The office is truly impressive. All of the walls are glass, with steel supports and black and white photos of New York hanging from wire affixed to the high, clear walls. Kayla brings me into a conference room adjacent to her office. The other side of the conference room shares a wall with Ryan’s office, where he’s on the phone, looking sexy as all hell, clearly on an important call.

I wonder what it’s like to be him. For this all to be permanent. Real life. Because as of right now, as an intern, everything is all very temporary for me.

“Okay.” Kayla hits the lights and connects her laptop to a cord in the middle of the conference room table. There’s a stack of books off to one side. They look like library books, all tattered and worn, old, with the covers and spines becoming unglued from the pages inside. “Ryan’s been kicking this idea around for a while, and he’s wanted to try and assign it to a few other interns, but to be perfectly honest, none of them has had your aptitude.”

“Oh! That’s so nice! I mean, it’s not nice about the other interns. I mean that’s nice of you to say about me.”

“It’s the absolute truth. Most of the interns here think this is an opportunity to goof off. I think this they forget this is an actual place of business.”

“I won’t forget. The work you guys do here is amazing.” I try not to pile it on too much, but I completely mean it. I know I kind of blew the interview, even though it was totally inadvertent, and I still feel like I have to prove that I want to be here. “I’ve become somewhat of a fangirl since I heard about you guys. I think I’ve listened to about ten or eleven episodes since I interviewed here a week ago.”

“Then you’ve shown greater initiative in the past week, before you ever started officially working here, than most of the interns have in their whole tenure with the company.”

“I don’t mean any disrespect, but why do you think it is that a lot of the interns have been…”

“Disappointing? Subpar? Fucking awful?” Kayla smiles as she sits down across from me at the conference table.

“Well...yeah,” I respond meekly.

“Ryan is the best at what he does. Hands down. And I have a lot of love and respect for the man. But he has a major blind spot when it comes to women. I’m not saying all of the interns have be all that bad.” She clicks a few things on the laptop and a few spreadsheets come up. “Just most of them.”

“Ohhh...gotcha.”

“Ryan hand-picks everyone who works here. And he has his reasons. The group of interns we have currently is excellent. Including you. Which is why he was so eager to have you tackle this project, given your education and background.”

“I’m very eager to start!”

“You are doing this internship for college credit in addition to the stipend, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“That’s a first. In fact, a lot of the interns who come through our doors aren’t really formally students anymore. But it is genuinely an internship because education is our first priority,” Kayla explains.

“That’s part of what I like about you guys so much.”

Between the call-in show and everything else that Ryan does, isn’t true, and the more I’ve learned over the past week, the more I realize that Dirty After Dark actually is a really good fit for me. In addition to doing all sorts of promotions and advertising for different brands - which is how he became filthy rich - he also is a huge proponent of sex education reform. He even appeared in front of Congress about two years ago to lobby for more comprehensive sex education. He’s an advocate for LGBT rights, and he’s a huge player in the charity community both here in LA and in New York.

“Sara, you can stop trying to prove yourself. You have the position. You are very impressive. And I’m thrilled that Ryan’s selected someone who seems to know their ass from their elbow.”

I wasn’t sure if I would feel comfortable in a work environment where people are so very free with their language, but I am. It doesn’t feel awkward. I’m still a little concerned about how I’ll feel if and when Ryan starts asking me all kind of personal questions again, but when I think back to the interview, I realize that I actually sort of loved it in spite of myself, in spite of everything I assumed about myself.

“That’s me,” I respond. “I’m a girl who knows her ass from her elbow. I might not know the difference between a vibrator and a dildo, but I’m a quick learner.”

Kayla shakes her head and laughs. I love how she does her makeup. It’s in a retro pinup style, totally opposite from me. I usually just wear a little bit of lipgloss and mascara and I’m good to go. I wonder whether Ryan would prefer a more made-up look for me.

“So, let’s review what you’ll actually be doing in this internship. In addition to helping out with the day to day production of the show, we would like you to devote a lot of your time to creating segments devoted to how sex education has evolved over the past half decade or so. Ryan’s doing this series of specialized pieces, and this is one that he’s had on the back burner. It was only when you came along that he found a person up for the assignment.” She pulls up a spreadsheet on her computer and the projector on the table throws its image against a white screen against the wall. “This is a list of sources I’ve found. You can use this as a starting off point. You can use as many of these as you like, or none of them, or all of them. We want you to make this your own project.”

