THE BOSS' MISTRESS

MORNING LIGHT SEEPED GENTLY the parted curtains of Blake's room, brushing across Anna's face like a soft, reluctant invitation to wake. She opened her eyes slowly, her mind momentarily blank as she tried to remember where she was. The unfamiliar ceiling, the faint luxury of the sheets, the masculine scent lingering in the air-everything came back to her in blurry waves. Last night. The club. Blake. His kindness. His room. She turned her head. Blake was still asleep beside her, his chest rising and falling in a slow, peaceful rhythm. His hair was tousled, his lips slightly parted, and in the warm morning light, he looked even more intimidatingly attractive than the night before. But Anna didn't have the luxury of admiring him. Not today. Her eyes widened. Her body shot upright. "Oh God," she whispered sharply, the panic cutting through her chest. "I'm late." A heavy weight sank into her stomach as she scrambled off the bed. The interview. Her one shot. The chance she had stayed up too many nights preparing for. She cursed under her breath and ran into the bathroom. The shower was rushed, frantic, barely enough to rinse away the exhaustion of the previous night. She stepped out, wrapped in a towel, her mind already racing ahead. She needed clothes. She needed something-anything-she could wear that wouldn't make her look like a disaster. She tore through the room, checking chairs, drawers, corners, even the wardrobe. Nothing. Not a single female outfit. Of course Blake, in all his tailored perfection and masculine charm, wouldn't have anything she could borrow. She stood still for a moment, pressing both hands against her temples. Time was slipping away from her like water through cracked fingers. Then her eyes caught Blake's trousers lying over a chair. A white shirt hanging loosely beside it. An idea struck-desperate, ridiculous, but an idea nonetheless. "Fine," she muttered breathlessly. "Let's make this work." She slipped into Blake's trousers, folding, cuffing, and adjusting until they fit around her waist. She tied the shirt at her midsection, styled the collar, and used a hair tie to cinch the back for shape. She checked herself briefly in the mirror. Shockingly-she looked... good. A bold kind of good. Confident, intentional, sharp. She grabbed her bag, took one last look at Blake's sleeping form-still peaceful, unaware-and rushed out of the room like her life depended on it. The company building towered over her like a challenge. Sleek glass, iron confidence, and the cold promise of opportunity. Anna swallowed hard as she hurried up the steps, her heartbeat pounding from both nerves and the sprint she had made from the cab to the entrance. She pushed through the front doors-only to be stopped immediately. The receptionist, a woman with overly polished nails and a permanently sour expression, lifted a manicured hand to block her. "You're late," she said slowly, almost gleefully. "The interview started thirty minutes ago." "I know, I know, and I'm really sorry," Anna pleaded. "Something happened this morning, and I- I couldn't make it on time. But I've been preparing for this for months. Please. Just let me in. I can still do the interview." The receptionist raised a brow so high it nearly touched her hairline. "Late is late. There's no 'still' in corporate structure, sweetheart. Rules are rules." Anna's chest tightened. She stepped closer. "Please. I need this job. I really do. Just give me five minutes. Just let someone know I'm here." "No," the receptionist snapped, crossing her arms. Anna felt the panic deep in her bones. All her hope, everything she had fought to prepare for-slipping away because she had overslept. Because she had a strange, beautiful, reckless night. Because she had trusted the universe to give her a chance. Her voice broke. "Please," she whispered. But the receptionist only shrugged, fully enjoying her distress. "You can wait if you want. But nobody is going to call you in." So Anna sat down at the lobby corner, hugging her bag to her chest. Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry. Not here. Not now. She would wait. Even if it meant hours. Even if it meant embarrassment. She wasn't giving up-not yet. She closed her eyes for a moment and prayed silently, hoping-desperately-that a savior would walk through those doors. Blake woke to the soft echo of silence. He stretched slightly, letting his senses adjust. The sunlight was gentle, the air cool, and for the first time in months, his morning felt strangely... peaceful. He turned his head toward the other side of his bed. Empty. His brows furrowed. He sat up. "Anna?" he called softly, even though he already knew she was gone. The sheets were cold. Her bag wasn't there. Her presence-a spark of unexpected warmth-had already vanished. But instead of disappointment, something else tugged at him. A memory. Her voice from the night before. "I have an interview tomorrow..." So she had left for that. Dedication. Ambition. A kind of quiet fire he had noticed the moment he met her. Blake ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. He had known her for less than a day. He didn't even know her favorite color, her age, her past, or her story. Yet he found himself intrigued in a way he rarely ever was. Anna was different. There was something raw and unfiltered about her-something delicate but strong. A woman who carried storms inside her but walked like sunlight. He hoped-truly hoped-that he would run into her again. Even though life rarely granted such luxuries. He showered, dressed in his usual tailored elegance, and grabbed his keys. His schedule was packed, and his company never slept. As he stepped out of his car at the main entrance, his personal secretary-Pamela-was already waiting, heels clicking, tablet in hand. "Good morning, sir," she greeted briskly. "We have three rescheduled meetings, two marketer evaluations, and the board wants your approval on the pending project budgets before lunch." Blake nodded as they both walked toward the elevator. "Send the documents to my office," he said. "Yes, sir. Also, the interview process for the new marketing interns began thirty minutes ago-" Pamela suddenly stopped talking. So did Blake. Because out of the corner of his eye-sitting alone at the far edge of the lobby-was Anna. Looking small. Defeated. But wearing his clothes. Blake stared, his breath catching for a fraction of a second. She had styled his shirt and trousers so effortlessly, it looked like she belonged in them. Like she belonged... here. His expression shifted-an amused, fascinated softness touching his features. "Why is she here?" he asked quietly. Pamela followed his gaze. "Oh-her? She came for the interview. She arrived late, so she was denied entry." Blake's jaw tightened. "Denied?" "Yes, sir. The receptionist insisted-" "Take her to the interview room," Blake said immediately. "I'll supervise the process myself." Pamela's eyes widened as though she had seen a ghost. "You-sir, you never attend recruitment evaluations." "Today I will." "But-" "Pamela." She straightened instantly. "Yes, sir. I'll take her right away." She hurried off, heels tapping with renewed urgency, still deeply shocked by Blake's unexpected command. Anna had been seconds away from standing up and leaving-accepting defeat, accepting the cruel twist of fate-when someone approached the receptionist. They whispered. The receptionist's face immediately changed. Her eyes darted sharply toward Anna, annoyance replaced with a forced professional mask. "You," she called grudgingly. "Come with me." Anna blinked. "Me?" "Yes. Follow me." The receptionist didn't hide her irritation as she led Anna down the hall. Anna's heart raced. What was happening? Why the sudden change? Why now? But she followed silently, confusion mixing with hope until they reached a door. The moment it opened, Anna's breath caught. Inside sat several neatly dressed candidates waiting for their turn. The interview room. She wasn't late anymore. She wasn't locked out. She wasn't losing her chance. The receptionist stepped aside. "Go in." Anna entered slowly, still stunned. Something-someone-had saved her. And she had no idea who. But relief washed over her like warm sunlight. Her chest loosened. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second. She had a chance again. And she wasn't letting it slip away.