The guy sitting across from me cleared his throat. “So, are you a virgin?” I raised an eyebrow, volleying the question right back. “Are you?” He straightened his collar, looking dead serious. “I suppose you could say that, yes.” “?” I let the words marinate for a second, genuinely curious. “You mean a virgin in the front, but not in the back?” He sat there, stunned, processing the mechanics of my question. Two seconds later, his face flushed a violent shade of magenta. “Excuse me, miss! Please don’t make those kinds of jokes!” “Who’s joking?” I rested my chin in my hand, staring at him with perfect calm. “Are you a cherry boy or not?” Less than two minutes after I sent my blind date storming out of the café, my phone buzzed. It was my mother. “Ivy Monroe! Are you trying to put me in an early grave?!” I pulled the phone an inch away from my ear, preferring not to go deaf in my twenties. “Mom, please. Stop setting me up with these absolute weirdos.” “Your Aunt Susan said this one was a real catch. He has great stats!” “Aunt Susan needs her prescription checked.” “Honestly, I thought he sounded like a nice boy…” “You need your prescription checked, too.” With that, I hung up. Right on cue, a low, muffled scoff drifted over from the high-backed booth directly behind me. I turned around, my gaze colliding straight into a pair of dark, amused eyes. The man was in his early thirties, dressed in an immaculate, tailored suit. He wore gold-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of a sharp, aristocratic nose. He radiated the kind of ruthless, polished energy you only found in top-tier corporate boardrooms. Well, what do you know. I recognized him. He was the high-powered lawyer I’d slept with last week. 1 The guy sitting across from me cleared his throat. “So, are you a virgin?” I raised an eyebrow, volleying the question right back. “Are you?” He straightened his collar, looking dead serious. “I suppose you could say that, yes.” “?” I let the words marinate for a second, genuinely curious. “You mean a virgin in the front, but not in the back?” He sat there, stunned, processing the mechanics of my question. Two seconds later, his face flushed a violent shade of magenta. “Excuse me, miss! Please don’t make those kinds of jokes!” “Who’s joking?” I rested my chin in my hand, staring at him with perfect calm. “Are you a cherry boy or not?” Less than two minutes after I sent my blind date storming out of the café, my phone buzzed. It was my mother. “Ivy Monroe! Are you trying to put me in an early grave?!” I pulled the phone an inch away from my ear, preferring not to go deaf in my twenties. “Mom, please. Stop setting me up with these absolute weirdos.” “Your Aunt Susan said this one was a real catch. He has great stats!” “Aunt Susan needs her prescription checked.” “Honestly, I thought he sounded like a nice boy…” “You need your prescription checked, too.” With that, I hung up. Right on cue, a low, muffled scoff drifted over from the high-backed booth directly behind me. I turned around, my gaze colliding straight into a pair of dark, amused eyes. The man was in his early thirties, dressed in an immaculate, tailored suit. He wore gold-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of a sharp, aristocratic nose. He radiated the kind of ruthless, polished energy you only found in top-tier corporate boardrooms. Well, what do you know. I recognized him. He was Wesley Pierce. The hot lawyer I’d slept with last week. 2 I’d been a little drunk that night. But not blackout. I still had my wits about me. Some frat bro in a backwards snapback had tried to drag me onto the dance floor. I shoved him off and stumbled over to the adjacent VIP booth. Sitting there was an incredibly handsome man. I’d been staring at his chest for a good twenty minutes. “Hey, you…” Before I could finish my sentence, the world tilted. My knees gave out. The man caught me effortlessly, his large hand wrapping around my waist. “Miss, are you alright?” His voice was like dark velvet. I blinked through the hazy neon lights. His striking, structured face came into focus. I couldn’t help myself. I reached up, grabbed the lapels of his suit, and lightly patted his cheek. “Not bad at all. “Wanna get out of here with me tonight? “Oh, and make sure you have your driver’s license and a clean STD panel on hand…” When I woke up, the sky outside the window was the pale, bruised color of early dawn. I sat up in bed, my brain pounding as I took in my surroundings. The bedroom was a masterclass in minimalist luxury—all slate grays and muted ivories. On the nightstand sat a thick, intimidating hardcover copy of Constitutional Law. The custom glass-front wardrobe across the room was lined with bespoke suits. Through a half-open drawer, I spotted an absurd collection of luxury watches and silver cufflinks. It was a gorgeous apartment. Sadly, it wasn’t mine. I lifted the heavy duvet and peeked underneath. “?” “…” “Ah!—” The bedroom door immediately swung open. A tall man walked in. “You’re awake?” He looked devastating in the morning light. Deep-set eyes, sharp jaw. