthirsty tiger cornering its wounded prey. As one hand clenched white-knuckled, the other loosened his monogrammed cufflink with casual menace. A twitch in that chiseled jawline was the only prelude to his lethal opening salvo.

"Ms. Bennett," Max intoned, his baritone dripping with disdain. "I do believe you have some explaining to do. And you'd better make it a good one."

He sneered, those sculpted features thrown into sinister relief by the sickly fluorescent glare. For a moment, I could only gape back in wide-eyed terror, mentally reciting verses from The Book of Common Prayer.

"Well?" That imperious brow arched expectantly. "I'm waiting."