Page 40 of Aim Assist

But when I think of how I ran out of there, terrified by how much I wanted to stay…

Jesus. I'll be lucky if he ever looks at me twice after that.

I'm not thinking about last night. Nope. Not at all.

Steam billows around me as I step into the shower, water scalding my skin pink. I wince as I reach for the shampoo bottle. Christ, even my arms are sore. Images of Liam's hands gripping my wrists flash through my mind. The slick slide of his body against mine, the deep rumble of his voice in my ear as he—

Fuck.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the memories away. Soap suds sting as they slip down my face. I'm not thinking about it. I'm here for work, not pleasure.

Except last night was very, very pleasurable.

No. Stop.

I turn the water to cold, letting it shock some sense into me. Goosebumps prickle my skin as I towel off, the fluffy cotton soothing against my tender flesh. There's beard-burn in a few spots, and that makes me—

No. Nope.

In the bedroom, I slip into a retro shirtwaist dress, the skirt swishing around my thighs. As I smooth my palms down the front, I can almost feel Liam's fingers trailing the same path, his touch electric even through the fabric.

Jesus, I'm fucking hopeless.

Perched at the vanity, I work curl cream through my damp hair, scrunching the ringlets to encourage them. The diffuser drowns out my spiraling thoughts for a blessed few minutes. But as I lean closer to the mirror to apply my makeup, I can't help but remember how Liam looked at me last night, his eyes dark and wanting. Like I was the only thing that mattered.

No one's ever looked at me like that before.

I swipe on lipstick, a deep crimson that makes me feel powerful and sexy, even if I'm a mess on the inside. Grabbing my bag, I take a deep breath and head for the door.

It's fine. I can do this. I'll walk into that conference room and wow them with my sparkling personality and razor-sharp gaming skills. And if I run into Liam...

Well. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

It might be shameful to run right after the best sex of your life—seriously, the best, bar none—but it isn't a sin. Right?

Maybe he'll think I'm quirky. Quirky is fine. Quirky is doable. And if I can finagle a second date, I'll be less panicky and flight-prone.

Deep down, I know there won't be a second date. I'm going to pretend like nothing ever happened. Like I don't know who he is.

It's how I roll when shit touches that vulnerable part of me I have locked away.

But first, work.

"Amy Sloane." I extend my hand, willing confidence into my voice. "Pleasure to meet you."

The man across from me grins, his teeth startlingly white against his tanned skin. He's dressed in standard business casual—crisp button-down, tailored slacks—but perched atop his head is an honest-to-God crown. Glittery and silver, like something out of a little girl's dress-up box.

And are those... elf ears? Delicately pointed tips peeking out from his dark hair?

I blink. Nope, still there.

"The name's K." He clasps my hand firmly. "The pleasure is all mine."

I can't help it—my eyes flick back to the crown. "So, uh. What's with the...?" I gesture vaguely.

The glittery plastic catches the light as he stares at me, eyebrow raised. "The crown is mandatory. Company policy."

"Oh, really?" I can't stop the smirk tugging at my lips. "Must have missed that memo."

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