“Wow,” I say, peering at the spreadsheet on the screen. “Textbook from the 60s? Ladies magazines from the 80s? This is going to be fun!”

“Good. I’m glad. One of the other projects we did was how to take the best sexy selfies and somehow an intern came unprepared for that episode. So you have a lot to work with here.”

I glance over a few more of the titles that Kayla’s designated for me. There’s several outdated biology and anatomy textbooks. It’s almost like this project has been tailor-made for me.

“Thank you so much, Kayla!”

“I’ll let you get working.” Kayla disconnects her computer and flips the lights on, leaving behind a printout of the spreadsheet with all the titles of the books. “You can feel free to hang out in here, or bring your work to your desk. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

She smiles and leaves me to it. I start to peruse the list of publications, and there’s even more great stuff here than I thought. I grab the books over on the other side of the table and put them in front of me, and start dividing Kayla’s reading list by time period, and then further by type: medical, biology or health textbook; popular reading materials like women’s and men’s health and beauty magazines; and then things that seem to be public advisories and service announcements.

There’s a lot to work with, and by the time I look up to check the time on my phone, it’s almost lunch time. My stomach grumbles a bit and I see Ryan stride confidently over to the conference room.

He raps twice on the door and pokes his head in

“Lunch?” Flashing his signature smile, he shifts into the conference room and sits down at the table across from me, where I have spread out several sheets of paper and the books I’ve started to look at. The project is starting to take shape in my mind, but I haven’t eaten since early this morning.

“Do you take all of your interns out to lunch on their first day?” I ask, putting my pen down.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Only the beautiful ones, though.”

My stomach tumbles inside my core, and I know he’s said this to every girl who comes to his office, but I can’t help it.

“So which is it? Only the beautiful ones, or all of them?”

“All of my interns are beautiful.”

“You say that to all of them, don’t you, sir?”

“I like the way you call me sir,” he says cooly. “And no, I don’t say it to all of them.”

“So how do you decide?”

“I only say it to the ones who are beautiful on the inside, too.”

Swoon-worthy, and he’s saying it to me.

“Okay,” I say, standing up. “You’ve convinced me. And you’re the boss, anyway. Don’t I have to do what you say?”

“Absolutely not.” He holds the door for me as we make our way out of the conference room. “But if you want to, I can have you doing exactly what I want.” His whisper sends a chill zipping straight down my spine, spearing me between the legs.

I clear my throat and straighten my back up as we go over to my cubicle. A few of the other employees at Dirty After Dark are at their own cubicles doing research on their computers, or eating salad in between talking with their colleagues.

“What’s good to eat around here?” I grab my rain coat, even though it’s a beautiful day outside today.

“You tell me,” he says, “you young people know all the hip and happening spots around town.”

“Hardly,” I reply. Walking through the reception area toward the elevators, I feel his presence around me. He really is larger than life, with a voice to match - a face made for billboards, and a voice made for the sweet, sweet sounds coming out of your speakers.

“I thought you were a native of the city.” He leans back against the walls by the elevators, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his tight jeans. He is sexy on ads at bus stops, but so much hotter in person. Two dimensions don’t do him justice - he’s an all-around full package when it comes to looks.

Chiseled jaw with a peppering of a facial hair, as though he doesn’t want a full beard, but can’t be bothered to shave. Deep and stormy eyes that scream mystery, grey and swimming and piercing with their intensity. I imagine he looks at everyone like this, but the way he’s leaning against that wall is making me want to beg him to throw me against it and put my hands over my head.

Teach me a thing or two about getting dirty.

“I am from here,” I say, nodding and hitching my purse squarely onto my shoulder. “But I’m not much of an adventurous eater. I mostly have pre-made salads from the grocery store when I’m not eating in the dining hall.”

“Ah, yes,” he says as our elevator dings. “The dining hall. Forgive me, I almost forgot you’re still a student. We have interns of all ages come through our doors. You don’t seem like you’re in college. You’re so driven, and you have so much purpose. Most people your age don’t know what the hell they’re doing.”

