My Sexy Sassy Boss

By morning, May was already exhausted.

Not physically...emotionally.

Luca had spent the night reminding her, subtly and not so subtly, that he was still injured. Anytime she snapped at him, anytime irritation sharpened her tone, he would tilt his head slightly and say, "I'm still sick," in a calm voice that somehow made her feel like the villain. It was infuriating. She was used to control, to authority, to people bending, not to a stranger with amnesia using his condition like leverage.

She barely slept again.

When she finally stepped out of her bedroom the next morning, hair loose, robe tied carelessly around her waist, she stopped short.

Luca stood by the entrance.

Not slouched. Not weak. Standing straight, arms loosely crossed, body relaxed like he belonged there. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows behind him, outlining his frame, catching in his hair, revealing angles she hadn't noticed before.

She stared.

For the first time since the accident, she really looked at him.

Unbelievably handsome wasn't even adequate. His features were sharp, deliberate, like they had been designed rather than inherited. His eyes, calm and piercing, watched her with an intensity that made her oddly aware of herself, of her bare feet on the floor, of the thin fabric clinging to her skin.

He looked...dangerous.

"You're awake," he said.

She cleared her throat. "What are you doing standing there like that?"

"Waiting," he replied easily.

"For what."

"For you."

Her irritation returned immediately. "Why."

"I need a bath," he said, tone flat. "And food."

She stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he continued, unbothered. "Prepare my bath, then find something for me to eat."

Her jaw tightened. "You are in my house."

"And I am injured," he said calmly. "Or did you forget."

She scoffed, turning away. "You're unbelievable."

Yet...she did it.

She ran the bath, hands moving sharply, muttering under her breath the entire time. No one had spoken to her like that in years. She was May Boston, CEO, feared and respected, not a personal assistant to an amnesiac stranger. And yet here she was, doing exactly what he asked, irritation burning hot beneath her skin.

She handed him a towel without looking at him. "Don't take long."

He took it from her fingers slowly, eyes never leaving her face. "Thank you."

The words shouldn't have unsettled her, but they did.

When she returned to the kitchen, reality hit her harder than expected.

She stopped in the doorway.

The kitchen was...empty.

Not stylishly minimalist, not intentionally sparse...just empty. A fridge with little more than bottled water and half-used condiments, cabinets holding plates she barely touched, a life built entirely around eating out and working late.

For the first time in years, she felt something close to embarrassment.

She searched anyway, opening drawers, cupboards, the fridge again as if food might magically appear. Eventually, she found a single pack of instant noodles, crushed at the edges.

Expired.

She stared at the date, sighed sharply, and tossed it into a pot.

It was the best she could do.

When Luca returned, freshly bathed, hair damp, shirt clinging slightly to his torso, she placed the bowl in front of him with more force than necessary. "Eat."

He sat, posture relaxed, and lifted the fork.

One bite.

That was all it took.

He spat it out instantly.

Her breath caught.

He lifted his gaze slowly, cold and piercing, eyes locking onto hers with a look so sharp it sent a chill straight down her spine. For a moment, she forgot he was injured, forgot he had amnesia, forgot everything except the instinctive warning screaming in her chest.

This man was not harmless.

"What is this," he asked quietly.

She swallowed. "Food."

"It's inedible."

"I don't cook," she snapped, trying to reclaim her ground. "Be grateful."

He leaned back slightly, studying her, expression unreadable. "You live like this."

"That's none of your business."

His gaze lingered a second longer, then he stood. "We're going out."

Her brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I'm hungry," he said. "And I refuse to eat that."

She hesitated, then grabbed her keys sharply. "Fine."

The eatery was nearby, small but decent, the kind of place she never noticed until now. They sat, and immediately Luca took control, scanning the menu with quiet authority.

"I'll have the premium steak meal," he said. "Medium rare. Add the imported wine."

May blinked. "You know premium meals."

He looked at her. "Apparently."

"You have amnesia," she reminded him. "How do you know that."

He paused, genuinely thoughtful. "I don't know," he said slowly. "The words just came."

That unsettled her more than anything else.

Pete's call came while Luca was still eating.

May barely glanced at her phone before answering, irritation already simmering beneath her calm exterior. "What?"

There was a brief pause on the other end, the kind that warned her something had gone wrong. "I tried to clear your schedule like you asked," Pete said carefully, "but there's a situation."

May closed her eyes for a second. "Pete...define situation?"

"The top model," he replied. "The one we fought for months to sign."

Her jaw tightened instantly. "Serena Vale?"

"Yes," Pete said. "She just landed in Los Angeles and she's already at the agency. She's demanding to see you...now."

May exhaled slowly, irritation sharpening into something close to fury. Serena Vale was not someone you postponed, not someone you rescheduled, not someone you annoyed.

"I'm not dressed," May said flatly.

"I noticed," Pete replied. "She says if you don't show up, she walks."

May ended the call without another word.

She lifted her gaze...and froze.

Luca sat across from her, completely unbothered, eating like a man born into privilege, posture relaxed, movements precise, calm in a way that irritated her beyond reason. He hadn't heard the conversation, but his eyes met hers with quiet curiosity.

"Problem?" he asked.

She glared at him. "You."

He continued eating. "That's unfortunate."

She pushed her chair back sharply. "I have an emergency meeting."

He nodded once. "Good."

"You are the reason I'm not prepared," she snapped. "I stayed back because of you."

"And yet," he said mildly, "you don't look displeased."

She stood abruptly. "Finish eating. We're leaving."

"Where?" he asked.

She grabbed her bag, irritation written plainly on her face. "We're going to my company."