Three days later, I haven’t heard anything about the job. According to company gossip and my buddy in Human Resources, no one has. The position remains unfilled.

Mr. Zanetti talked to me about his systems conversion project this morning, pitching the high profile managerial role to me with a flattering intensity. I feigned interest, blowing him off with a noncommittal promise to think about it.

It’s not the position I want. He’s not the executive I wish to work for.

I’m tired of not knowing Rob’s decision. It’s Friday, five o’clock. If I don’t find out the status today, I’ll have to wait until Monday.

The hell with that.

I stomp between the empty cubicles. The Finance floor is deserted. Mrs. Bellows isn’t sitting at her desk. Rob could have left the office too. It’s a beautiful summer day. He might be enjoying it, drinking craft beer on an upscale restaurant’s patio with Logan Ross or one of his other billionaire friends, not caring that he’s fucking up my weekend.

I rap my knuckles against his door, pissed off, not expecting him to answer.

“Go away.” Rob sounds exhausted.

I ignore his order and enter the room. He looks like shit. “What have you done to yourself?” His hair is mussed. There are dark circles under his eyes. Stubble shadows his chin.

“You.” His eyes are bloodshot. When was the last time he slept?

“Yes, me.” I march toward his desk. The wooden surface is covered with papers. Multiple screens display his schedule. “I realize you’re a control freak, but even control freaks need help sometimes.”

“Does everyone call me a control freak?” He slaps a piece of paper with the palm of his right hand. “Because everyone can fuck off.”

He’s in a mood. This doesn’t shock me. With others, he might be cool and collected, but, for some intriguing reason, I bring out the grouchy bear in him. “Where is Mrs. Bellows? Why isn’t she helping you?”

“I sent her home.”

“You sent everyone home. The entire floor is devoid of life.” I scan the evidence. “Why do you have two schedules open—one for this year and one for the same week next year?”

His jaw juts.

There are meetings booked in both. Very few people schedule meetings a year in advance. “You inputted meetings into the wrong year, didn’t you?” I reach over and scroll through the times. “Oh my God. You’re double booked for a week.”

“For a month,” he mutters.

Many of the meetings are marked urgent. “You’re so fucked.”

He sighs, his shoulders slumping, his anger deflating. “I was afraid of that.”

His distress makes my heart ache. It shouldn’t. Rob caused this trouble for himself by not allowing Mrs. Bellows to do her job, but I can’t leave him to repair the damage alone. I have to help him. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t have the right to ask you to do anything for me. You haven’t been hired yet. I didn’t have time to fill out the paperwork.”

“You won’t have time for another month if we don’t fix this.” I move beside him, acutely aware of his big body close to mine. “What are our next steps?”

“The next steps can wait.” Rob lifts me onto his desk, setting my ass on a stack of papers. “I need to rest for a minute or two.” He unfastens my blazer and spreads the fabric. “Clear my head.” He presses his face between my breasts. His warm breath permeates the silk of my camisole, wafting over my skin.

This need for comfort is a side of Rob I’ve never seen. He’s normally either righteously angry or rigidly self-possessed, no sign of weakness in him.

I can’t resist responding to this unspoken cry for help.

“Then rest.” I open my thighs and he pushes forward until he’s snug against my panty-covered pussy. “You’re no longer alone.” I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulders, holding him to me. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I should be taking care of you.” He closes his eyes. “You’re mine.”

I’m his—what? Employee? Pain in the ass? Prospective sex slave? I don’t ask this because I doubt he knows. His brain isn’t functioning properly.

“I can take care of myself,” I assure him.

“Hmmm…” He doesn’t believe me.

I rest my chin on top of his head, breathe in, breathe out, inhaling his woodsy scent, relishing the feel of his form against mine. He’s physically strong, his muscles hard, his physique fit, yet he’s emotionally vulnerable, requiring my soothing touch.

It feels good to be needed this way. I pet his unruly curls, the short strands decadently soft. It feels damn good.

Moments pass. The link between us strengthens. It’s no longer a quiet pulse beneath the surface of our interactions. It’s loud, insistent, a tangible connection.

This is wrong, so very wrong. Rob wants to force my friend to quit. He’s interviewing replacement assistants, candidates he’d like to fuck. I’m merely one of them, an interchangeable pussy for him to stick his cock into.

Wishing this wasn’t the truth won’t change the reality.

“Zanetti said he talked to you,” Rob murmurs against my breasts.

“He did.”

His shoulders stiffen. “Did he touch you?”

“No.” I want to tell him that it would be none of his business if Mr. Zanetti did touch me but Rob doesn’t have the energy to deal with more drama. “Did you interview any other candidates?”

He straightens, lifting his head from my breasts. I feel the absence of his warmth, his touch, immediately.

“I haven’t had time to do anything,” he confesses, not meeting my gaze. “The double booking of meetings started the day after your interview.”

I close my legs and smooth down my skirt. “What did you do?”

