Page 7 of Foreplay with the Boss

He looked up from his computer—so far we hadn’t crossed paths on the train again. The past two mornings I’d taken an earlier one and set up in a coffee shop just to make sure, because the more I was around him, the more my thoughts tried to veer right into the gutter. In my defense, the guy was basically walking suit porn.

I clasped my hands behind my back, sticking to my spot just a few steps inside the room.

“Why are you hovering near the door like you might need to bolt at any second?”

A sarcastic comment about him discovering my secret—that I was on the run from the law—was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it back. Mostly because I also thought about how fun it’d be to add a flirty comment about how I was a bad girl, one who needed punished.

I’d never have the guts to actually say that, but I knew it could pitch my voice in ways that’d hint at my improper attraction. “You looked busy. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“That’s not it,” he said, a challenging gleam in his hawk-like gaze. Was it weird to suddenly wish I was his prey?

Yes, yes it is. “Just keeping the professional lines where they’re supposed to be. I didn’t want to enter your office without permission.”

“You can enter my office to check in and still keep inside the lines, and unless the door’s closed, you don’t need permission.”

Regarding that first part, I wasn’t sure I could. Was it keeping inside the lines to picture your boss as the hero in the steamy novel you were reading? I might’ve also inserted myself in the heroine’s place, and last night the two of them did some very dirty, delicious things to each other.

Time to redirect those thoughts. I took a couple of long strides into the room, stopping behind the empty chair across the desk from his. “I was just wondering if you needed me to get anything ready for the ten o’clock meeting in the conference room.”

“Did you get the presentation I emailed?”

I hugged the notebook I’d brought to help keep my hands busy to my chest. “Yes, and I’ve watched it through twice so I would be familiar with it.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

The corner of his mouth twisted up. “Well, at least you finish your sentences when they’re one word, even if I feel like you’re still holding back.”

“Super great,” I said. “Can’t wait for the meeting, and to see how you run it. I’ll be taking lots of notes.”

His smile spread, and holy shit it did melty, tingly things to my insides. “Super great. I’ll see you in there, then.”

I nodded and spun around, and he muttered something that I couldn’t make out. “What was that?” I asked over my shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“Now who’s talking in one-word sentences?” I teased, before wondering if teasing was okay.

“And yet, I’m holding back, too.”

I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he turned to his computer and the tapping of the keyboard filled the air.

I settled into my desk and grabbed the stack of files I’d started organizing yesterday. I’d been introduced to everyone at the office, a rapid-fire exchange of names and titles that I was trying to imprint in my brain. In Hartford, we’d added a few people to help design ads, but we concentrated more on the marketing side of business. Before Dad had agreed to the merger, he’d fought to ensure the branch back home would stay open, even though it no longer bore his name. Most of the people had worked there for years, and several of the employees had been in my life since childhood. I loved the family-oriented feel of our office, something that was definitely not present here.

Alphabetically organizing files didn’t help me learn as much as I’d hoped, but this was part of pulling my weight and making things easier on Jameson—er, Mr. Stone. Or Stone as most everyone referred to him. The sympathetic looks people gave me when they found out I was his personal assistant didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

Debra, the receptionist, handled most of the office’s incoming phone calls, but when I saw all the lines blinking, I decided to help. I cleared my throat and picked up one of the lines. “Hello, Craze Advertising and Marketing, Katrina speaking.”

“I need to talk to JT.” The female voice was husky and suggestive, making his name sound like something naughty.

Or maybe I was projecting. At least she didn’t call him Jameson, but I wasn’t sure why that would make a difference to me, the girl who could only call him Jameson in her head. And I should really stop before I slip and do it aloud. Stone or Mr. Stone, from now on. “Can I ask who’s calling?”

“Just tell him it’s Vivienne.”

“Hold, please.” I was always worried I would accidentally hang up on someone or transfer before announcing them. I rang Jameson’s extension. “There’s a Vivienne on the phone for you.”

He let out a long exhale. “Go ahead and put her through.”

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