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt and dark trousers, his frame lean, tall, and imposing. I stared at him, my vocal cords tight. “Who are you?” I rasped. He raised an eyebrow, a faint, dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Wesley Pierce.” Wesley Pierce. The name acted like a spark in the dark, igniting a flash fire of fragmented memories from the night before. Memories that rapidly pieced together a truth I was very reluctant to accept. 3 “What did you say your name was again?” “Wesley Pierce.” “What do you do for a living?” “I’m a lawyer.” “Counselor Pierce… you are so hot.” “Thank you.” “Can I sleep with you?” “…” “Silence means yes.” “?” “Your place or mine?” … It all came rushing back. I was the one who stripped first. And his clothes… I practically ripped them off him. I hadn’t even drank that much last night. Why was I acting like an animal in heat? Ivy Monroe, you absolute disaster of a human being. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately trying to reign in my panic. “Counselor Pierce, can we just pretend this never happened?” Wesley pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, the ghost of a smirk on his mouth. “And what if I say no?” “…” I licked my dry lips. “Are you saying you don’t want to cut this off?” “Assuming you’re not repulsed by the idea.” “…I guess I could live with it.” No sane woman would be repulsed by a face like that. Not to mention, the man’s attention to detail in bed was practically an art form. We exchanged numbers. I saved him in my contacts as “FWB”. He caught a glimpse of it over my shoulder. His expression grew incredibly complicated. “Miss Monroe, you never cease to surprise me.” I decided to be blunt. “I’m not looking for a relationship right now.” More accurately, I wasn’t looking for a relationship ever. So having an aesthetically pleasing, highly attentive “friend” was exactly what I needed. “In that case, for the sake of our mutual health and safety, I suggest we keep this strictly exclusive,” he said, giving me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I assume you catch my drift?” “Of course. You’re the only one.” “Good.” 4 “Miss Monroe. Fancy seeing you here.” Wesley slid into the booth opposite me, casually shoving the “cherry boy’s” half-empty coffee mug out of the way. I flagged down a waitress and ordered him an iced Americano with an extra shot. I’d heard lawyers basically ran on the stuff. “Family pressuring you into blind dates?” He smiled faintly. “You’re only twenty-six. What’s the rush?” I rested my chin in my hand, sighing lazily. “My mom loves to remind me that by the time she was twenty-six, I was already walking.” “Times have changed. Ideologies evolve. For a modern woman, getting married too early is rarely a strategic advantage.” “Well said. You should take that argument up with my mother.” “I can do that. When works for you?” “…” I bit down on my straw, peering up at him through my lashes. “Wesley, you seem a little annoyed.” He tapped his glasses. “Do I?” “Don’t overthink it. I only went on the date to get my mom off my back.” I kept my tone breezy, wanting to make sure we were on the same page. “I’m a girl who plays by the rules.” Until this specific arrangement ended, neither of us was allowed to hook up with anyone else. If one of us wanted out, the other had to walk away without making a scene. Those were the terms we’d agreed on. Simple. Fair. Wesley let out a quiet laugh. “I’m really not mad.” “Lawyers aren’t supposed to lie, you know.” “Then you clearly don’t know many lawyers.” “That just means you’re a bad one.” “You wouldn’t be the first person to tell me that.” The banter hit a lull. The waitress returned, setting the iced Americano down. Wesley took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine. “Busy week?” I shook my head. “Then why did you turn me down for dinner the other night?” “I was on my period.” “…” “But I’m off it now. Did you want to hang out?” Wesley frowned—so quickly I almost missed it. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or annoyed. Maybe just a little resigned. “I can’t tonight. I have plans.” “Oh.” “But tomorrow works.” He reached across the table. His hand found mine, his long finger hooking possessively around my pinky, his thumb brushing over my knuckle. Behind the glass lenses, his dark brown eyes were impossibly deep and entirely too magnetic. The tips of my ears burned. I forced a cool, collected nod. “Sure. I’m free tomorrow.” 5 We agreed to meet at a restaurant at five. Since I had to do my makeup anyway, I decided to go live on Instagram. I’d been landing a lot of brand sponsorships lately, and if I didn’t push out the promotional content, my manager was going to end my life. “Hey guys, today I’m doing a wear-test on this new cushion foundation.” “Wow, look at that. Usually, a dewy finish doesn’t give you coverage like this.” “If you want to see how it holds up, I’ll post a check-in video on my Story tonight.” “Next up is this lip tint, perfect for summer…” I hustled for a solid two hours. The second I ended the live, I threw on a dress and ran out the door. My Uber pulled up to the restaurant exactly at five. As I stepped out of the car, I saw Wesley walking out of the corporate high-rise next door, where his law firm was located. He was wearing a high-quality black button-down, the top two buttons undone. