The CEO’s Bed Toy

Wolfe & Locke looked exactly like the kind of place where people didn't make mistakes.

Glass. Marble. Quiet power. Every corner felt like it had been curated.. from the chrome elevator buttons to the art on the walls that looked like it belonged in a museum.

I stood in the lobby, practically holding my breath, trying not to sweat through my dress.

Eliza had picked it out for me. Some dusty rose thing with clean lines and a square neckline that made me look way more confident than I felt. She’d even forced me into heels.

Said I needed to “walk in like my enemies were watching.”

I felt more like I was about to pass out.

The front desk was manned by a woman with flawless skin and a blunt bob that screamed “expensive.” She smiled politely as I approached.

“Hi, um… ” I cleared my throat. “I’m Sasha Dean. I have a scheduled interview with the design team this morning.”

She typed something into her computer, eyes flicking over the screen. “Yes. You’ re expected. Amanda Clarke will be down in a moment to meet you.”

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound like I was dying inside.

I sat in the nearest chair, crossing my legs to keep from tapping my foot.

My heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest. I could still feel the card from that morning.. the name Damien Wolfe burned into the back of my eyelids.

There was no way he recognized me. Right?

The lights had been dim. My hair was up. I’d been drunk. And he had to meet so many women like that. There was no reason I’d stand out. Not to him. Not in that way.

Before I could spiral further, a voice cut through my thoughts.

“ Sasha ?”

I looked up.

A lady in burgundy tint hair stood in front of me.. tall, sharp, perfectly put together. Her sleek ponytail didn't move when she turned her head, and her black heels didn't make a sound on the marble floor.

“I’m Amanda. Executive assistant to Mr. Wolfe. Welcome to Wolfe & Locke,” she said, all calm professionalism. Her smile was small and polite.. not warm, not cold. Just… measured.

“Hi,” I said, standing quickly. Too quickly. My bag strap caught on the armrest, and I had to untangle myself with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Thanks.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Follow me.”

We took the elevator up in silence. Amanda didn't fidget or check her phone. She just stood there, straight-backed and still.

I tried to match her posture and instantly regretted it.. my head started pounding all over again from the nerves.

“This way,” she said when the doors opened.

The design floor was bright and open, full of clean lines and modern furniture.

Every person looked like they had walked out of a Pinterest board. I caught a few glances as we passed.. curious, not unfriendly.

Amanda paused outside a glass- walled conference room.

Inside, I saw two women and one man sitting around a table with sketchbooks, laptops, mood boards. Amanda leaned in.

“This is the design team. They’ ll be sitting in on the interview. You’ ll be working closely with them if you get the job. Junior strategic design associate.. it’s a supporting role, but fast-moving.”

I nodded. “Got it.”

The man in the room waved us in. “ Sasha, right? Take a seat.”

They introduced themselves.. Zoe, Celeste, and Marcus.. all of them impossibly stylish.

I kept my answers short, focused. I knew my portfolio. I knew my stuff. And I was determined to keep my head down and not give anyone a reason to look at me twice.

I spent the rest of the morning being overly helpful, overly careful, overly everything. I organized color swatches like my life depended on it and avoided eye contact like it was contagious.

But every time someone mentioned “Mr. Wolfe,” I flinched.

“He just got back from Chicago.”

“He’ ll be reviewing all candidate interviews personally.”

“He’s intense but fair.”

Fair. Right.

Around noon, I got a break. I sat in a corner with my water bottle, trying to steady my breathing when my phone buzzed in my lap.

Liza :

How’s your billionaire fling ? Is he still tall and delicious in daylight? Or did the magic die with the disco lights?

I stared at the text for a full thirty seconds before replying.

Me:

Stop. I haven’t seen him. Pretty sure he doesn't even remember me.

Liza :

Lies. That man’s memory is probably photographic. You don’t just forget a girl like you.

I rolled my eyes and locked my screen. I didn't need the reminder. I could still feel his hands. His voice. The way he’d looked at me like he wasn't just seeing me.. he was studying me.

“ Sasha ?”

I jumped. Amanda stood beside me again, one hand resting lightly on the back of a chair.

“Mr. Wolfe is ready for your review. Come with me.”

And there it was.

My stomach dropped so hard I felt a little dizzy.

I followed her in silence. My steps felt slow, weighted. The hall was longer than it needed to be, lined with glass offices and framed awards. I counted the lights on the ceiling just to keep from thinking.

We turned a corner, then another.

At the end of the hall was a door unlike any I’d seen so far.

It was matte black with brushed gold handles and no visible signage. Just… there. Massive. Quietly intimidating.

Amanda pressed a small button on the earpiece she wore.

“She’s here,” she said. Then turned to me. “You can go in now.”

I swallowed hard.

She gave me the faintest of nods and stepped aside.

I reached for the handle.

Breathe.

This is just an interview.

Nothing else.

I pushed the door open.

And there he was.

Damien Wolfe.

In full daylight, in a tailored charcoal suit, standing beside a long glass desk. His head lifted. His eyes found mine instantly.

No flicker of recognition.

No smile.

Just a slow, unreadable look that went from my face to my shoes and back again.

He nodded once.

“Ms. Dean.”

His voice was exactly the same.

My breath caught.

He didn't smile. Didn't flinch.

Didn't blink.

And suddenly I wasn't sure if I wanted him to remember.. or if I was more terrified that he already did.