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  He’s reviewing something on his monitor and he pauses at my question and turns his attention to me. “You know she’s the best executive assistant I’ve ever had. Do you need her help with something? I thought you were happy with Preston?”

  Somehow human resources only assigns me gay men or women old enough to have birthed me. I suspect that’s on direct orders from Sawyer. Dick.

  I give the ball another toss and catch. “No, I meant, what do you think of Sandra as a woman?”

  “I don’t,” Sawyer says, narrowing his eyes at me.

  “She’s got a thing for me,” I say.

  “She doesn’t,” Sawyer says dismissively and taps the mouse on his desk, intent on ignoring me.

  “She does,” I insist. “She’s always looking at me.”

  “Maybe she thinks you’re an idiot.”

  That’s a distinct possibility. I’ve never been quite sure. Most of the time she ducks her head and calls me Mr. Laurent as she scurries past. It fucking turns me on, but I’m not sure if it turns her on or if she honestly just thinks I’m an asshole.

  “I think she’s dating someone in marketing,” Sawyer adds while tapping on his keyboard, engrossed with whatever’s on the screen in front of him.

  “They broke up over the summer,” I say confidently, leaning back in the chair and tossing the ball a little further in the air.

  “How do you know that?” Sawyer stops typing and crosses his arms across his chest. He doesn’t look pleased with my knowledge of Sandra’s dating life; I think he views her like the little sister he never had. “What could you possibly want to do with Sandra anyway?”

  I catch the ball as my brows raise in disbelief. “You need me to spell it out for you, buddy?” I lean forward in the chair and adopt a serious tone. “Sometimes, when two people are attracted to each other, they enjoy taking their clothing off together so they can—”

  “Shut up,” Sawyer interrupts. “She’s not really your type.”

  “Beautiful?” I question.

  “Sweet,” he replies.

  She is sweet, he’s right about that. I think about the paper burning a hole in my pocket and wonder again if it was hers. I’d like it to be hers. I think sweet Sandra has a hidden dirty side, and I’d really like to uncover it.

  “Don’t fuck with her, Gabe.” Sawyer’s looking at me intently. “Sandra’s not a girl to fuck around with. I promised her dad I’d take good care of her when I hired her. And she’s a little young for you, don’t you think?”

  Aha. I knew he had some hero brother thing going on, but I’m not sure I like the insinuation hanging in the air. That I’m not good enough for her.

  “Maybe I’m interested in more than just fucking with her.” I roll the ball between my fingers and meet his gaze head on.

  “You wish. She’s not going to give you the time of day.”

  “She might.” I give the ball another lob.

  “Don’t, Gabe.”

  It rankles me, this overbearing protective attitude he has towards Sandra, and I toss the ball at him as I rise. He catches it smoothly, the hint of a question in his expression, but I wave it off and exit his office.

  Sandra’s at her desk outside Sawyer’s office. Her head is down, her focus absorbed in a spreadsheet on the monitor in front of her, a pen in her right hand. She dashes off a note on a Post-It and, pulling it from the pad, affixes it neatly to her desk, aligning it perfectly to the desk edge. Then her hand trails back to the mouse and she taps it, running her finger gently over the surface to scroll the page in front of her. I’m not giving the monitor much attention though—it’s not what interests me. Her fingertip interests me. The curve of her neck interests me. Her blonde hair, pulled into a low pony and resting on her back, interests me. I think of her tapping her clit with that fingertip, getting herself off. I think about pressing my hand on the back of her neck, forcing her head down to the mattress while coaxing her ass up. I think about wrapping my hand around that leash of hair and guiding her mouth to my cock.

  Then without thinking I step forward and snatch the Post-It from her desk.

  I am an idiot, I realize the second it’s in my hand. What the fuck am I doing? I have no business touching her things. I don’t even have a plausible reason to be touching her desk.