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, exposing the crisp, corded lines of his forearms. Stripped of his usual rigid armor, he looked dangerously casual. He caught sight of me, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile as he closed the distance between us. I reached up to touch my earring, suddenly self-conscious, and looked away. “Were you waiting long?” His voice was a gravelly octave lower than usual. “No, I just got here.” I tilted my head, studying his face. “Are you getting sick?” “No. Just a case.” He took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose in a rare show of fatigue. “I have a client who refuses to cooperate. It’s like pulling teeth trying to communicate with him.” I could see the exhaustion etched around his eyes. “If you want, we can just grab a quick bite and you can go home and crash,” I offered. His eyebrow twitched. He reached out, lacing his fingers through mine. “No.” “…” I gave him a skeptical look. “Don’t push yourself. I won’t judge you.” He just laughed, saying nothing as his grip on my hand tightened. Two hours later, we were back at his place. I didn’t even have time to kick off my shoes before he swept me into his arms. “Wait, Wesley!” I kicked my legs, terrified he’d drop me, and threw my arms tightly around his neck. He dropped me onto the plush sofa and followed me down, his weight pressing into mine. His rough fingertips trailed down my calf, circling my ankle. “Don’t take them off. The shoes are gorgeous.” He looked down at me, his eyes dark and heavy with a familiar heat. “Keep them on for me. Okay?” I gripped the collar of his shirt, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs I thought it might crack them. “Wesley, you’re… mmh.” The warm amber lights overhead seemed to sway. Somewhere in the haze, my burgundy heels eventually slipped off… 6 Ever since I discovered Wesley’s specific… fixations, I couldn’t look at my stilettos the same way. So, the next time we met, I purposely wore white high-top Converse. I paired them with a cropped baby tee and a pleated tennis skirt. It was a massive departure from my usual sultry, mature aesthetic. I looked like a college freshman. I figured there was no way he could make it weird tonight. I was wrong. That night, he made me keep the pleated skirt on… “Wesley, do you know what the dictionary definition of a ‘refined degenerate’ is?” I was lying face-down in the pillows, my voice entirely devoid of strength. “Go look in a mirror.” He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to my bare shoulder. “You seemed to enjoy it.” “Screw you!” I kicked blindly backward, twisting my head to glare at him. “I have a live stream tomorrow! How am I supposed to sit in front of a ring light looking like this?” I pointed at the scattering of purple and red marks blooming across my collarbones. One, two, three, four… I couldn’t even count them all! “You could do a concealer tutorial.” “Tutorial my ass… Since when do you know about concealer?” “The women at the firm talk about it all the time.” His tone was infuriatingly casual. “They love your makeup tutorials, actually. I caught a couple of the paralegals watching you in the breakroom on company time. I had to reprimand them.” I grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked. “How dare you write up my fans?” “Tsk. You have no self-preservation instincts, do you?” “What’s there to be afraid of? You have plenty of hair.” “Ivy.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Let go.” I pouted, reluctantly uncurling my fingers. A second later, he flipped me over, pinning me to the mattress. Our skin was flushed and slick with sweat. My heart shot into my throat. His mouth descended on mine. I turned my face away just in time. “Counselor Pierce, you’re not exactly in your twenties anymore. Don’t you think you should pace yourself?” He looked down at me, a dangerous storm brewing in those dark depths. “Is that so?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, lethal register. “Not in my twenties anymore?” “…I’m just speaking the truth.” I paid the price for my honesty shortly after. Right as my mind was turning to absolute static, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Ivy, do you like me?” Later, when I remembered those words, I brushed them off as the delirious ramblings of a man lost in the heat of the moment. I wasn’t narcissistic enough to think he was actually falling for me. And I had absolutely no intention of falling for him. Feelings were messy. Feelings ruined everything. 