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My office is drowning in paperwork—contracts already torn apart and reassembled three times by our lawyers, plans for new projects stacked in impossible piles, and outlines for the damn party I now regret agreeing to host.

And yet none of it holds my attention.

Because Thalia has been here almost every day. And every single time, she’s dressed in a way that makes any man want to take her home and devour her. Today is no different.

The moment she stepped into the office, the air shifted. A white corset clings to her like a second skin, dipping so low it should be illegal, while a pink skirt cinches tight at her waist, showing off every perfect line of her body.

My eyes drag down her legs before I can stop myself, and I swear my mouth goes dry. And then there’s her hair—straight, silky chestnut waves that fall freely down her back, so long they nearly brush her ass. She looks untouchable, dangerous even, yet every move she makes feels like an invitation.

I force myself to look away, to focus on the papers in front of me, but it’s useless.

Every man in this building sees what I see. Every man wants her. And that thought alone makes me lose my goddamn mind.

I’ve caught at least three of my employees openly drooling over her today, from the second she stepped in with her tablet in hand and that blinding smile on her face.

And God help me, I’m no better than them.

She’s Theo’s, Ethan. Get the fuck a grip.

I should call Irina in here, have her help me unwind. God knows she’d say yes. But something stops me every time. Or rather—someone stops me. And I hate myself for it. Why the hell am I letting my life—or worse, my impulses—be dictated by what one woman might think if she saw me pull Irina into my office, lock the door, and fog the glass?

I shouldn’t be thinking about Thalia’s eyes from that night she caught me with my hand down Irina’s dress at the charity gala. The way her breath seemed to stall, the way her voice shook when she whispered that one word—sorry.

I shouldn’t care.

None of it should matter. Because at the end of the day, she goes to Theo’s bed. She’s been in his bed long enough that my cock should finally understand she’ll never be mine. She’s off-limits. Untouchable. Forbidden in every possible way.

Frustrated, I jab the privacy button on my desk. The glass walls of my office darken instantly, a clear warning—do not disturb. More than that, it shields me from distraction, from the burst of color and energy she carries with her every time she walks through this place.

After hours of back-to-back calls and tearing through document after document, my phone won’t stop buzzing across the desk. At first I try to ignore it, thinking it’s just another pointless email, but the damn thing won’t quit. Finally, I drag it closer and check.

Of course. The guys. On the no-girls-allowed group chat.

Guys

Theo: Okay, how about a mountain trip for two nights? We leave Friday afternoon and get back late Sunday.

Theo: I know it sounds like a question, but it isn’t.

Theo: If you already have plans, cancel them.

Zayn: I actually had plans.

Zayn: I was planning to spend the weekend lost inside a woman.

Zayn: And that sounds way more tempting than your plan.

Groaning, I lean back in my chair, dragging a hand down my face. Zayn’s plans sound a hell of a lot more useful than Theo’s mountain getaway. The guy wants to disappear inside a woman all weekend, and honestly? That would fix a lot more for me right now than some fresh air.

Ryan: I need a break, both from women and from work.

Ryan: I’m in.

Theo: I don’t think you understand me.

Theo: You are all in.

Theo: Including our hockey star.