Paying My Debt in the CEO's Bed

He pushed me away.

Not hard. Just two hands on my shoulders, holding me at arm's length like I was something that might break.

"Delaney. Stop. You're not okay."

I knew that. I knew everything was wrong. The burning skin, the shaking legs, the way I'd just grabbed a stranger's tie. Except he wasn't a stranger, and that made it worse.

My face crumpled. I didn't even feel it coming.

The tears just fell.

Elliot's grip loosened. He stared at my wet cheeks for one long second. Then he pulled me inside, kicked the door shut, and wrapped his arms around me.

"Hey. Hey. I've got you."

His shirt smelled like cedar and whiskey. I pressed my face into it. My hands slid under the open buttons, over warm skin, down his stomach. I wasn't thinking. My fingers just moved on their own.

His body went rigid.

"Delaney." His voice dropped low and rough. "Don't touch me like that."

My palm kept wandering.

He caught my wrist. "I mean it. If you want me to stop, say so now."

I tilted my head and blinked up at him through the tears. "What if I don't?"

Something in his gray eyes cracked open.

He pinched my chin between his fingers, tipped my face up, and kissed me.

After that, the night came apart in pieces. His hands. My name in his mouth. The sheets cold, then hot. I remember gripping his shoulders. I remember him asking if I was sure, and me pulling him closer instead of answering.

Then nothing.

---

Sunlight stabbed my eyelids.

My head pounded. My whole body ached in places I didn't know could ache. I rolled over.

Elliot Carver was asleep next to me. Bare chest. One arm flung above his head.

I looked down at myself. Red marks on my collarbone. On my breasts. On the inside of my thigh.

Panic shot straight through me.

His eyes opened just as my hand swung.

*Crack.*

The slap echoed off the walls. His head turned with it.

He didn't yell. He didn't grab me. He just turned back slowly, caught my stinging hand, and pressed his mouth to the center of my palm.

Then he licked it. One slow stroke of his tongue.

I yanked my hand back like it had been burned. "What is *wrong* with you?"

"You hit me first." He sat up, rubbing his jaw. "Fair trade."

"Fair? You—we—"

His attention had shifted past me, down to the sheets.

His face changed completely.

I followed his gaze. A small, dark red stain on the white cotton.

He looked at the stain. Then at me. "Delaney. You were with Derek for four years."

"So?"

"So why was this your first time?"

Heat flooded my face. I wasn't about to tell him I'd been waiting for my wedding night. That I'd believed in it. That I'd been an idiot.

I lifted my chin. "Because he couldn't get it up."

Elliot stared at me.

Then he laughed. One short, surprised sound before he caught it and pressed his lips flat again.

"It's not funny."

"No," he agreed, still fighting a smile. "It really isn't."

He reached for his phone on the nightstand. "Dr. Patel. Presidential suite at the Meridian. Now, please."

---

The doctor was a calm, silver-haired woman who checked my pulse and pupils, then asked what I'd had to drink.

"Just water. From behind the bar."

She drew two vials of blood for a toxicology panel. Then she and Elliot exchanged a look.

"Someone very likely put something in your cup." She wrote a prescription and handed it to me. "Drink plenty of fluids. If your heart races again, call me."

When the door closed behind her, the room went quiet.

Elliot sat on the edge of the armchair, elbows on his knees.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'd had too much at the party. I should have stopped. I should have called someone. I didn't."

I didn't know what to do with an apology from him. I grabbed my uniform off the floor instead.

"I have to go."

"You should rest."

"If I miss my shift, Wade fires me. I need that job."

"Wade." He said the name like he was filing it away.

He stood, walked over to the pile by the door, and lifted a dark suit jacket. One sleeve hung half-torn at the shoulder seam. Buttons were missing.

"You did this," he said. "Last night."

My cheeks burned again. "I'll pay for it."

"It's a thousand dollars."

I almost choked. "A *thousand*?"

"Custom tailored." He held it up to the light, examining the damage. "Pretty much ruined."

"I don't have a thousand dollars, Elliot. I have four hundred eighty thousand in debt and a fiancé who threw me out of my own apartment."

He set the jacket down. "Then work it off."

"Excuse me?"

He crossed to the desk, opened a leather folder, and pulled out a few printed pages. "My executive assistant quit last week. I need a temporary replacement. Six months. Your first six months of bonuses cover the suit."

I didn't take the papers. "You just happened to have a contract ready?"

"Because I do need an assistant." He held it out. "Read it. Job duties are all there. Scheduling, meetings, correspondence. Nothing else."

"Nothing else," I repeated.

His eyes met mine, steady. "I'm not going to force you into anything, Delaney. Not ever."

I took the contract.

My eyes went straight to the salary line.

I read it twice. Then a third time. It was five times what the hotel paid me.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I need an assistant."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting today." He handed me a pen.

I hesitated. Every warning bell in my head was ringing. Rich men didn't hand out favors. Derek had taught me that.

But four hundred eighty thousand dollars didn't care about warning bells.

I signed.

---

What I didn't know was that while I showered, Elliot made another call.

"Security footage from the bar," he told the hotel's head of security. "Last night. Everyone who touched her cup."

It took less than an hour. The footage showed Sabine Moreau tipping a small packet into my water.

"There's something else, Mr. Carver," the security chief added carefully. "Some of the staff say the floor manager, Wade Rourke, has been bothering her. Grabbing. Touching. Since her first week."

Elliot didn't answer for a long moment.

When he finally spoke, his voice was very quiet. "Where are they now?"

Twenty minutes later, Wade and Sabine were dragged into the underground parking garage by two men in dark jackets. Wade came out with a broken nose. Sabine came out crying, her mascara streaked down to her chin.

"You don't go near her," one of the men said. "You don't speak to her. You don't even say her name. Understood?"

Wade nodded so fast blood dripped onto his collar.

---

I walked out the hotel's front doors with the contract folded in my bag and my legs still a little unsteady.

At the curb sat a black car with tinted windows. The back window was halfway down.

Elliot was inside. He was watching me.

His face was still, almost lost, like he was looking at something he'd waited a very long time to see.

Our eyes met through the glass.

He didn't look away.

And for the first time, I wondered how long Elliot Carver had been looking at me before last night.