BILLIONAIRE SLUT

The headquarters of Marathon Group was an intimidating monolith of glass and steel, much like the man who ruled it.

Anna Benson clutched the cardboard tray of coffees to her chest like a shield. She had been working as a junior financial analyst at the firm for exactly three weeks, and today was her first time delivering the executive coffee order to the top-floor boardroom.

Don’t trip. Don’t slip. Just walk like a normal human being, she repeated to herself, a silent mantra she had to use daily. Anna was brilliant with numbers, but when it came to basic coordination, her body seemed to operate on a different gravity setting.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open to the executive suite. The air up here felt expensive. It smelled of polished mahogany, designer cologne, and pure, unfiltered power.

She took a careful step forward, her eyes locked on the boardroom door at the end of the hall. Just as she neared it, the door swung open.

A tall, imposing figure stepped out, talking intensely on a sleek smartphone.

It was Ethan Hunt.

Even from a distance, the CEO of Marathon Group was breathtaking. He was broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, with sharp, aristocratic features and eyes like frozen steel. He was ruthless, brilliant, and notoriously cold. People in the office joked that his heart was made of the same concrete as the building's foundation.

Anna froze, her heart instantly leaping into her throat. Under his sudden, piercing gaze, her hands trembled.

In her panic to get out of his way, her heel caught on the edge of the plush rug.

"Oh, no—"

Time slowed down. Anna stumbled forward, her arms flailing. The cardboard tray slipped from her grasp, and the extra-large, piping-hot cup of dark roast espresso went flying.

Splat.

The coffee didn't just hit the floor. It splashed in a massive, dark wave directly across the chest of Ethan’s pristine, custom-tailored designer suit.

Silence fell over the hallway. It was so quiet you could hear the hum of the air conditioning.

Anna scrambled to her feet, her face burning with a mixture of horror and sheer embarrassment. "Oh my god! I am so, so sorry! I didn't mean to—I just slipped, and the rug—" She reached into her pocket, pulling out a handful of cheap paper napkins, and desperately took a step toward him to dab at his chest.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

His voice was a low, dangerous growl. It instantly froze her in her tracks.

Ethan slowly looked down at his ruined suit, then raised his gaze to meet hers. His grey eyes were smoldering with a cold fury that made Anna want to melt through the floorboards.

"Do you have any idea what you just did?" Ethan asked, his voice deceptively calm, though the dangerous edge in it was unmistakable.

"I—I ruined your suit," Anna whispered, her stubborn pride fighting against the urge to shrink away from him. "I'll pay for the dry cleaning. I promise."

"Dry cleaning?" Ethan let out a dark, humorless chuckle. He stepped closer, his towering height completely casting her in his shadow. "This is a bespoke, hand-tailored Brioni suit. It cost five thousand dollars. Dry cleaning isn't going to fix this. It’s ruined."

"Five thousand dollars?" Anna gasped, her head spinning. That was more than her entire savings account.

"Yes," Ethan said, folding his arms, his gaze raking over her flustered face, taking in her wide, expressive eyes and the stubborn set of her jaw. Most employees would be crying or begging for mercy by now. But there was a spark of defiance in her eyes that caught his attention. He looked at her ID badge. "Anna Benson. Junior Analyst."

"Yes, Mr. Hunt. I really am incredibly sorry. I'll find a way to pay you back, I swear. I can set up a payment plan..."

"A payment plan?" Ethan’s lips twitched into a cold, mocking smile. "At your current salary, it would take you a year to pay me back. I don't have patience for payment plans, Miss Benson."

"Then what do you expect me to do?" she asked, her stubbornness flaring up despite the sheer terror of the situation. "I don't have five thousand dollars just sitting in my pocket!"

Ethan stared at her for a long, quiet moment. He liked the way she didn't look down. He liked the fiery defiance underneath her clumsy exterior. A strange, possessive urge, one he couldn't quite explain, took root in his chest. He didn't want to just fire her and never see her again.

He wanted her right where he could see her.

"You're going to pay me back in labor," Ethan declared smoothly.

Anna blinked, confused. "What?"

"As of today, you are no longer a junior analyst," Ethan said, stepping so close she could smell his intoxicating, woody cologne over the scent of the spilled coffee. "You are my new, 24/7 personal assistant. You will work for me, manage my schedule, and cater to my every demand until your debt is paid off in full. You will be at my beck and call, day and night."

Anna’s jaw dropped. "24/7? That's... that's insane! I have a life! You can't just force me to—"

"I can fire you, blackball you from the financial industry, and sue you for damages," Ethan interrupted, his voice dripping with icy authority. "Or, you can accept your punishment and work it off. The choice is yours, Miss Benson."

Anna stared at him, her heart pounding furiously against her ribs. He was a tyrant. A gorgeous, terrifying tyrant. But she had worked too hard to get her foot in the door of this industry to let it all go over a spilled cup of coffee.

She clenched her fists, lifting her chin to look him dead in the eye.

"Fine," Anna snapped. "I'll be your assistant. But only until the suit is paid off."

Ethan’s eyes darkened, a dangerous, possessive smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He leaned in, his breath brushing against her ear.

"We'll see about that, sweetheart. Report to my office in ten minutes. And don't be late."