My heels clatter to the tile under my desk, and I wiggle my toes and then press my feet flat against the cool floor. It feels so good to be out of those things. I love my heels. But damn. The last twenty-four hours have left me reconsidering my stance on daily stilettos.

I take a look around my new office and try to just enjoy it for a minute. God knows I haven’t had any time to in the last day since I took over. But that’s good, I think. The board wants me to hit the ground running and I did, even in these killer heels. And I’m not about to slow down, except for now, for five damn seconds to catch my breath and stretch my cramped toes.

The fact that I have this job is still hard to grasp. The youngest CEO in KBC history and its first woman.

How the hell did this even happen?

Yes, I’ve busted my ass to get here, but the board must have passed over a hundred better qualified and more experienced applicants to get to me. I know I interviewed well, but the fact they put the future of this network in my hands still gives me goose bumps.

Years of climbing the corporate ladder in a good ol’ boys business environment hasn’t been easy. But I made it, even if my feet are killing me for it.

A smile spreads across my face, and I recline back in my chair and spin to face the wall of windows that overlooks L.A.

This city will eat you alive if you let it. But I won’t. I’ll be the best damn CEO this network ever had. Even if it means sore feet, no sleep, and no time for sex. Though that last one is a real bummer.

The last few months have been such a whirlwind, I’ve barely had a chance to break out my B.O.B. let alone find time to spend with a real man. Most nights, I drop into bed so exhausted, the only thing on my mind is sleep for as long as I can find it.

And let me tell you, that makes for a very lonely existence. I have Christian Louboutin, Jimmy Choo, and Sergio Rossi to keep me company. But they are sharp and don’t keep the bed very warm at night. I’d much rather have someone to come home to. But finding someone who understands my work schedule and isn’t intimidated by a woman in my position has been difficult, if not impossible.

Jeff only lasted four months before he told me “women aren’t supposed to have more balls than a man,” and took off for greener pastures. Lawrence didn’t even last that long. I think it was only six weeks with him.

When did a strong woman knowing what she wants become a bad thing?

It seems the higher I advance in my career, the harder it becomes to maintain any semblance of an adult relationship. No strings attached sex is great, but one cannot live on bread (or sex) alone. And now that I have this job, things are only going to get harder.

A knock at the door breaks my reverie and I spin back toward my office, slightly perturbed. “Yes?”

Penny pops her head in and bites her lip. “I’m sorry to interrupt, ma’am.”

I wave her in. As annoyed as I am to be interrupted, I know she wouldn’t be coming in if it weren’t important. She’s been with me long enough to know when to leave me alone and when something can’t wait. “It’s fine. What do you need?”

She twists her hands together in front of her and shifts her weight. Penny came with me from the tiny MBC affiliate and she knows the business and me like the back of her hand, so seeing her this flustered sends acid churning in my gut.

This isn’t going to be good.

“Well, um, something happened at the charity basketball game today that requires your attention.”

I almost forgot about the game today. We had at least a dozen personalities from our shows playing, and it was simulcast on at least ten networks. I wish I could have watched it. There’s nothing more entertaining than actors trying to play sports. Plus, I love a good ball game.

The clock on my computer reads 5:30. I want nothing more than to go home, slip into a pair of leggings, and open a large bottle of wine. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

Penny pulls her lip between her teeth again and shakes her head. “I don’t think so, ma’am.”

I heave out a sigh and brace myself for what can only be bad news. “Well, what happened?”

She blushes ten shades of red and runs a shaky hand over her skirt. “Uh, well...there was a wardrobe malfunction.”

A wardrobe malfunction? What the hell does that mean? Someone’s uniform ripped?

All I can picture is Janet Jackson’s tit hanging out when I hear that term.

“What do you mean?”

She lets out a shaky, unsure laugh. “Well, Rafe Boswell dove for a ball, and well...his thing came out along with, well...you know...the other bits.”

His thing?

Oh, HELL no!

Visions of FCC investigations and fines flit through my head. This is bad.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Penny shakes her head. “I wish I were.”

Fudge.

“At least tell me it wasn’t caught on camera.”

That lip disappears again before she responds, and I already know what’s coming. “Unfortunately, it was broadcast on every station that was showing it live.”

I try to suck back the urge to scream.

On my second day? For the love of all that’s holy, why does it have to happen now?

“Holy hell. Get me a copy of that video immediately and schedule Rafe to come in first thing in the morning. He’s probably going to be busy licking his wounds tonight.”

Penny let’s out an awkward chuckle. “Probably, since he also got hit in the face with a ball and broke his nose.”

Facepalm.

I drop my face into my hand and sigh.

No. Double facepalm. This calls for two.