The doors open and we step inside, that breathtaking view of the city greeting us. This is a gorgeous view, and having it be the backdrop for Ryan is just perfect.

“I kind of had to get it all figured out,” I say as the elevator zips us down to the first floor. I don’t want to admit that I’m patching together an income on a combination of grants, loans, scholarships and this internship, so I decide to leave that part out. “Just really want to get good grades, is all. What about you? You’re from New York, right?”

“Yep, New York, born and bred.” We step outside into the warm California afternoon sunshine. “It’s nothing like here. I like it better out here. People are more laid back.”

“In Los Angeles?” I smirk and follow Ryan as he starts down the palm tree-studded sidewalk. “You don’t find people in LA to be, I don’t know, a little bit obsessed with themselves? Self-involved?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” he says, reaching over his shoulder to scratch an itch. Gosh, the way his muscles work under his shirt...his arms are ripped, pure tanned muscle, smooth and firm. My stomach churns into a knot when I see him shoot a quick glance over to me as he looks over to check if there are any cars coming. We cross the street and I steady myself, following him to a ramp leading to an underground parking lot. “The people in New York are obsessed with themselves in a different way. Here, everyone focuses on buying a certain look, you know? Back east, everyone wants to buy prestige. It’s just a different kind of one-upmanship.”

“So what made you decide to come out to California? Was it something you heard in a song that beckoned you?”

“Not exactly.”

The parking lot is full of expensive cars, foreign and domestic, some that I recognize and others that I’ve never even seen in advertisements. Ryan fishes his keys out of his pocket and clicks the fob, setting his car off with a beep.

I see him walk over to the driver’s side of a gorgeous, sharp, solid black car that I recognize as a Lamborghini. I don’t know how much something like this costs, but I know it must be a fortune.

Suddenly concerned that I might have dirt on my shoes, I look down and cautiously glance at my feet, careful to not let him see. I don’t want him to think I’ve stepped in anything.

“So you never told me where you wanted to go for lunch.” Ryan comes around to the passenger’s side of the vehicle and opens the door for me before jogging back around to his side, around the front of the car. He looks born to do this, opening the door for a girl getting into his car, except the girl should have black stilettos on the end of her thin, smooth and perfectly long legs.

“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug, trying to keep it cool. I pretend I know where are the hip restaurants are, what they’re called, as though by wishful thinking I’ll be able to come up with a place that will impress the boss. Oh, yes, what about that new place that has the oysters and champagne? What was it called again? I can’t remember, I’m so silly. “Subway?”

“I could do Subway,” he says, backing out of the parking space. “But I had that for lunch yesterday. Why don’t I take you someplace a little bit more festive to celebrate your first day at the office? Do you like Mediterranean?”

My stomach grumbles a bit and I press my hand over it to disguise the sound. If we were in my car, I would have turned up the radio a little to drown it out.

“That sounds awesome!” I say. “I love Mediterranean.”

“Okay. Good.” Ryan sneaks a glance over at me and squints his eyes against the sun. The temperature inside the car is perfect, and it smells nice and new, like musky leather and whatever manly cologne Ryan as on. When he scrunches up his face against the bright sky, he looks even cuter than he did a few moments ago. He smiles and adjusts his visor, sliding his other hand along the steering wheel. “You’re going to like it. And like it or not, I still have more questions for you.”

I look out the window at the scenery. There’s some traffic, but I don’t mind being stuck here with Ryan. “Questions for me? I thought you were the one who answers the questions, not the one who asks them.”

“Good point,” he chuckles. “So you ask, and I’ll answer.”

There’s so much that I don’t know about him, of course. I read up on him after meeting him, but I’m not sure what to ask. I don’t know if I should ask him one of his dirty, personal questions, like the ones he asked me on my interview, so I go with something a little bit more light. It’s not like I’d have the gumption to ask him a dirty question anyway.

“Okay. I’ve got one. Chocolate or vanilla ice cream?”

“Classic question. I thought you were going to ask if I wear boxers or briefs, but this one is better.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, beating a rhythm into my stomach that sends warmth lower and makes me shift in my seat. I train my eyes forward to avoid getting too far in over my head around him. “Vanilla. It’s great on it’s own, plus it’s so versatile. You can do anything with it. It goes with anything. You want sprinkles, you can do sprinkles. You want hot fudge, go ahead and put that on there too.”

