Page 5 of The Substitute

She makes my cock twitch.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, your substitute.” She frowns. “No, that’s not right. Your temp!” Her face brightens once more. “Sorry, early morning with little coffee. I’m your temp.”

With a shake of her head, she laughs and crosses to the reception desk.

“Is this mine?”

“Yes. Make yourself comfortable. There’s a wet bar with coffee in my office. Feel free to use it.”

“Oh, thanks. Appreciate it. Let me just get settled, and I’ll be in to get my marching orders.”

“Very well.”

I nod once and return to my office but don’t sit at my desk. Instead, I stand at the windows, shove my hands in my pockets, and stare out at the gray spring day.

I don’t believe I’ve ever had this kind of visceral reaction to a woman within the first several minutes of meeting her.

And she’s my bloody assistant.

“Would you like coffee?” she asks as she bustles into my office and heads straight for the coffee maker. “Is that part of my assistant duties?”

“No.” My voice sounds hard, but damn it, I don’t want to want her. I just want her to do her goddamn job without her feelings getting hurt every twelve minutes. “I’ll get my own coffee.”

She turns and raises a brow at me, seemingly unaffected by my gruff tone.

“Okay.” She finishes assembling her drink and then sits across from me, taking a sip and then looking around my desk as if searching for something.

“What do you need?”

“Coaster.” She sips again. “I don’t want to make a ring on this gorgeous desk. Is it an antique? It looks Edwardian.”

I frown at her and then at my big, sturdy—and yes, antique—desk. She knows about antique furniture?

“Uh, indeed, it is.” I’d like to do things to her on this desk, but I just frown down at the mahogany. “No coaster. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, but you don’t want a permanent ring on it.” With a shrug, she sets the mug down and opens her iPad, tapping the screen and then poising the pencil over it. “I’m ready when you are.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take notes.”

“Why?”

She lifts an eyebrow again, but the humor never leaves her eyes.

“Blue.” My voice randomly breaks into the silence, startling us both.

“Sorry?” She frowns in confusion.

I shake my head. “Your eyes are blue.”

“Kind of gray, really, from what I’m told. But anyway, I’m going to take notes because you’re going to tell me what my job is here since I’ve lost the ability to read minds. I traded it in for my sparkling personality.”

She smiles and bats those intriguing eyelashes. Suddenly, my stomach feels like it’s been twisted into a knot.

I clear my throat and begin telling her what I expect from her each day.

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