Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Isabelle's POV
Three soft knocks echoed through the heavy office door.
"Come in."
I pushed open the door, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Jeremiah was behind his desk, but he'd ditched the formal look from this morning. His black dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, tie loosened and tossed aside. I could clearly see the hickeys I'd left on his neck last night.
He was leaning back in his chair with this dangerously casual vibe—like a predator pretending to be domesticated.
I stepped inside as Gordon quietly closed the door behind me.
That soft click might as well have been a gunshot in my ears.
"Mr. Winslet?"
"Yeah." He glanced up briefly before his eyes drifted back to his computer screen.
Silence.
One minute felt like an eternity.
Finally, he stood and walked toward me.
I had to admit, the man was basically every woman's fantasy come to life. Sharp jawline, perfect bone structure, straight nose, those full lips, and eyes that seemed to see right through you. Standing next to him, the top of my head barely reached his chin.
His body was... well, let's just say last night burrying inside me, my wandering hands had gotten very familiar with those well-defined abs.
God, I needed to stop thinking about last night.
"Is everything okay?" I kept my voice steady and professional, even though my insides felt like a war zone.
"Sit." He nodded toward the couch area.
I followed but chose a spot about six feet away from him.
"Closer." He patted the cushion right next to him.
I hesitated for a moment before reluctantly moving to where he'd indicated.
Jeremiah stared at me, seeming lost in thought.
I fidgeted with my hands, trying not to squirm under his intense gaze.
"Still sore?" he asked quietly.
I blinked in surprise and shook my head.
Was this man seriously about to give me a play-by-play of last night?
"So what are you thinking about all this?"
I glanced at him and caught sight of his perfect collarbone and the faint marks I'd left on his neck.
"Look, I'm really sorry about last night. I was totally wasted and had no idea I'd throw myself at you like that..."
"Don't apologize," he said, cutting me off as he leaned back against the couch. "I was the one who initiated things. You kissed me when you were drunk, but everything after that was my decision."
"Can we please not—" I felt mortified enough without having to relive it in detail.
"We're both adults here. What happened, happened. Let's just pretend it never occurred." My face felt like it was on fire.
"What am I, some kind of male escort to you?"
The ice-cold way he said it made me feel like I was being interrogated.
"No! That's not what I meant at all." My ears were burning.
What was his game here? Did he want some kind of friends-with-benefits situation? Because this morning he'd been Mr. Perfect Gentleman!
"How about trying out being Mrs. Winslet?"
"I'm sorry, what?!" I thought I'd misheard him.
We locked eyes, and I couldn't read the expression in his.
"We didn't use protection last night. If there's a baby, we'll have it. If not, I'll still take responsibility for you."
He said it so casually, like he was discussing quarterly earnings instead of completely upending my life.
I stayed silent, forcing myself to think rationally.
Jeremiah came from serious old money—the kind of family with generations of tradition and conservative values. He was probably traditional himself, which would explain why he was still single at twenty-eight. Now that he'd slept with someone, his moral compass was probably going haywire.
But I knew exactly where I came from. I was my mother's illegitimate daughter with some businessman whose identity remained a mystery. Growing up in Oceanside, I'd dealt with enough whispers and gossip to last a lifetime. Getting involved with someone as clean-cut as Jeremiah would only drag him down.
And honestly, after everything Conrad had put me through, I wasn't ready to trust anyone new.
"I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Winslet, but you've got the wrong idea. I took Plan B this morning, so that's not going to be an issue. I have no interest in becoming Mrs. Winslet. You feel guilty about last night, I'm not making a big deal out of it, so let's just call it even and never mention it again."
Something dark flashed in his eyes behind those frameless glasses.
I finished my little speech and started heading for the door.
"Hold up."
He stood up slowly, and for a moment, I could tell my words had actually caught him off guard.
He was one of New York's most powerful businessmen. Women threw themselves at him constantly, and I was probably the first one who'd ever turned him down.
"Something else?"
"Give me your number."
He held out his phone to me, the contacts app already open and ready for a new entry.
"Next month there's Paris Fashion Week. The company is planning to send you and Stephen. If you don't want to go, just pretend I never mentioned it."
He paused. "And about my earlier question—you don't need to answer right away. Take your time to think about it."
Smooth bastard. Typical businessman move—dangling exactly what I wanted in front of me.
Paris Fashion Week wasn't an opportunity that came around often. I couldn't pass this up.
Fine. Giving him my number wouldn't kill me.
I took his phone and quickly typed in my contact information before handing it back.
As for his marriage proposal... I'd pretend I never heard it.
Back at my desk, Taylor immediately pounced on me for details.
"Spill everything. Was the executive floor as fancy as everyone says?"
Honestly, I'd been too distracted by Jeremiah's bombshell questions to pay attention to the décor.
"It's... indescribable. Maybe I can get you a visitor's pass sometime so you can see for yourself." I winked at her playfully.
"Girl, I was so scared they'd have to carry you out on a stretcher," she said, splitting her attention between me and her computer screen.
"Isabelle!" Stephen came jogging over, practically bouncing with excitement.
Everyone in the department turned to look at him—his enthusiasm was impossible to ignore.
"What's up, Stephen?"
I stood up quickly. After last night's experience with Jeremiah looming over me, grabbing my chin and asking if I liked what he was doing, I'd developed a serious aversion to powerful men standing over me.
"Just got word from upstairs—we're both on the list for Paris Fashion Week!"
"Yeah, I heard." I wasn't particularly shocked by this news.
The company had plenty of senior employees, and as someone who'd only been here a year, this was definitely going to make me a target for office politics.
Jeremiah was probably just trying to make up for last night's "mistake."
The news sent the whole department into a frenzy—some people were thrilled, others were clearly bitter. The newer employees seemed motivated, but the veterans were pissed. They'd been here for years and had never even gotten to attend local fashion week, let alone international events.
I didn't let it bother me. I just focused on my work.
My phone buzzed with a text from Conrad: "Hey babe, free tonight? Want to catch a movie?"
I almost laughed. The audacity of this man—juggling his side piece while still playing the devoted boyfriend.
"Sounds great!" I typed back.
Then I took a screenshot and posted it to my Instagram story, making sure only Skye Miller could see it. Caption: "Five years and counting ?"
Within minutes, my phone lit up with a message from Skye.
"OMG Belly! My friends and I are going to the movies tonight too! What are you seeing and what time??"
Wow. Such dedication to her role. She really deserved an Oscar for this performance.
I didn't bother responding and just turned off my phone.