Divorced By The Boss I Slept With

Arnetta opened her eyes.

A sharp, throbbing pain spiked behind her temples, radiating down to the base of her neck. The light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows was blinding. She squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach pitching violently. The dry taste of stale alcohol coated her tongue.

She pressed her palms against the mattress. It was too soft. The sheets were too smooth. This was not her bed in Brooklyn.

She opened her eyes again, letting her vision adjust to the harsh morning sun. The room was massive. Expensive. A luxury hotel suite in Manhattan.

Her gaze dropped to the floor. A trail of clothing led from the doorway to the edge of the king-sized bed. A man's black tie. A discarded suit jacket. And her own expensive silk slip dress, pooled like a dark stain on the pristine white carpet.

The memories of the industry gala hit her like a physical blow to the chest. The endless glasses of champagne. The suffocating heat of the ballroom. The stranger with the piercing eyes at the bar.

She turned her head slowly.

A man was sleeping next to her. His broad, bare back was exposed to the cool air of the room. The muscles in his shoulders shifted slightly as he breathed. Dark hair fell across his forehead. He was undeniably handsome, but the sight of him made the blood drain from Arnetta's face. Her fingertips turned ice-cold.

She had made a catastrophic mistake.

She held her breath. Her chest tightened so much it hurt to pull air into her lungs. She carefully lifted the heavy duvet, sliding her bare legs out from under the covers. Her toes touched the cold, thick carpet.

She bent down, her knees popping slightly in the quiet room, and snatched her silk dress from the floor. The fabric felt cold against her clammy skin.

She stepped into the dress, pulling it up over her hips. She reached behind her back to pull the zipper. It moved halfway up and then jammed.

She tugged at it. The metal teeth grinded together. She pulled harder, but it refused to budge. Panic flared in her chest, making her heart race against her ribs. She left the back of the dress half-open and turned to scan the room for her shoes.

She spotted one black stiletto near the nightstand. She took a step toward it.

The man on the bed shifted. The heavy duvet rustled loudly in the silent room.

Arnetta froze. Her muscles locked up. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails biting hard into the palms of her hands. She prayed to a god she didn't believe in that he would go back to sleep.

"Where exactly do you think you are going?"

The voice was low, raspy from sleep, and completely devoid of warmth.

Arnetta's eyes snapped open.

Brennan was already sitting up against the headboard. The white sheet pooled around his waist. His dark eyes were locked onto her, sharp and calculating. There was no trace of sleepiness in his expression.

He looked at her half-zipped dress, his gaze dropping to her bare feet, and then back up to her face. A cold, mocking smile twisted his lips.

"Leaving so soon?" Brennan asked. "I suppose you got what you wanted. Another notch on your belt to secure a deal for whatever mediocre firm you work for."

The words felt like a slap across the face. Heat rushed up Arnetta's neck, burning her cheeks. The humiliation twisted her stomach into a tight knot.

"Excuse me?" Arnetta said, her voice shaking with sudden, violent anger.

"You heard me," Brennan said. He threw the covers off and stood up.

He was tall. Too tall. The sheer size of him in the open space of the room was suffocating. He took a step toward her, his jaw ticking.

"I know exactly what you are," Brennan said, his voice dropping an octave. "You hover around those galas, looking for the biggest target. You use your body to climb the corporate ladder."

"You arrogant bastard," Arnetta snapped, taking a step back. "You don't know anything about me."

Brennan took another step forward. The space between them vanished. The scent of his expensive cologne and the lingering smell of last night invaded her senses.

Arnetta backed up until her bare shoulder blades hit the cold, hard glass of the floor-to-ceiling window. There was nowhere else to go.

"I know enough," Brennan said, stopping inches from her face. He reached out, his long fingers brushing the exposed skin of her back where the zipper was stuck.

Arnetta flinched, slapping his hand away. The contact sent a jolt of electricity up her arm, but she masked it with pure rage. She needed to end this. She needed to get out of this room before she lost her mind.

"I'm married," Arnetta blurted out.

The words hung in the air.

Brennan's hand stopped mid-air. The mocking smile vanished from his face. His dark eyes narrowed, scanning her face for a lie. A flash of pure disgust crossed his features.

"You are married," Brennan repeated, his voice flat and dangerous.

"Yes," Arnetta said, her heart hammering against her ribs. "So back off."

Before Brennan could respond, a sharp, shrill ringing shattered the tension.

It was his phone on the nightstand.

Brennan did not break eye contact with her. He slowly stepped back, walking over to the nightstand. He picked up the phone and looked at the screen. His jaw tightened.

He answered the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

"What do you want, Peck?" Brennan asked, his tone instantly shifting into a cold, corporate drawl.

Arnetta watched him, her chest heaving. She bent down and grabbed her single stiletto from the floor.

"No, I am not interested in your counter-offer," Brennan said into the phone. "You are wasting my time."

The voice on the other end was loud enough for Arnetta to hear the muffled, frantic tone of a competitor trying to dig for information.

Brennan's eyes flicked to Arnetta. A dark, calculated look crossed his face.

He suddenly reached out, his large hand wrapping around Arnetta's wrist. He yanked her forward.

Arnetta stumbled, her bare foot catching on the carpet. She crashed hard against his bare chest. The impact forced a loud, startled gasp from her lips.

"I am currently occupied," Brennan said into the phone, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. He made sure the person on the other end heard her gasp.

He hung up the phone and tossed it onto the bed.

Arnetta shoved him away with both hands, her breathing ragged. Her skin burned where he had touched her.

"You are a disgusting piece of trash," Arnetta hissed.

Brennan adjusted his posture, completely unfazed. He looked at her with absolute indifference.

"We both got what we wanted," Brennan said coldly. "Now get out."

Arnetta did not say another word. She turned on her heel, clutching her single shoe, and ran toward the heavy oak door of the suite. She yanked it open and slammed it shut behind her.

She ran down the carpeted hallway, her bare foot slapping against the floor. She hit the elevator button repeatedly, her fingers trembling.

The doors opened. She threw herself inside and pressed the lobby button. She watched the numbers drop, her chest tight with panic and humiliation.

The doors slid open at the lobby. She kept her head down, her half-zipped dress exposing her back, and sprinted across the marble floor. She pushed through the revolving glass doors and hit the freezing morning air of Manhattan.

She threw her hand up. A yellow cab screeched to a halt at the curb.

Arnetta yanked the door open and threw herself into the backseat.

"Brooklyn," she gasped to the driver.

She pulled her phone from her small clutch. Her hands were shaking so badly she dropped it on the floor mat. She picked it up and dialed her best friend's number.

Gillian answered on the second ring.

"I messed up," Arnetta whispered, her throat tight. "I really messed up."