Rob taps on one of the screens, displaying the schedule for Saturday and Sunday. Every slot is filled from eight in the morning until eight at night.

“You’re working all weekend.” He won’t have the recuperation time he desperately needs in his high stress job. “Mrs. Bellows—”

“I don’t need her help.”

Lord save me from stubborn asses. “You need someone’s help.” I shake my head. “Any external people you meet with have to be let into the building, accompanied in the elevator, shown to your office.”

Rob rubs his hands over his face. “I’ll ask my top manager, Miss Whyte, to come in.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I slip off the desk, taking some of the papers with me. They drift to the floor, their descent more graceful than mine. “I’ll help you. But…” I hold up my right index finger. “I get the assistant to your assistant job.” I pause. “And Mrs. Bellows keeps her position for as long as she wants it.”

“Six months.”

“What?”

“She reaches retirement age in six months,” Rob explains. “Then she’ll have a full pension, full benefits.”

“And you weren’t willing to wait that long?” I curl my top lip. He opens his mouth. “Don’t tell me you need six months to train the new assistant. Top executives don’t transition for six months and Mrs. Bellows’ role is less key to the company.”

“Kirsten—”

“I don’t want to hear your weak-assed explanation.” I cut him off. “We don’t have time for an argument. We have a mess to fix.” One that he created. “I’m doing this for Mrs. Bellows, not for you.”

“I understand.” His face hardens. “I’ve rebooked Monday until three o’clock.”

“You rebooked Monday.” That should have been Mrs. Bellows’ job.

“We don’t have time for an argument,” Rob reminds me, using my own words. He displays the schedules and we both lean over the desk, our shoulders touching.

I feel the contact down to my toes.

Four hours later, we’ve rebooked the entire week and notified those affected. There’s no Monday to Friday in the real estate world and that’s a good thing, because Rob will be working seven days a week for at least half the month. The poor bastard’s workday has also been extended to eight in the evening.

I’ve sent Mrs. Bellows my regrets, telling her I won’t be attending her family and friends barbeque this weekend, giving a vague ‘something came up’ as my excuse. This is the first barbeque of hers I’ve ever said yes to. In the past, I’ve been out of town with projects.

My friend must be losing patience with me.

Not that Rob cares. When I mentioned it to him, he said he’d feed me, as though this is all I’ll be missing. Then he delivered on this promise. We ordered and devoured two orders of fish and chips, eating while we worked.

Both of us discarded our jackets. Rob ditched his tie, rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing his defined forearms. No man should look this good. I want to nibble on him, eat him like dessert.

It’s a shame he’s a heartless ass.

“I’ll drive you home.” He grabs both of our jackets and clasps my hand.

“Of course you will.” I follow him out of the office, walking between the cubicles. The bus I normally take doesn’t run very often this late at night. Or on weekends. “You’ll pick me up tomorrow morning, too.”

“The expected response is ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’” His voice lilts with humor.

I grin at him. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I give up my entire weekend to help you.”

“You never give an inch, do you?” Rob presses the button for the elevator.

“Would you want me to?”

“No,” he answers without hesitation. “I like you the way you are.”

He likes me. My chest warms. I always knew he wanted my body but I didn’t realize he enjoyed my brain also.

The doors open. We enter the small space. I stare, dismayed, at my reflection in the mirrored walls.

“I’m a mess.” My hair is tangled and loose. My lipstick has been wiped clean.

“You’re beautiful.” Rob selects the executive parking level. “With your dark hair and darker eyes, you look like a curvaceous Madonna. Every time I see you, I want to fall to my knees and worship you with my fingers, tongue, cock.”

I turn and gawk at him. “What the fuck?” Where did all of that poetry come from?

Red creeps up his neck. “I’m tired. If you don’t want to hear what I really think, you shouldn’t talk to me.”

“I’m talking to you.” Because I do want to know what he really thinks. “Have you been censoring your thoughts around me?”

“The R-rated ones.”

“There’s no need to hold back from me, Rob.” I step closer to him, placing my palms on his shirt-covered chest. “I can handle all of you, your dirty thoughts, your kinky sexual needs, your exhaustion-fueled rampages.”

“Yeah?” He drapes our jackets over his right shoulder and grips my hips, gazing down at me with desire in his brown eyes. Heat radiates from his body, encircling me.

“Yeah.” My voice is husky.

We stare at each other, our forms pressed together, our breaths meshing. My curves fit into his muscle, softness against his unrelenting form.

He’s a dick but maybe there’s hope for him. Maybe if I show him how helpful I can be this weekend, he’ll allow Mrs. Bellows to do her job. He’ll appreciate her, treat her with the respect she deserves, and I won’t feel guilty about wanting him.

The elevator doors open. Rob takes my hand and leads me through the parking garage to his sleek black Maserati.

It’s classy, luxurious, and exactly the type of car I’d expect him to drive.