“You can do that with chocolate, sir,” I say. The way the words come out of my mouth sounds a little bit strange, even to me. My voice is a little bit deeper, a little darker, smoothed out around the edges when I say it, especially when the word sir forms on my lips and comes out with a tempting little lilt at the end. It seems that I’m learning how to get dirty already.

Ryan laughs again. “You’re right, but I like vanilla because of its simplicity.”

“I understand,” I say.

The car slows down and rolls to a stop, and Ryan cuts the engine, leaning over me slightly to glimpse the restaurant we’ve stopped in front of. His proximity to me makes the air between us feel electric.

“This is us.” He slips the key from the ignition and we get out of the car. There’s outdoor seating at the restaurant, and I catch a few young women in oversized sunglasses peering at Ryan over their salad and martini lunches.

The outside seating area is flanked by a topiary wall of manicured bushes around its exterior, with low canopies of palm tree branches and strings of twinkling Christmas lights dotted throughout. There’s a man outside in a sharp black suit as though he’s waiting just for us, and Ryan hands him the keys to his car, clapping him on the back.

We step past the awning and through the doors into the restaurant, where we’re greeted by a gorgeous, glamorous young hostess. Behind her to the left is a full bar with the rich and beautiful of LA bumping elbows and smiling.

“Mr. Hart,” the hostess says, slipping two menus into her hand gracefully. “Nice to see you again.”

“Table for two, please.” Ryan slips a steady arm around my waist and whisks me forward, following the hostess to a table in the back. We weave through a tight, crowded and exciting cluster of people, young women who I imagine have puppies in the handbags and men in suits laughing boisterously as everyone eats their tapas and sips their cocktails. These are the people who come to California to take in the sunshine and the beach, and who we welcome every year with open arms. They’re going West for opportunity, and the coastline hugs them close. It’s where the self-made come to climb higher and see farther, where the actresses from every corner of America come with a suitcase and a dream, and the men use their connections to garner wealth and fame.

And I can see that Ryan fits right in. His arm is still around my waist, and he’s guiding me through the restaurant with ease and confidence. It seems that every woman in the room turns to look at him when he passes by them, and every man passes a furtive glance to those with them as if in silence agreement that they’re in the presence of someone great. They don’t jockey for his attention, though; they’re more quiet in their admiration.

For a moment, I almost feel like I’m sparkling from the inside. I guess I didn’t realize that being around fame and wealth would have this effect on me. As if being around the sexiest guy I’ve ever seen wasn’t making me excited enough, his clout was sending my excitement to another level.

We finally get to our table after what seems like an eternity, time slowing down as we move through the restaurant bustling around us. Ryan motions with his hand for me to sit down on the booth side of the table, and sits down across from me. He was made for this backdrop to be around him - him in the foreground, his devastating eyes piercing into me like I’m the only girl in the world, while the people in the background can either now stare at him, even though they’re just seeing the back of his head, or reluctantly go back to their meals while excitedly chatting with their lunch companions.

The long-legged, smooth hostess hands a menu to each of us and smiles, telling us that our waiter will be right over. I hold the menu up in front of my face, letting myself peek over the edge to see Ryan. He isn’t looking at the menu, though; he has a look on his face that says he already knows what he wants.

“What’s good here?” I ask. I start scanning the prices only, ignoring what’s listed on the left side of the menu, checking only the numbers. The menu doesn’t have dollar signs next to the prices. It only lists the numbers in a chic, small font, as though the people coming through here are working with a currency different from the one I use.

And the prices aren’t cheap. I check the left side of the menu to peruse what I’m sure are delectable offerings.

“The mahi mahi tacos are probably my favorite,” Ryan says. “The come with a really good tomatillo salsa.”

I quickly scan up and down the menu and spot the item. It’s not the most or least expensive item, and it sounds amazing, so I decide on that.

“Sounds perfect,” I say. I set the menu down as a waiter in black slacks and a white short-sleeved button down comes over to fill our water glasses. “Thank you,” I say to him.

“Do you want a cocktail?” Ryan says, casually snatching the folded drink menu tucked between a few bottles of hot sauce in the middle of the table. “What’s your poison?”