7 I always thought of myself as someone with an ironclad will. I didn’t want emotional attachments; I just wanted the physical high. But three months in, the tectonic plates of my mindset began to shift. It started on a Tuesday night. Wesley had cooked a massive candlelit dinner for us. I’d had a little too much wine. I remembered stepping over the rose petals he’d scattered on the floor, dragging him down onto the couch with me. But that night, we didn’t do anything. We just lay there together, wrapped in a blanket, and fell asleep to the sound of the rain beating against the glass. At two in the morning, I woke up in a groggy haze. I wanted a glass of water, but I was too lazy to get up. I nudged Wesley’s ribs with my elbow. He woke up with a quiet groan. His eyes were heavy with sleep. Without a word, he pulled me closer and pressed a slow, soft kiss to my mouth. “You’re such a handful,” he murmured, his voice thick and rough from sleep. It was a complaint, but the way he said it was drowning in absolute indulgence. Every trace of my exhaustion vanished. I lay there frozen, my fingertips lightly touching my lips. It was the simplest, quietest touch. There was no lust in it. No heat. And yet, it made my heart flutter in a way I couldn’t ignore. 8 “Ivy, this one has incredible prospects…” “Mom. I’m not going.” I massaged my temples, my patience wearing dangerously thin. “Can you please stop setting me up?” My mother sighed heavily. “I’m only trying to look out for you. A woman needs to settle down early.” “You settled down early. You had me at twenty-three. And what happened?” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Dad cheated on you. You married husband number two, then husband number three. Are you happy now?” Silence crackled over the line. I exhaled a long, shaky breath. “Stop worrying about my love life. How are things on your end?” “Fine.” “Do you want me to hire a housekeeper to help out?” “No, don’t waste your money.” “Has that bastard tried to come around?” My mother let out a very faint, “…no.” Then, abruptly, she pivoted. “About the blind date…” “Mom, I have to go. Work.” I spat out an excuse and ended the call. I checked the time. I still had plenty of a buffer. I sat at my vanity, taking my time to blend my eyeshadow and curl my hair into loose, effortless waves. Before I was even finished, my phone lit up with a call from Wesley. “Ivy, I’m downstairs.” His voice was as smooth and intoxicating as ever. “Wait, I’m coming down right now,” I said quickly, panic setting in. “No rush. Take your time.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m not going anywhere, you little idiot.” The words were like a feather brushing lightly against my ribs. I looked at myself in the mirror, my cheeks flushed crimson. We’d been doing this for five months now. It wasn’t a short amount of time. But he still managed to fluster me with zero effort. “You’re the idiot,” I mumbled, and hung up. I grabbed my purse, scooped up the gift bag I’d prepared, and ran out the door. Today was Wesley’s birthday. He was taking the lawyers from his firm out for dinner. Originally, I’d planned to take him out separately once he was done. But he insisted I come with him. He refused to take no for an answer. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to pull me into his real life. Last month, he won a massive corporate settlement and the firm threw him a party. He’d asked me to be his plus-one, and I declined, saying it wasn’t “appropriate” for our arrangement. But it was his birthday. I didn’t have the heart to say no. In the car ride over, I kept checking my compact mirror, nervously touching up my smudge-proof lipstick. Wesley noticed my anxiety and let out an amused sigh. “Relax. My colleagues don’t bite.” I turned my face away, refusing to look at his teasing eyes. “Who says I’m nervous? Hilarious. “I’m just here to be arm candy. “And besides, some of my followers might be in there. A girl has to maintain her brand image.” Wesley laughed—a low, rumbling sound—and lightly ran his thumb across the back of my hand. “Ivy, how are you so cute?” “?” 9 We were dining at a high-end French bistro. Wesley and I had been here once before. The ambiance was stunning. Just before we reached the private dining room, I slipped my hand out of his. He shot me a look. He clearly wanted to say something. Before he could, the heavy oak door swung open. A woman stepped out. She froze when she saw me, her eyes going wide before she let out a high-pitched squeal. “Oh my god! You’re Wild Ivy!” Wild Ivy was my username on Instagram and TikTok. Wesley frowned. “I literally just told her you guys don’t bite.” The woman bounced excitedly over to me. “Ivy, hi! I’m Becca, Mr. Pierce’s paralegal. I am absolutely obsessed with your videos. I literally bought the setting spray you reviewed last week.” “You are so much prettier in person! Your skin is insane.” “When we were talking about you the other day, Mr. Pierce casually mentioned he was bringing you to dinner tonight.” “We literally thought he was lying to sound cool.” “I can’t believe you’re actually here! How do you guys even know each other?” “Can I get your Insta? Or your number?” Wesley clicked his tongue. “Becca, you are embarrassing…” I smiled, pulling out my phone. “Here, scan my QR code.” Wesley: “…” After we connected on Instagram, Becca practically dragged me into the private room. Once the initial round of introductions settled, the conversation started flowing. “So, Ivy, how did you and our boss meet?”
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