My Sexy Sassy Boss

Night finally gave May what the day hadn't.

Silence.

The house was dim, lights low, the city outside reduced to a distant hum. Luca had fallen asleep on the couch earlier than she expected, exhaustion finally winning over whatever force kept him alert through the day. She had watched him for a moment longer than necessary before retreating to her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.

For the first time since the accident, she was alone with her thoughts.

She sat on her bed, robe loose around her shoulders, tablet balanced on her knees as she scrolled absently at first...emails she ignored, notifications she dismissed, messages she would deal with tomorrow. Then a headline caught her attention.

Explosion on Los Angeles Highway...Driver Still Missing.

Her fingers stilled.

She tapped it.

The article was brief, frustratingly so. A luxury sports car had been rammed by a trailer late at night, the impact triggering a violent explosion. Authorities believed the driver may have been ejected from the vehicle, but no body had been found. Investigations were ongoing.

The date stared back at her.

The same night.

Her stomach tightened slightly.

She scrolled through the images, blurred photos of twisted metal, scorched asphalt, flashing lights frozen mid-chaos. Something about it felt...off. Too violent for a random accident. Too cleanly unexplained.

Her gaze drifted away from the screen, mind replaying Luca's calm authority, the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he ordered without effort. He didn't behave like a man who had lived modestly. He didn't think like one either. His instincts were expensive...taste refined, posture disciplined, confidence unshakable.

Wealth wasn't learned overnight.

She frowned.

If he had been involved in something like that...if he was the missing driver...why hadn't his name been everywhere? No frantic family statements, no media frenzy, no background pieces dissecting his life. People with money made noise when they disappeared.

She typed his name into the search bar.

Luca.

Too vague.

She refined it.

Luca Los Angeles accident.

Nothing useful.

She tried again.

Luca Italian.

Profiles flooded the screen...models, chefs, athletes, businessmen, social media influencers. Different faces, different lives, none of them him. She scrolled, brows knitting together as irritation slowly gave way to unease.

She added more details...keywords she wasn't sure why she was choosing.

Luxury car explosion driver.

Still nothing.

If he was someone important, someone with influence or wealth, the media would have eaten the story alive. Yet the article treated it like a footnote, a brief interruption between politics and celebrity gossip.

It didn't make sense.

She leaned back against the headboard, tablet resting loosely in her hands, thoughts spiraling quietly. Luca was a contradiction...commanding yet lost, polished yet displaced, dangerous in ways she couldn't yet name. Amnesia explained the gaps, but not the instincts, not the ease with which he slipped into dominance, not the way people unconsciously responded to him.

Her gaze drifted toward the door, beyond it, toward the living room where he slept.

Who are you...really?

The question lingered unanswered.

She locked the tablet and set it aside, sleep still far from her reach, unease settling deep in her chest. Somewhere between the explosion, the missing driver, and the man under her roof, May Boston knew one thing with unsettling clarity.

Luca was not just a stranger who had wandered into her life by accident.

*

Morning came in a blink.

May didn't overthink it.

Luca couldn't keep wearing the same clothes, and she was tired of pretending the situation was temporary when it clearly wasn't. After a quick shower and a strong cup of coffee, she told him they were going out.

"Where?" he asked, pulling on the jacket Pete had brought days ago.

"Shopping," she replied. "Unless you plan on haunting my house in that outfit forever."

He glanced down at himself, then at her. "I don't mind."

"Well, I do."

They drove to one of her private clothing stores, a sleek glass-fronted building nestled between luxury boutiques, understated yet unmistakably expensive. Inside, the space was curated, not crowded...neutral tones, clean lines, racks spaced deliberately to let each piece breathe.

Luca stepped in and paused.

He didn't gawk, didn't rush, just skimmed his gaze across the store like someone assessing territory he already understood. He moved with ease, fingers brushing fabrics, eyes sharp, dismissing some pieces instantly, lingering on others without touching them.

May watched him quietly.

As a fashion executive, she trusted her instincts, and she selected items she knew would suit him...tailored trousers, structured jackets, shirts cut to frame his shoulders. He accepted them without comment, neither impressed nor dismissive.

Then he stopped.

In front of a display case sat a designer shirt, minimalist, rare, outrageously priced.

Luca stared at it.

May followed his gaze and raised a brow. "You like it?"

"It's fake," he said calmly.

She laughed. "That's a one of one," she said. "Designed by Alessandro Vitale from Italy. It never went into mass production."

"I know," Luca replied. "I'm looking at it because it's fake."

She turned to him, amusement still lingering. "And how would you know that?"

He looked at her then, expression unreadable. "Because I bought the original."

Her smile faltered slightly. "That's funny."

"I'm not joking."

She crossed her arms. "Prove it."

He leaned closer to the glass, pointing without touching. "The stitching at the inner collar is wrong. Vitale hand-finishes his seams, this one was machine-locked. The dye gradient is off by two shades, and the fabric blend is incorrect. The original uses untreated silk-cotton, this one has a synthetic thread woven through it."

May's breath caught.

She called over the store manager, asked questions casually, masked her interest. Within minutes, confirmation came in awkward silence.

The shirt wasn't authentic.

She dismissed the staff and turned back to Luca slowly, studying him like a puzzle she hadn't realized she wanted to solve.

"You knew all that," she said quietly.

He shrugged. "It felt obvious."

Her mind raced.

This wasn't instinct alone. This was familiarity, ownership, authority. Whatever life Luca had lived before had brushed shoulders with power, money, exclusivity...maybe even ruled over it.

As she watched him walk toward the fitting rooms, unbothered, unconcerned, a thought crossed her mind, sharp and dangerous.

Maybe she could use him.

And for the first time since bringing him home, May Boston smiled with intention.