My boss licks his lips and arches an eyebrow at me. His strong forearms rest on the table in front of him, and he seems completely relaxed but ready to pounce at the same time.

I swallow hard and shrug. “I’m not much of a drinker,” I confess. “And is it okay for us to drink during lunch time?”

“Sara,” he says with care, “if I say it’s okay, then it is. I suggest the margarita rocks with salt.”

“I don’t know,” I say cautiously. It’s true, I’m not a big drinker. I consider my options and give myself permission to indulge a little bit while studying Ryan’s face. A smirk at the corners of his mouth forms slowly, as though he’s seeing my thought process going on inside my head and wants to give me the little push toward letting myself get a little loose. It works. “Sure.”

“Two margaritas, please,” he says to the waiter. “And we’ll both have the fish tacos, and to start, the corn fritters.”

“I’ll put your order in right now, and have those drinks over to you right away, Mr. Hart.”

The waiter walks away without writing anything down, and my eyes follow him as he moves through the restaurant. He makes his way over to the bar near the entrance, where a pretty bartender has two margaritas waiting for him.

I shift my focus over to Ryan, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.

“You have a regular drink,” I say.

“I’m a regular customer,” he says, sitting back in his chair. The tufted white leather envelopes him as he leans back with ease.

“I know what that’s like too, Ryan,” I tease. “When I go to my regular diner, they practically have the coffee ready for me at the table when they see me drive into the parking lot. And,” I lean forward, “sometimes they even use a clean mug.”

“You have to take me there some time,” he responds as the drinks arrive at our table. He takes both of them from the waiter with a smile and hands one to me. The cool condensation on the glass slides between our fingers as they touch, and his glance shifts from my hand to my face as though he’s drinking me in. “This is to your new position.”

We clink our glasses together and he takes a sip, keeping his eyes locked on mine. And I can’t look away from him. It feels so easy to be with him, and as I bring the glass to my lips and taste the salt, I decide I made the right choice taking this unexpected internship.

“So we got most of the basic questions out of the way,” he says, putting his drink down. “But I have another question not covered in the interview. Why didn’t you want to work for me?”

“I’m sorry?” I put my drink down next to his. The waiter brings over our fried corn fritters along with some amazing-looking rosemary tortas, and I decide to dig right in.

“Originally, you wanted to work somewhere else. I have to say I’m very happy to have you working under me, but why not just apply for this internship to begin with?”

“Oh,” I respond. I break a piece of the flaky, buttery torta and pop it into my mouth, washing it down with a sip of my margarita. The heat from the tequila and lime combination feels soothing yet electrifying. It’s a strong drink. “To be honest, I didn’t really know much about it before I got to your office.”

“Then I’m even more excited to have you,” he says. He takes another sip of his drink and leans forward again. I can’t decide if he looks hotter leaning forward and erasing the distance between us, or if he looks hotter leaning back casually, making me come to him. “It means I’m going to have to work harder to prove that you made the right choice.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say. “I guess I was a little bit hesitant at first, but the more I learned, the more happy I am to be here. Well, not here, exactly, but with the show.”

My boss chuckles and puts his hands down flat on the table, spreading the pristine white tablecloth out beneath his palms. “You’re hurting my feelings, Sara. You’re not happy to be here with me?”

“Oh!” I shake my head and smile, putting a finger in the air. “That’s not what I meant. I’m definitely happy to be here with you right now. But in an official capacity,” I add, “I’m happy to be working for you.”

“Good. Because I think you’ll really bring a unique perspective to the show. Like I was telling you before, your resume really jumped out at me, and I just had to meet you. Why science?”

I take another cool, refreshing sip of my drink. This question always comes up, and I’m never quite sure how much I should disclose, especially when I first meet someone.

The truth is that my mom passed away when I was very young, and it was devastating for dad and me. They got married young; they were high-school sweethearts. And it broke dad’s world to lose her. I was too young to understand the depth of what was happening. I didn’t feel her absence, though I did feel that she was missing. But because I never really got the chance to know her, it was hard for me to miss her. I wanted my mom, and I longed for her, but I couldn’t miss her.

She was just gone before I got to know her.

