My Off-Limits Billionaire Boss ^Featured

I slept with a stranger on Friday. On Monday, he bought my museum—and now I’m contractually stuck with him for three years.

Bennett Ashcombe walks into my gallery, silver at his temples, and my body recognizes him instantly.

Three nights ago, he was the stranger arguing about dead painters in a hotel bar.

Our no-names, no-regrets one-night stand was supposed to end when I walked out the next morning.

Now he signs my paychecks.

The deal that saved my museum requires me to stay and work beside him.

Walking away means losing the exhibition I spent seven years fighting for.

So leaving isn’t an option.

Wanting him shouldn’t be either.

Then he remembers things I mentioned once. Says my name when men talk over me. Stops checking his watch when I speak.

Somewhere between late nights and stolen touches, I fall.

Then a powerful donor claims I slept my way to success.

To save everything I built without him, I may have to walk away from the only man who ever truly saw me.