I’m all grown up, buddy.
Boss or not—Dad’s best friend or not—I will not tone myself down for you.
The heated challenge in his gaze before he steps around me to go do—well who knows what?
I’m not privy to his schedule—has a rush of heat swathing me.
It piles onto the dirty thoughts I’ve been having of him and Dad’s other two friends this past year.
Since they’ve been less peripheral in my life as an adult moving into the same field as my father.
Mentally shaking myself free of the onslaught of ready fantasies, I stomp back into the conference room and plop back into my seat.
The girl a few seats down smiles, so I send her a wink, too.
“You don’t look at all overwhelmed by this.”
There are empty seats between us, and I nod her closer.
“No. It’s just boring.”
The girl scoots over.
Blonde, slight, a little too innocent and bright. Enthusiastic. Sweet.
The complete opposite of my jaded, demanding personality.
I rather like it. Holding out my hand, I say, “Harper.”
She takes it with a firmer squeeze than I expect. “Sunny.”
Ah, such a fitting name. She’s pure sunshine.
“Don’t let all of the postering and musk around here intimidate you. You’ll get used to it in no time.”
The other five interns send me curious looks, and I settle back into my chair like a lazy predator.
My look is all “I’ll eat you alive before you ever get a taste; don’t bother.”
Besides, the fantasies I have aren’t for boys my age.
They’re for men who know how to push and when to be soft.
Who can test my limits and pull me back from the brink.
Who can break me in all the right ways.
No one here has the balls.
Plopping my binder in my lap and smoothing out another form on top of it, I swivel my chair toward the windows into the office.
Watching people work is better than feeling restrained by that streamlined wooden table meant for efficiency and power.
It doesn’t work for me.
Once the hunched postures and tapping keyboards bore me, I focus back on the paperwork.
It’s not hard, but when my hand cramps I refocus out the window.