  Sandra jolts in her chair—it’s apparent she hadn’t realized I was standing there. It’s also apparent that Sawyer isn’t in the habit of sneaking up on her and snapping things off her desk, since generally Sawyer isn’t a dick. Her head turns in my direction, her eyes widening in surprise, a flicker of unease crossing her face before she blinks and forces a professional smile, her eyes darting between me and the Post-It—the one I grabbed on impulse, simply for a glance at her handwriting in some inane belief that I could confirm the survey was hers. I glance at it, my gaze quickly covering the three-inch-by-three-inch square of paper in my hand. The one that says ‘call landlord.’ Jesus fuck. It’s not even work-related.

  “Mr. Laurent?” she questions, her blue eyes flickering uncertainly.

  “Sorry, Sandra.” I’m all business now, setting the Post-It back on the desk like it’s of no interest to me and lying through my teeth. “I thought that was the address I asked you for.”

  “I don’t have any requests from you,” she says with a slight shake of her head as she opens her email to double-check. “What did you need?” she asks, and I’m standing so close to her that she has to tilt her head back to look at me, at pretty much the same angle she’d be in if she was on her knees, my cock in her throat. Her eyelashes flutter as she waits for me to speak and I notice the slight blush to her cheeks.

  “I need the address for Sawyer’s parents,” I lie, then add, “Holiday fruit basket.” Which is unnecessary because she’s already turned back to her monitor, her fingers flying across the keyboard with efficiency.

  “Sent,” she says with a final tap. “To your email,” she adds when I don’t move, her brow raised a fraction in confusion.

  I place a hand on the back of her chair and lean in closer. Her breath catches as I place two fingers on the pad of Post-It notes on her desk and drag it closer. “Write it down,” I murmur, then fight an erection as she bites her lip, her tongue darting out as she picks up a pen and jots down the same address she just sent me via email. She pulls it from the pad and turns it so the non-sticky part faces me and then holds it out, her hand tremoring so briefly I wonder if I imagined it.

  I take the Post-It and step back from her desk with a brief smile. “Enjoy the Christmas break, Sandra.”

  “You too, Mr. Laurent. Merry Christmas.” She turns back to her computer, her focus immediately back on the spreadsheet she’d been working on.

  Shit. Maybe she just thinks I’m old?

  “I hope you get everything you want,” she adds as I’m walking away. I turn back, surprised she’s added these few brief words. My eyes slowly scan her face as I nod.

  “You too.”

  ***

  I walk away curious about what she might want for Christmas. Unless it’s Andrew from marketing. Fuck that. That guy bores the shit out of me. We’re on the company softball league together and trust me, you don’t want to get stuck on the barstool next to him after a game.

  I hope you get everything you want, she’d said. I mull that over. Was that Sandra-speak for flirting? I know what I’d like. I’d like her, under me. I’d like to see her face when she comes. I bet she closes her eyes, turns her head to the side and moans delicately. I’d like to change that. I’d like her so far gone she digs her nails into my skin, thrashing her head and groaning with no thoughts in her head except how good I’m making her feel.

  Shit, when was the last time I fantasized about watching a woman come? It’s not something I need to fantasize about; I don’t have any trouble getting a woman under me in order to experience their reactions live and in person.

  I’m out of my league with this girl.

 
Sweet. I have no idea how to get a sweet girl into my bed. My last relationship started when she handed me a key to her hotel room. The one prior was with my lawyer—initiated by her. The one before that… well, let’s just say I can’t recall the last time I’ve had to do more than flash a lazy grin or at most a wink before the woman in question picked it up from there. I’m a lazy prick, apparently.

  I get back to my office and pull the sex survey from my back pocket and toss it on my desk, the Post-It note along with it. I grin as I take a seat. This survey is ridiculous, eighties teen movie ridiculous. I flip the paper over and look at the original meeting survey that’s printed on the front. I told Sawyer we needed to take the temperature, so to speak, on these quarterly meetings, understand what was useful and what wasn’t. Most of the meeting has become unuseful, in my opinion—and whoever has written Shut the fuck up as an answer to one of the questions must agree with me. It makes me laugh. Maybe I should be offended, but fuck that. I wanted honest feedback about the meeting, and I got it. And… now that I’m looking at it more closely, this is Preston’s handwriting. And Sandra was sitting next to him during the meeting.

