Chapter 1

I work as a night-time soothing assistant for a billionaire CEO with severe rage issues.

My job is simple. I just have to stay at least three yards away from him and read him bedtime stories to help him sleep.

The catch? I’m actually a tabby cat shifter.

Winter in the human world is freezing, but Asher Vance radiates this delicious, scorching heat. He is basically a human radiator.

One night, hovering somewhere between half-asleep and dreaming, I couldn't resist the warmth. I ended up rolling straight into his arms.

His chest was incredibly solid, and his body temperature was pure heaven.

My brain completely short-circuited. My feline instincts took over.

Before I knew it, my hands were acting on their own, pressing against his massive, hard chest, kneading left and right in a perfect rhythm.

I was making biscuits. On my boss's chest.

Suddenly, a pair of burning-hot hands clamped around my wrists.

I didn't even notice Asher opening his eyes. His voice was dark and raspy. "What do you think you're doing?"

A jolt of adrenaline shot through me, instantly blowing away any lingering sleep.

In the dim light, Asher was leaning against the headboard, his dark, brooding eyes staring down at me.

His grip was incredibly strong, and his warm palms made the base of my spine tingle.

Oh, no. I’m dead.

I’d only been blending into the human world for six months. I’d heard that human offices were full of complex rules.

Sinking into my boss's bed and fondling his chest?

That had to be a fireable offense for sexual harassment, right?

My ten-thousand-dollar monthly salary, my imported freeze-dried salmon treats, my luxury cat condo—all gone in a flash.

I swallowed hard, desperately trying to save my own skin.

"Mr. Vance, this... this is my exclusive meridian massage therapy. Medical studies show that this high-frequency, rhythmic pressing is highly effective at relieving acute rage."

Asher’s cold, sharp gaze fell to my hands.

My nails were neatly trimmed, free of any polish.

My fingertips were pressed against his warm chest, rising and falling with his breath.

In my sheer panic, I accidentally brushed against something firm.

Asher let out a low, muffled groan.

"Therapy?"

"Yes! Passed down from my grandfather’s grandfather," I lied through my teeth.

The bedroom fell into a long, suffocating silence.

Just when I thought he was going to throw me and my blankets out of the villa, he let go of my wrists and closed his eyes again.

"Keep going."

I blinked, stunned.

"Keep kneading. It actually works a little."

I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic, but at least he hadn't fired me on the spot.

That meant I still had a job... right?

For the sake of that ten-thousand-dollar paycheck, and for this endless supply of delicious heat, I crawled back over and placed my hands on his chest.

Working cats don't cry, I chanted in my head, and went back to making biscuits.

After a while, Asher’s breathing became slow and deep.

He was asleep.

This was the first time in the two weeks since I started working here that he hadn't smashed things in the middle of the night or growled in pain from his migraines.

He was actually having a peaceful night's sleep.

Having soaked up enough of his warm energy, I rolled back onto my couch, completely satisfied.

The next morning, I sat in the dining room enjoying breakfast on time.

The chef’s seared cod was mouthwatering—my absolute number one favorite food.

I really wanted to sneak some back home for my family to try.

It was heavenly!

The dining room door opened, and a woman in a sharp white power suit walked in. She strutted over in her high heels, holding a folder.

I recognized her. Dr. Evelyn Sterling, Asher’s chief personal psychologist. She was the one who had fiercely opposed hiring me in the first place.

She sat across from me and tossed the folder onto the table.

"Aria, Mr. Vance's sleep data from last night is out. His heart rate fluctuated wildly. Did you even read the therapy manuals I gave you?"

I swallowed my fish. "I did. But halfway through, he complained I was too noisy and told me to shut up."

"So you did absolutely nothing last night and still took your paycheck?" Evelyn leaned forward, her eyes dripping with contempt.

"Aria, this villa doesn't keep useless people. I’ve already advised Mr. Vance to replace you with a certified international hypnotherapist."

The overwhelming scent of her cheap perfume wafted over, making me want to sneeze.

As a cat, my sense of smell is incredibly sharp. Beneath the perfume, I could detect a sour, malicious scent that made me highly uncomfortable.

She despised me.

But so what?

She wasn't the one paying me.

I poked the last piece of cod with my fork. "Fine by me. If Asher agrees, I'll pack my bags."

Evelyn sneered. "At least you have some self-awareness."

Footsteps sounded from the stairs. Asher was coming down.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit. Though his face was still a bit pale, the dark cloud that usually hung over his brow had cleared significantly.

Evelyn immediately stood up, plastering on a warm, professional smile as she hurried over with the folder.

"Good morning, Mr. Vance. Here is your sleep report from last night. The data is highly abnormal.”

“It's clear Aria lacks the professional skills to treat your condition. I've already contacted Dr. Charles's team, and they can send a replacement tonight."

Asher bypassed Evelyn entirely and walked straight to the dining table.

He didn't even glance at the report. Instead, he looked at my empty plate and turned to the butler. "Double her portion of cod starting tomorrow morning."

Arthur, the butler, bowed respectfully.

Evelyn's smile froze on her face. "Mr. Vance, what is the meaning of this?"

Asher turned around, his cold eyes landing on Evelyn. "Who told you my sleep data was abnormal because of her?"

Evelyn stammered, "But... but the monitors showed your heart rate was elevated in the middle of the night..."

"That's because I had her give me a massage."

Evelyn looked baffled.

I just stayed quiet.

He actually bought my lie?

Evelyn turned to me in sheer disbelief. "A massage? Mr. Vance, she doesn't even have a physical therapy license! How could you let her touch you? What if she makes your condition worse!"

Asher’s face instantly darkened.

"I pay you to treat my illness, not to tell me how to run my life."