Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Isabelle's POV
The first day back after Thanksgiving break, and everyone at the office was dragging. Half the company was still on extended leave, but here I was, back to the daily grind like a good little worker bee.
I made Gordon drop me off a few blocks from Winslet Tower. Rolling up in the CEO's car would've been social suicide—the office gossip mill would've had a field day.
After he drove off, I ducked into a CVS and grabbed some Plan B.
Thanks to my drunk self last night telling Jeremiah not to use protection right as I was about to climax, I was now dealing with the consequences of that brilliant decision.
I had no interest in starring in some Netflix drama where I show up at Winslet Tower three years from now with a kid claiming to be the heir to his empire.
Talk about a cliché I could live without.
My phone started buzzing as I left the pharmacy.
Conrad Fisher. My boyfriend.
I stared at his name with a bitter smile twisting my lips.
Conrad and I had been together since we were kids—literal childhood sweethearts from back home in Oceanside, California. We'd grown up next door to each other, and everyone always said we'd end up married.
Five years of officially dating, but really we'd been inseparable since we were seven years old.
When I moved to New York for grad school two years ago, we'd tried to make the long-distance thing work.
Turns out Conrad couldn't handle the separation and had started hooking up with my childhood bestie Skye back home.
I knew all about their little affair, but instead of causing a scene, I was planning something much more satisfying.
Why throw a tantrum when you could plot the perfect revenge?
I declined the call and was about to pocket my phone when I saw a WhatsApp friend request.
Jeremiah Winslet.
I stared at the screen for several seconds, wondering if I was hallucinating.
What the hell was this supposed to be?
Was he adding me as my boss or as his... what?
Booty call?
Grinding my teeth, I hit decline.
I was just a fashion designer who'd been at Winslet & Co. for barely a year. Apart from my direct supervisor, I'd had zero interaction with the C-suite. Jeremiah was like a unicorn—legendary but never actually spotted in the wild. Last night had been a total fluke. He'd only shown up because our Thanksgiving fashion show had smashed every company record.
My work phone pinged: "Design team meeting in Conference Room B in 10 minutes."
Fuck. I started running.
Inside Winslet Tower, I ran into my best friend Taylor in the elevator.
"Belly, what's with the power suit? Since when do you do the whole corporate boss babe thing?" Taylor gave me a once-over, clearly confused.
She had a point.
I usually avoided business attire because of my... generous proportions. In a fitted suit, I looked more like a walking fantasy than a serious professional.
I tugged at the jacket self-consciously. "Just trying something new. Gotta dress for the job you want, right?"
"Girl, please." Taylor laughed and playfully smacked my ass. "Some guy's gonna wife you up so fast—"
I nearly jumped out of my skin, biting back a yelp. Still tender from last night's rough sex.
Just as the elevator doors started to close, a hand shot through, stopping them. Gordon stepped aside, and Jeremiah Winslet walked in, looking like he'd stepped off the cover of Forbes in his perfectly tailored black suit.
Taylor and I immediately pressed ourselves against the side walls.
My throat went dry.
He was standing right next to me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body.
The elevator suddenly felt claustrophobic, and between the confined space and his overwhelming presence, I could barely breathe.
My face started burning again—this damn blush had been haunting me all morning.
I caught a whiff of his cologne, that same intoxicating sandalwood from last night, and my brain started short-circuiting with memories I was desperately trying to suppress.
The elevator finally hit the 28th floor, and Taylor and I practically launched ourselves out.
"Holy shit, that was intense," Taylor whispered, fanning herself dramatically.
"Belly, you missed the craziest thing last night! After the party, I saw some chick in the CEO's car going absolutely wild on him. Like, full-on attacking his neck while he just sat there taking it! Can you believe Mr. Ice Cold actually let someone get that close?"
I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
Gossip used to be my favorite pastime, but being the subject of it hit different.
"Wow, really?" I squeaked.
"I tried pumping Gordon for details, but that guy's lips are sealed tighter than Fort Knox. Couldn't get a word out of him."
Ten minutes later, we were crammed into the conference room. Pretty sparse crowd since half the office was still digesting turkey somewhere.
What was supposed to be a simple post-event debrief quickly turned into Stephen Castillo's personal showcase.
Our department supervisor was undeniably talented and charming in that roguish way that made people gravitate toward him. He was also convinced that I should fall at his feet in worship, which was never going to happen.
"But really, we need to give major props to Isabelle," he said, flashing that practiced smile in my direction. "Her designs were the backbone of this collection, and her pieces are flying off the racks..."
I forced a polite smile, having endured this exact speech multiple times already. Stephen was great at his job, but his ego was exhausting.
The meeting was finally winding down when Gordon appeared in the doorway.
"Isabelle, Mr. Winslet wants to see you in his office."
You could've heard a pin drop. Every single person in that room was staring at me like I'd just been sentenced to death.
The 30th floor was basically urban legend territory.
Nobody went up there except for very important meetings or very bad news. Most company business happened on 29.
The executive floor was where careers went to die.
They literally called it Hell.
The last supervisor who'd been summoned up there had come back with his arm in a sling. The guy before him had been carried out with a broken leg.
Which explained why Gordon, despite being so young, had managed to snag the job as Jeremiah's assistant.
Nobody else was crazy enough to work that closely with him.
"Any idea what this is about, Gordon?" Stephen asked, though we all knew he wouldn't get a straight answer.
"Nope," Gordon replied with his signature diplomatic shrug.
"Got it," I said, my cheeks still burning from this morning's constant blush. All I could think about was how Jeremiah had looked last night—intense, almost predatory.
"Isabelle, you look a little rough around the edges today. Maybe you should head home and sleep it off?" Stephen's concern seemed genuine enough.
"I'm fine. Be back in a few. If I don't make it out alive, my desk sketches are my last will and testament."
I gathered my notes and followed Gordon to the elevator.
Access to the executive floor required facial recognition or a special keycard—security was no joke up there.
Gordon scanned his face and we started our ascent to the danger zone.
"Okay, spill. What's this really about?" I pressed him now that we were alone.
"Honestly? No clue," Gordon said with a slight grin.
"But the boss seems to be in a really good mood today."
Of course he was in a good mood.
After last night's marathon session, he was probably feeling fantastic.
I was so screwed.