  I spend a few minutes sorting through the rest of the surveys. I find one that must have been completed by Sandra, the answers detailed and thoughtful, examples listed in bullet-point format. It matches the writing on the Post-It note.

  I find the handwritten sex survey again for comparison. I don’t have much to go on. 5, Gabe Laurent, All, Maybe, No. I focus on the capital letters, comparing it to her survey, and I believe I have a match.

  Sweet Sandra wants to do dirty things with me.

  Three

  Sandra

  I hope you get everything you want. I’ve replayed those words over and over in my memory a hundred times, mortification flooding my system each time. I might as well have told him to take off his pants. I could not have been any more obvious. As if the thirty-five-year-old co-owner of a huge corporation would be interested in a twenty-six-year-old administrative assistant. In me. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  And that sex quiz. I can’t stop thinking about Gabe folding it up and placing it in his pocket. That memory is downright cringeworthy. I mean—I thought about moving during the Christmas break, I really did. While I was home on Christmas Day, I thought about staying there indefinitely. But then I saw Amanda’s car parked in the driveway next door and returning to Philadelphia seemed like the less humiliating of my options.

  My name wasn’t on that paper.

  My name wasn’t on that paper.

  My name wasn’t on that paper.

  Yes, I’ve reminded myself of that a few times. A few hundred times. But… he must know it was mine. It may have only been a few words written in my handwriting, but it was enough. Then he asked me to handwrite that address. He has to know.

  I wonder if he told my boss, Sawyer? The thought is incomprehensible. Sawyer’s been so good to me, offering me the job in Philadelphia without interviewing me, without even meeting me. Our dads were fraternity brothers together back in the day, that’s how I got the job. I needed a fresh start, a fresh town. And Sawyer gave me that, no questions asked. He’s given me so much more since, making me a part of a team, making me feel useful, needed. And I’ve repaid him by behaving unprofessionally during a meeting. Like a besotted high-school student with an inappropriate crush on a teacher. I wonder if I’ll get fired? I deserve it, I think with a sad sigh.

  Tonight is New Year’s Eve, the night my boss throws the annual holiday party for employees of Clemens Corporation. Thus my week of avoidance is over. I wrinkle my nose at the reflection in the mirror. My hair is being impossible so I’ve pulled it into a low pony. It’s blonde, my hair. I’ve always found it ironic, blondes having more fun and all that. I don’t think I’m a fun girl.

  I affix dangly party earrings to my ears and take extra time on my makeup, then slip into my heels. I love these heels. They’re tall and sexy as hell, but I’m not really a sexy girl so I’m wearing them with a black pant suit so they’re mostly hidden.

  Twenty minutes later I’m at the Ritz-Carlton. I check in with the party planner running tonight’s event, then wander around saying hello to my co-workers and their dates. What if Gabe brings a date? I will die of embarrassment if I see him with a date. Last year he brought a model. I want to think disparaging things about her but the truth is she was great and everyone loved her.

  Sawyer arrives with his girlfriend Everly. I really like her, and Sawyer is head over heels in love with her. Not that he’s told me that, but I can tell. I’ve never seen him this happy. It’s not like he was miserable before she came along—he wasn’t; he’s always been a happy guy. He’s just different now. He had me give her the keys to his apartment like a week after they met. He’s never asked me to make keys for a woman before her. And the look in his eyes when Everly shows up unannounced at the office? He’s a goner.

  “Sandra, I forgot my lipstick back at Sawyer’s. Walk with me to get it?” The words are out of Everly’s mouth a second after ‘hello.’

  Sawyer mutters something about finding a drink as Everly loops her arm in mine and drags me towards the elevators. I know Sawyer lives in the residential tower attached to this hotel so his apartment isn’t far.

  “Have you seen Gabe yet?” Everly asks.

