Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Isabelle's POV
After a sleepless night of overthinking, I decided to just rip the band-aid off and go straight to Jeremiah.
This mess involved his business relationships, and I didn't want to create unnecessary corporate drama or completely humiliate Serena. Better to handle it quietly and let her save whatever dignity she had left.
Walking back into the office felt like entering a battlefield. I could still hear my coworkers' whispered commentary following me like a toxic cloud.
Honestly? I'd perfected the art of selective hearing when it came to office gossip. I genuinely couldn't give less of a fuck about their speculation. I sat at my desk, took a deep breath, and called Gordon.
He took forever to pick up.
"Hey, can you check if Mr. Winslet has any free time today? I need to talk to him."
"Just come up now."
The speed of his response told me everything I needed to know. Gordon hadn't even paused to think, which meant only one thing.
When I got to the elevator, Gordon was already holding it open from upstairs.
Instead of heading straight to the CEO's office, I cornered Gordon with an accusatory look. "He was listening to my phone call, wasn't he?"
"Girl, what's your brain made of? You're way too damn smart sometimes!"
I let out a frustrated sigh. Gordon hadn't bothered checking with Jeremiah before summoning me, which meant my boss had definitely overheard our entire conversation.
This dynamic was starting to freak me out. It felt like sleeping with him had somehow put me on his radar permanently, like he'd staked some kind of claim on me.
Like he'd tied an invisible leash around my neck without asking.
I knocked on his office door, my nerves buzzing with anxiety and something else I didn't want to name.
"Come in."
Another black suit. I was convinced this man owned nothing else in his entire wardrobe.
"What's going on?" He set down his pen and gave me his complete, undivided attention.
The way he looked at me—like I was the only thing in the room that mattered—made my stomach flip.
I laid out everything I'd discovered: the deleted security footage, Serena's midnight break-in, the evidence planted on my desk like breadcrumbs leading to my downfall.
Jeremiah listened without interrupting, his dark eyes never leaving my face. When I finished, he simply said, "I'll take care of it."
"I want her to apologize. Publicly. But only if it won't screw over the company."
I was trying to be the bigger person, but part of me wanted to watch her squirm.
"Whatever you decide won't hurt the company," he said, leaning back in his chair with that casual confidence that made my pulse race. "You sure you don't want to burn her to the ground?"
"Stewart Transportation has contracts with us. Could get messy."
I preferred avoiding unnecessary complications, even when I was pissed off.
"Worried about me?"
We'd been discussing business strategy, but his question hit different. My face immediately started burning. "No."
The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken tension.
"Serena's young and stupid. I'm sure she had her reasons. Let's not completely destroy her."
"Whatever you want."
The way he said it—low and almost intimate—sounded like something he'd whisper to a lover, not an employee.
I wanted to punch myself for coming up here and making everything more complicated.
A few minutes later, Gordon walked in with Serena trailing behind him. I moved to the couch, watching this little drama unfold.
When Serena spotted me, panic flashed across her face before she quickly masked it. "Hey Jere, you wanted to see me?"
That fucking nickname made every nerve in my body revolt.
"What did you just call me?"
Jeremiah, who'd been focused on his paperwork, went completely still. When he looked up, his expression could have frozen hell over.
Serena had clearly thought dropping their family connection would buy her some protection. Instead, she'd just painted a target on her back.
She quickly backpedaled. "Mr. Winslet. Sorry."
Jeremiah's jaw twitched as he returned to his documents.
"I didn't ask to see you. She did."
Serena slowly turned to face me, and I could practically see the gears turning in her head.
I flashed my sweetest, most innocent smile and gave her a little wave. "Hi, Serena! Thanks for coming up."
I was honestly impressed with my own acting skills—managing to look this friendly when I wanted to eviscerate her.
"Isabelle, if you have some kind of problem with me, couldn't we work it out privately? Why drag Jere into our drama?"
Her tone had completely shifted, and she was still using that goddamn nickname like they were best friends.
She was betting everything on me not having real proof.
I could see Jeremiah getting more irritated every time she said "Jere," but before he could explode, I jumped in.
"Trust me, I would've loved to keep Jere out of this mess. But since your little stunt affects the entire design department, I figured you might need backup when the truth comes out."
I casually pulled out my phone and hit play on the security footage.
Serena's face drained of all color. Her hands started shaking, and I watched her entire world crumble in real time.
"Fuck," she whispered.
"Yeah, that's what I said when I found it," I replied sweetly. "Pulling shit like this could end your career before it starts. If Jere hadn't talked me out of it, I would've played this for the entire company by now."
I kept my voice calm and reasonable while delivering what was essentially a death threat.
Jeremiah was watching the whole thing with something that looked almost like admiration.
"Serena," he said curtly, "apologize and get out."
"Jere, please—" She immediately switched to full victim mode, her voice getting whiny and desperate.
"It's Mr. Winslet."
"But she gets to call you Jere! Why is she special?"
"She doesn't get to call me that either." He pointed at me, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
I stayed quiet, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
Serena looked like she wanted to cry, but with Jeremiah laying down the law, she had no choice but to grovel.
"I'm sorry, Isabelle. I was wrong to frame you. It won't happen again."
"Good. We're done here." The satisfaction was better than caffeine.
Jeremiah waved his hand dismissively, clearly done with the whole situation. "Close the door behind you. Isabelle, stay."
Serena shot me one last venomous look before storming out.
My heart started racing for entirely different reasons. "Is there something else?"
"Come here."
The way he said it—not quite an order, but not a request either—sent heat shooting down my spine.
I walked over to his desk, hyperaware of every step, every breath.
Jeremiah leaned back in his leather chair, looking like a king on his throne. His eyes tracked my movement with predatory focus.
"You seemed pretty confident I wouldn't rip you apart for that little performance."
"I'm not sure what you mean." I tried to play innocent, but my voice came out breathier than intended.
I knew someone as sharp as Jeremiah could see right through my act, but I wanted to see how far I could push him. I needed to know if his offer to "try being Mrs. Winslet" was real, or just post-hookup guilt talking.
"Oh, so now it's back to formal titles? Funny, because a few minutes ago you were throwing around 'Jere' like we're old friends. Seemed to roll off your tongue pretty easily."
There was something dangerous in his voice that made my pulse spike.
"Sorry. It won't happen again."
I was fighting so hard not to smile that my eyes kept wandering, eventually landing on his shirt collar and the way it framed his throat.
Which immediately brought back memories of yesterday—my hands on his chest, buttons flying, the heat of his skin through expensive cotton.
Jeremiah followed my gaze and looked down at his shirt. "See something interesting?"
I quickly shook my head, but the damage was done.
A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. He leaned back further, and I swear the temperature in the room spiked by ten degrees.
"Careful, Isabelle," he said, his voice dropping to that rough register that did things to my insides. "Keep looking at me like that and I might start thinking you want a repeat of the other night."
My face went nuclear. "I wasn't—I mean, that's not—"
"Because if you're thinking about what it felt like when I had you pressed under my body," he continued, his eyes never leaving mine, "all you have to do is say the word."
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I definitely couldn't form words.
"I think I should get back to work," I managed to squeak out.
Before he could respond—before I could do something monumentally stupid—I practically sprinted for the door.
I heard his low chuckle follow me out.
Was he... was he actually flirting with me?