Chapter 1

In my dream, my cold, uptight boss pressed me against the wall and kissed me breathless until my knees gave out.

But this morning, in the conference room, he shot me a glare, his face bright red.

Everyone said he must be running a fever.

But I knew that look. That flush was the same as when we both... hit the peak in my dream.

Then he suddenly leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "Mackenzie Lott, what exactly did you dream about last night?"

Oh no. Could he see my dreams? Or... did we actually have the same one?

I jolted awake, heart racing like a runaway train, cheeks burning hot.

The dream still clung to me, and it felt way too real. I had him pinned to the wall. Breath tangled, lips locked, teeth grazing. He grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me until my legs gave out.

And that man, the one who had me melting into a puddle, was none other than my cold, emotionally constipated, famously aloof boss, Jackson Zeller.

*****

"Mackenzie, have you completely lost your mind?" I muttered, pinching my arm hard while staring at my reflection in the mirror.

Jackson was the ice-cold CEO whose glare alone could chill an entire conference room, the kind of guy who'd treat team-building exercises like they were contagious. He was completely untouchable.

And I was just a freshly promoted assistant, too shy to even hold his gaze.

Still, that dream felt so real. I had his long, elegant fingers pinned against the wall, his shirt collar undone just enough to expose that sculpted collarbone.

Those usually icy eyes were burning with something fierce, watching me like a predator about to pounce. That intense hunger in his gaze felt like it might swallow me whole.

'Oh no, if Jackson ever found out about that dream, there goes my probation period,' I thought while brushing my teeth, my cheeks flaming as the memory of his cool lips from the dream resurfaced.

The moment I got to the office, I was summoned to the conference room. I pushed open the door and nearly buckled. Jackson was sitting at the head of the table in his usual immaculate suit, the picture of discipline. But this time, his face was flushed.

"Mr. Zeller, are you running a fever?" one of the assistants asked with concern.

I lingered quietly in the corner, my heart skipping a beat. That flush and that look were exactly how he looked in my dream, breathless after we'd been tangled up in those kisses.

Suddenly, Jackson's gaze slid over to me. I instinctively dropped my eyes, but something about his expression made my stomach twist. He stood and started walking toward me, each step thudding through my chest.

He leaned in, close enough that his warm breath brushed my ear. "Mackenzie," he murmured, "what did you dream about last night?"

My body locked up, a chill shooting down my spine. How did he know? Could it be... we had the same dream?

Jackson's question echoed in my head all day like a broken record. "What did you dream about last night?"

I was completely out of it that day. I nearly walked into a glass door, sent reports to the wrong department, and came dangerously close to spilling Jackson's coffee all over his suit.

He looked up, those sharp eyes flashing with cold disapproval. He tapped his index finger against the desk twice. "Mackenzie," he said, his voice cutting, "if you can't pull yourself together, the HR department would be happy to talk to you."

The conference room fell silent. I could feel every set of eyes burning into me. My face was on fire. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Zeller. I..." I stammered, my tongue knotted beyond repair.

He didn't look at me again, just waved me off like I didn't exist. That chilly dismissal made it feel like the blushing man from this morning had been nothing but a figment of my imagination.

I bolted from the conference room like a rabbit sensing danger, my mind spinning. This was bad. I was screwed. Not only did my aloof boss somehow know about my steamy dream, but now he was probably going to fire me.

The rest of the day, I was a nervous wreck. Every tiny movement Jackson made had me on edge. As soon as the clock hit the end of the day, I bolted from the office. Back at home, I collapsed into bed to sleep, desperate for any kind of escape.

But I dreamed of him again. Only this time, it wasn't heated kisses. The setting had changed to a cafe.

Jackson was dressed casually in a crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled up, his forearms exposed and defined.

He sat across from me. Sunlight streamed through the window, softening his usual stoic features. In front of him sat a cup of jet-black coffee with just a single, perfectly square ice cube floating on top.

"Won't you try some?" he smiled. It was the tiniest lift of the lips, but it hit me like a punch to the chest.

I stared at that cup. There was no sugar, no cream, just that one small ice cube. That detail was burned into my brain.