Page 37 of The Boss

Zac gestured inside. “This okay?”

Okay? Hell, the room was almost bigger than my whole apartment, not to mention better-looking. I nodded.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed again. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

That was it. No further questions. No lecture.

I exhaled, some of the tension slipping out of me.

Zac turned to go, but before he stepped away, he glanced back. “If you need anything… call me. My bedroom’s just across the way.”

“Zac—” I swallowed, forcing myself to speak again. “Thank you.”

He left without saying anything, pulling the door shut behind him.

Alone, I stripped off my jeans, socks, and hoodie, tossing them onto the tufted ottoman. I kept my T-shirt and my trunks on, a shiver running through me despite the warmth of the room. The en suite bathroom felt almost too pristine as I stepped inside, flipping on the light. I turned the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, but the shock never quite registered. My skin felt numb, my mind fogged. Blinking at my reflection, I shut the light off and made my way back to the bed, pulling back the heavy covers and slipping underneath.

The mattress was firm, the sheets impossibly soft. The scent of clean linen and faint detergent clung to the pillows that felt like clouds beneath me. But I couldn’t sleep. I still felt like I was floating just outside my body, untethered, as my mind kept spinning, replaying the night in jagged, disjointed fragments—the sound of footsteps behind me, the glint of something metal in the dark, the moment my body braced for impact that never came.

I could’ve been killed.

The thought hit me like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs.

I rolled onto my side, pressing my face into the pillow, but it didn’t help. The panic didn’t fade. I squeezed my eyes shut. Forced myself to breathe. One… two… three…

At some point, exhaustion finally dragged me under.

I dreamed—of what, I couldn’t remember. Only the feeling lingered. Something pressing in, heavy and stifling. A presence I couldn’t escape. My pulse pounded, my limbs sluggish, like wading through a thick, endless tar.

The next moment, I woke up gasping.

Cold sweat clung to my skin, my T-shirt damp against my back. My chest heaved. The dream was already slipping away, but the fear remained, lodged deep in my bones. I couldn’t stay here.

Throwing back the covers, I stumbled out of bed and yanked off my shirt, my heart still hammering with each step across the hall. I didn’t think—I just pushed Zac’s door open, my voice raw as I called his name. “Zac?”

The sheets rustled, then Zac’s voice cut through the dark, groggy but alert. “Chris?”

I swallowed, gripping the doorframe. “I can’t…” My throat closed. “I—”

There was a pause, heavy with understanding, before he reached out and flipped on the lamp. The soft glow spilled over him, catching on the bare planes of his chest where the covers had slipped low. His brows knitted as he took me in, his concern visible even beneath the lingering haze of sleep.

“Come here,” he said.

I moved on an instinct.

Zac lifted the covers, a glimpse of naked skin flashing beneath, and I crawled into the bed next to him. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t push. He just shifted closer, wrapping an arm around me, pulling me back against himself. His body was warm. Solid. His chest hair tickled my back, the heat of him seeping into me from behind. The weight of his arm over my ribs was steadying, grounding.

I let out a slow breath, melting into him.

Zac’s voice was quiet, right by my ear. “Go to sleep, baby.”

I did.

16. Zac

Warmth. A solid weight pressed against me, soft yet firm, molding to my body like it belonged there. My morning wood throbbed, snug against round, muscular flesh, heat bleeding through the thin barrier of fabric.

I exhaled, shifting slightly, rubbing against the firm curves that pushed against my crotch. Chantelle. I let my hand curl tighter around her waist, fingers skimming over a taut abdomen, tracing the edge of a waistband. And the body beneath my hand was… lean, sinewy, but not feminine.

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