Then I notice the license plate. “RReyes1?” I laugh. “Pretentious much?”

“It was a gift.” He grumbles, opening the passenger side door for me. “Keep your sarcastic comments to yourself.” He waits for me to sit. “Mrs. Bellows was proud of herself for thinking of it.” He hands me our suit jackets and closes the door.

He doesn’t want anyone to ridicule his assistant’s gift, to hurt her. I watch him as he moves to the driver’s side. Yet he plans to push Mrs. Bellows out of the job she loves. He fills the seat beside me.

“You make no damn sense,” I tell him.

“Says the woman who asked the takeout delivery man if our fish was sourced locally.” Rob drives the same way he walks, smoothly, his movements controlled.

“It could have been sourced locally, from Lake Ontario or a nearby waterway.”

“We ordered cod, an ocean fish.” His tone is dry. “We’re nowhere near an ocean.”

My face heats. “I didn’t pay attention to the kind of fish we ordered.” I was distracted by his proximity, how he’d placed his arm around me, as we peered at the order screen. He smelled fantastic. I inhale deeply. As he does right now, like wood and manly musk. “You’re dropping me off at my apartment, right?” Being a bus rider, I don’t recognize the route he’s taking.

“I am.” He changes lanes. “I’d prefer to bring you home, to my place, but I’m too exhausted to do anything other than sleep.”

“You’re assuming I’d agree to go home with you.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

I likely would but I don’t want to make it too easy for him. “It depends on what you had planned for the evening.”

“Right now, the plan is to fall into the sleep of the dead.” Rob stares at the bumper of a bright yellow taxi. “But if I was rested, I’d take my time and fuck you right. There isn’t one inch of you I wouldn’t lick, suck, draw into my mouth. I’d swallow your cries, feast on your release. The scent of you would be on my fingertips, in my hair, filling my lungs. Tomorrow when I was sitting in one of those Goddamn meetings, surrounded by serious young men in dark suits, I’d recall the flavor of you on my tongue and harden.”

“Oh my God.” I crush the jackets I’m holding. My panties are soaked. My breasts ache for his touch. My need for him verges on the edge of pain.

His gaze flicks to my face and then returns to the traffic. “That was the censored version of what I planned to do, if you’re wondering.”

Sweet Jesus. “I’m packing an overnight bag.”

“One night won’t be enough for us, beautiful.” Rob’s lips curl upward. “Not with all that I want to do with you.”

“There are some things I want to do with you too.” I place my hand on his thigh. His muscles flex under the fabric of his dress pants. “We’ll fuck our brains out tomorrow night and then, come Sunday, we’ll dial it back to business hours only.”

Because I have to remember I’m a convenience for him, not a lover.

“Hmmm…” He doesn’t believe me.

“You’re buying my days, boss, not my nights.” I lift my chin.

“There won’t be anyone else.”

Does he mean for me or for him? I say nothing because there hasn’t been, for me, not for a long time, and like hell will I ever admit that to him.

Moments pass.

“We have meetings booked every day until eight o’clock. I’ll need you for a couple of hours after that.” The damn man plans to block my evenings.

“Fine.” His evenings will be blocked also. “I expect you to supply dinner and to drive me home.”

“Done.” He nods.

His agreement was a little too quick for my comfort. I must not have asked for enough. “You’ll send Mrs. Bellows home at five in a taxi.”

He parks the car in a tow-away zone in front of the building I live in. “I send her home every night in one of the company limos.”

“Oh.” Who does that for an assistant? “Okay.”

“I’m not the bastard you think I am, Kirsten.” Rob turns to me, sincerity shining in his eyes. “I care for Margaret.” He unfastens my seat belt. “I care for everyone who works for me.”

“I don’t officially work for you.”

He drifts his fingers over my cheeks. “Not officially.”

What does that mean? Does he or doesn’t he care for me? And why does this matter to me?

Rob’s lips cover mine and my questions dissipate, evaporating under the heat of my desire. Our tongues tumble and entwine. The stubble on his chin leaves a burning trail over my skin.

I moan into his throat, lean closer, hungry for more of him. My mind and heart may be confused, unsure about my feelings. My body has no such qualms. I want him, need his tongue in my mouth, his hands on my breasts, his cock in my pussy.

I wiggle closer to him. He leans deeper into me. The darkness in his eyes tells me he’s as lost as I am, as swept away by our embrace. I curve my fingers over his nape.

Knuckles rap on the windshield.

“Shit.” Rob pulls away from me. The new security guard waves his hands, indicating the car has to be moved. “I’ll park and walk you up.”

“Don’t park.” I gaze at him through a haze of desire. “I’ll be fine.” I fumble with the door, manage to open it, stumble to my feet. The night air cools the lingering flickers of passion, clears the fog from my brain. “See you tomorrow, bright and early.”

I walk away, not looking back. There’s no need to. I know Rob’s watching me.

And this thrills me.