  “Mr. Laurent?” I ask, surprised she’s asking about him. “No, he’s not here yet. Did Sawyer need him for something?”

  The elevator doors open in the hotel lobby before she can answer and then she’s calling out a greeting to a girl named Chloe, who it turns out is her roommate at Penn. The three of us go to Sawyer’s apartment together and I realize the moment I’m standing on the threshold of his bedroom door that I should not be there.

  “I don’t think it’s appropriate that I’m in Mr. Camden’s bedroom,” I say, trying to keep my eyes on the floor. I do not need to know what my boss’ bedroom looks like.

  “Relax, we just have normal sex in there,” Everly says from the bathroom. “It’s not like we’re making sex tapes or anything,” she adds in what I suspect she thinks is a reassuring tone. She finds her lipstick and I think we’re headed for the door when Everly stops dead in front of the walk-in closet, squealing for everyone to wait.

  “You should try this on!” she says, holding up a black sequined miniskirt.

  “Um…” I start to protest, but she’s already pushed the skirt into my hands and turned me towards the bathroom. And, well, I am curious to see what it would look like on.

  “Sandra, your legs! I’d kill to have long legs like yours. You have to wear that skirt. I insist,” Everly gushes a minute later when I slip out of the bathroom.

  “You think?” I question, walking back into the bathroom to look at my reflection again. “I’m taller than you. This is really short on me.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re welcome. Now take off your shirt.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Just the shirt under your jacket. Then put the jacket back on.”

  “Um, you want me to go to the party without a shirt?”

  “Just do it,” Chloe says, walking over from the window. “Or we’re never leaving this room. Trust me.”

  I glance between them and realize they’re serious. I open my mouth to protest, but Chloe shakes her head. “I’ve been best friends with Everly since forever. Trust me, we are literally not leaving this apartment until she gets her way.”

  That’s how I end up in nothing but a too-short skirt and a blazer. Everly sexes up my hair too.

  “She’s setting you up, you know that, right?” Chloe asks.

  “I’m not setting anyone up,” Everly quickly denies with a shake of her head. “I’m not. I’m merely creating opportunities.”

  They bicker about what creating opportunities means before Chloe turns back and asks me what his name is.

  “His name is Gabe,” Everly answers for me as we walk back to the party. “He’s not her boss
, because I’m dating her boss and that would be super awkward, but he’s a vice-president at Clemens Corporation, which makes it a little bit naughty, don’t you think?” She seems delighted by the prospect. “Sandra wants to do dirty, dirty things with him on his desk.”

  “How could you possibly know that? You’ve seen us together one time.” I’m positive I’m beet red. If it was obvious to Everly—and she doesn’t even know about that stupid sex quiz—it must be obvious to other people.

  “I’m observant.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal.

  It’s a big deal. Am I this obvious to Gabe too? I mean, when I’m not leaving notes around about wanting to have sex with him. That was fairly obvious. But the rest of the time?

  “I’m not his type,” I say.

  “We’ll see about that,” Everly responds, all confidence. We’re mere steps into the hotel lobby when I see him. God, he looks good. He’s across the lobby waiting for an elevator to the party space on the second floor, his gaze on the display over the elevator doors.

  I take the opportunity to look him over. He’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. Tall enough to make me feel tiny next to him, which isn’t easy when you’re five eight. I’d guess he’s got at least half a foot on me. He’s in a suit tonight, black. He doesn’t wear a suit every day to work; he’s apt to show up in jeans just as often, yet somehow he still manages to exude authority, no matter what he’s wearing. And the glasses. They kill me. Thick-rimmed glasses that should be nerdy, but holy hell, are anything but on him.

  My ogling is interrupted because Everly spots him too and then she’s calling out his name and waving.

  Four

  Gabe

  I can’t remember the last time I was alone on New Year’s Eve. Never, possibly. I had options for tonight—too many options, truth be told. None of them interested me, my thoughts distracted by a shy blonde who may or may not even be interested. Fuck. I haven’t been this uncertain of a woman since high school. Hell, even then they made it easy for me.