When I was in high school, it was very hard. My dad did his best with a teenage daughter, but he had to be both dad and mom to me. Dads protect; moms instruct. So when it was time for me to start buying pads and tampons and deodorant and bras, I was so embarrassed by those changes. Thank goodness I did have dad. He would let me wait in the car during that time of the month and buy me all the things I needed, and bring me out for pizza afterwards.

But it’s also the truth that I want to help people, so that’s what I decide to go with.

“Science is important,” I say. “It’s important for people to be aware of all sorts of stuff related to it. Everything from climate change to STD awareness. Plus, majoring in biology keeps a lot of doors open for me. I haven’t ruled out becoming a nurse, or maybe even trying for medical school.”

“I like that,” he says. The waiter drops off our mahi mahi tacos, fresh and piping hot with homemade corn tortillas and the green tomatillo salsa Ryan tempted me with the promise of. “Looks good, right?”

I nod vigorously, unable to reply because I’m already digging in. The cool queso fresco and tart, spicy salsa are a perfect complement to the delicious, buttery fish and the crunch of diced red onion.

I dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin, aware that I’m eating like I’m alone even though I’m with my devastatingly handsome new boss.

“What about you?” I say. “How did you get into this line of work? I mean, I know that you had the show back in New York with Kayla, but how’d you end up coming out here?”

“I guess I just wanted a new start, you know?” he says thoughtfully. “I’d lived in New York my whole life, and it was just time for a change.”

“You didn’t really get a new start, though. I mean, you kept the show the same.”

“No, you’re right. But everything felt fresh and new out here. New people. New women.”

“Ah,” I say, chuckling. “I see. So you ran out of women to sleep with in New York? That’s why you had to get away?”

“That’s what you think of me? Ouch.” He takes a big gulp of his water and wipes his mouth with his napkin. When he’s eating he’s almost like a caveman, and it’s so sexy.

“Well, no, I don’t have an opinion about you yet, boss. But it’s what the papers think of you. I did a little bit of reading about you.”

“I guess that much is true. I’m not going to lie. Yeah, I like beautiful women. I mean, here I am with you, so you know what I like.” His eyes glimmer at me as my heart picks up, mimicking the beat of the music around us. The drink is starting to spread warmly through my body, loosening me up, and I realize I’m being slightly more candid that I usually would be, and maybe than I should be.

But no matter how hot my boss is, I do need this internship, and I don’t want to burn any bridges before I even get to them. I heard how Kayla spoke about some of the former interns, and it sounds like Dirty After Dark goes through them quickly. Which means Ryan goes through them quickly. He probably has a never-ending line of women through a revolving door that leads straight to his bed. But I can’t have that be me. I need this internship, and not just because it’s a good line on my resume. I have this position for college credit, and I need to preserve Ryan as a good reference for the future.

I imagine what would happen if something were to happen between us, and if it got out, became public. My name would forever be attached to his, and I’d forever be known as the girl who had an affair with her boss. A letter of recommendation from a strong public figure like him wouldn’t mean anything if future potential employers assumed I only got it by sleeping my way through my internship.

“Boss,” I say, folding my hands in front of me on the table. “As much as it may pain you to hear this, I would very much like to keep our relationship professional. Now, I took this internship because I fell in love with the show once I learned what it’s all about. I think it’s amazing work you’re doing, and I’m very happy to be involved. But I also want a serious career.” I pause. He’s got a big grin on his face, and he cocks his head to the side as though he doesn’t believe what I’m saying, as though he’s never had someone turn him down - before he even tries anything. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr. Hart?”

“It’s sexy when you call me Mr. Hart,” he says, “but if you want to keep things professional between us, I completely understand. But you’re wrong about one thing.”

“Oh?” I cross my legs under the table. His cocky grin and smoldering eyes are sending a dull ache between my thighs. “What’s that, boss?”

“This isn’t going to be as painful for me as it is for you.”

I press my thighs together and bite my bottom lip as he tosses back the rest of his drink.

“That’s because you have plenty of other girls lining up to be with you, right?”

“Wrong,” he says. He puts a forearm and an elbow down on the table, drawing me in toward him with a curl of his finger. I lean in close, the scent of lime, tequila and his cologne deeply permeating the air between us. “It’s because when you start to hear me talk dirty, you’re going to be begging me to teach you.”