Divorced By The Boss I Slept With

Arnetta opened her eyes.

A sharp, throbbing pain spiked behind her temples, radiating down to the base of her neck. The light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows was blinding. She squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach pitching violently. The dry taste of stale alcohol coated her tongue.

She pressed her palms against the mattress. It was too soft. The sheets were too smooth. This was not her bed in Brooklyn.

She opened her eyes again, letting her vision adjust to the harsh morning sun. The room was massive. Expensive. A luxury hotel suite in Manhattan.

Her gaze dropped to the floor. A trail of clothing led from the doorway to the edge of the king-sized bed. A man's black tie. A discarded suit jacket. And her own expensive silk slip dress, pooled like a dark stain on the pristine white carpet.

The memories of the industry gala hit her like a physical blow to the chest. The endless glasses of champagne. The suffocating heat of the ballroom. The stranger with the piercing eyes at the bar.

She turned her head slowly.

A man was sleeping next to her. His broad, bare back was exposed to the cool air of the room. The muscles in his shoulders shifted slightly as he breathed. Dark hair fell across his forehead. He was undeniably handsome, but the sight of him made the blood drain from Arnetta's face. Her fingertips turned ice-cold.

She had made a catastrophic mistake.

She held her breath. Her chest tightened so much it hurt to pull air into her lungs. She carefully lifted the heavy duvet, sliding her bare legs out from under the covers. Her toes touched the cold, thick carpet.

She bent down, her knees popping slightly in the quiet room, and snatched her silk dress from the floor. The fabric felt cold against her clammy skin.

She stepped into the dress, pulling it up over her hips. She reached behind her back to pull the zipper. It moved halfway up and then jammed.

She tugged at it. The metal teeth grinded together. She pulled harder, but it refused to budge. Panic flared in her chest, making her heart race against her ribs. She left the back of the dress half-open and turned to scan the room for her shoes.

She spotted one black stiletto near the nightstand. She took a step toward it.

The man on the bed shifted. The heavy duvet rustled loudly in the silent room.

Arnetta froze. Her muscles locked up. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails biting hard into the palms of her hands. She prayed to a god she didn't believe in that he would go back to sleep.

"Where exactly do you think you are going?"

The voice was low, raspy from sleep, and completely devoid of warmth.

Arnetta's eyes snapped open.

Brennan was already sitting up against the headboard. The white sheet pooled around his waist. His dark eyes were locked onto her, sharp and calculating. There was no