I showed up at 7:57 a.m. wearing the most professional outfit I owned: high-waisted black trousers, a silk blouse buttoned to the throat, and a blazer that hid every curve. My hair was scraped into a tight bun. No lipstick. No perfume. Nothing that could be read as an invitation.

It didn’t matter.

Rhys’s office door was already open. He sat behind the glass desk in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looking like he’d been carved out of sin and money. The second I stepped inside, his eyes dragged over me—slow, thorough, like he was undressing me in his head and finding the result disappointing only because...