“Alright, alright,” I laugh, fighting the urge to grab her right here and do things a good employer shouldn’t do to his employee. Just like I remember, Claire’s excitement is infectious. It’s nice to know some things don’t change, at least. “Let’s save some of that energy for Monday. You’re going to need it.”

My heart is still pounding hard from the hug she gave me. It came and went so fast that it left my head spinning. I didn’t expect that. It’s weird enough hearing her call me ‘sir,’ not to mention everything else. But she’s letting a little more of her personality shine through, and I would be lying if I said I don’t like what I see.

“Right! Right,” she says, unable to keep the big smile off her face. “Okay, so . . . what happens now?”

“Now, I ask you if you’d like a walk to your car, and you go enjoy the rest of a sleepless night,” I say, confident that I’m right about the latter part. A part of me hopes she’d be thinking about something more than just her new job, though. Maybe she’s just as affected by the hug as I am . . . or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

Claire catches her lip between her teeth thoughtfully, oblivious to how sexy she looks right now. “Sure I can’t help clean up around here?” she asks, glancing around the kitchen. “I’d feel bad leaving this on you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” I say, wondering if she’s just looking for an excuse to spend a little more time together. I definitely feel a little pang of something that she’s about to leave me all alone here in the kitchen. Something which normally wouldn’t faze me at all. “I’m a hands-on kind of guy, I like rolling my sleeves up and getting my hands dirty now and then.”

The wording makes a little color come to Claire’s cheeks, and she quickly turns her head to glance out the window to hide both her blush and her smile. I tell myself it’s just the jitters from being offered the job, but damned if she isn’t adorable.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she says. “I’m parked, like, right around the corner, so don’t worry about me.”

“If you’re sure,” I say, resisting the urge to insist on not just walking her to her car, but also driving her all the way to her place. Maybe she’d invite me up or something . . . but that would be the worst idea in the world. She’s my new hire and my parents love her. I can’t treat her like some chick I’ve just casually chatted up at some bar. “I’ve got your email and phone number, so I’ll be in touch very soon with some details.”

“Fantastic,” she beams.

“Fantastic,” I repeat, and a somewhat tense silence falls between us before she finally runs her hand through her silky hair and points to the door.

“Right. Going now. For real this time. Thanks again!”

I follow her to the door and push it open for her after she gathers her things, and I watch her as she walks away.

Everything about the way she moves sticks out as if my mind is hyper-focused on her form. I read her gait, pick up on the emotions in her every step, watch the way she brushes her hair aside and fumbles for her keys in her purse, and I can’t help but feel almost hypnotized by the sway of her hips. Once she rounds the corner and clicks her key, I see the blink of her headlights and turn back inside, letting the door close behind me.

Finally alone, I run my hands over my face.

I’m in trouble.

I walk back over to the remains of the dish that Claire prepared and pick at it more. I honestly wish I hadn’t eaten dinner already earlier that night, because it’s even better than I gave her credit for in that little working interview. It’s exactly the kind of thing I need at the new restaurant, and I already know Jorge will fall in love with it.

It’s rare that I feel bad throwing away the remainder of a meal, and even rarer that I pack some up to take home with me, yet that’s exactly what I do with Claire’s dish.

I wanted to tell her what I really thought of it, but I didn’t want to give her too big of a head before she even starts the job.

Besides, my brain wasn’t doing a great job at coming up with words tonight. It was too busy reminding myself not to think about how her hair would feel tangled around my fingers, how her lips would look if I kissed her, how she would taste . . .

The sight of her leaving will be stuck in my head all night.

I have to be honest with myself and admit that her cooking isn’t the only reason Claire left me with such a good impression.

She’s having an effect on me that I can’t deny. And if we’re going to be working together, God knows I’ll have to deny it to myself up and down.

I’ve never had trouble with women. I worked out my college playboy days with a different girl in bed with me every other night, and as soon as I hit the real world, it was clear to me that college wasn’t the exception.

That makes it all the more interesting when someone like Claire comes along and draws my attention as if she was born to have it. And that’s the strangest thing—I’ve never felt so affected by a woman as Claire. Never so intensely, so quickly. In the back of my mind, I’m coming up with excuses to run outside, chase her down, and find something else to talk to her about.

The smell of her cooking hangs in the air, and I know I’m not going to be able to smell pork cooked that way again for a few weeks without thinking of tonight. I walk over to where she stood over the stove, and I catch a whiff of her strawberry shampoo.

It’s all I could think of when I was standing behind her, and now that she’s gone, it’s still here to haunt me.

I wanted to take it further than that hug. Way further.

When she slung her arms around me, I wanted to hug her right back and walk her into the wall behind her and kiss her, pinning her between me and the cold tile so I could feel her warmth. I wanted to see what those hands could do in the most unprofessional way possible.

The uniform she wore was several sizes too big, and it was adorable to see her swimming around in it. But I think it would look even better on the floor of my bedroom.

I finish cleaning up and wipe my brow with my sleeve, making my way to the door before casting one last glance around at the kitchen and taking a deep breath before flicking off the light. There’s still a hint of her strawberry scent.

Yeah, I’m in deep trouble if I keep Claire Madsen around.

And so is she.

“I’m not letting you open those doors without this on the menu. You know that, right?” says Jorge the next morning as he finishes his third bite of the leftovers I brought in of Claire’s dish. I grin and chuckle as we peer at my computer screen together. We’re working on the menu for the new restaurant together, something we’ve been waiting a long time to do. Now that we have real plans for the place, we can finally get to the fun part.

“I don’t think I’d be opposed to that,” I admit. “Just tell her it was your idea. I don’t want to inflate her ego too much.”

“Maybe her ego could use a good inflating,” Jorge says with a chuckle before setting the plate aside. “Okay, let’s get back to the appetizers. I wanted to pick a bone with you about this fish thing you’ve got going on, I-”

A knock at the door interrupts us, and Jorge’s eyes flash up to it in irritation. Despite being down to earth most of the time, the star chef can’t stand interruptions. He and I are alike in that way.

“Yes?” I call.

The door cracks open, and a woman no taller than five feet with a sharp, foxish face sticks her head in.

“Excuse me, Mr. Graham?” her squeaky voice asks.

“Speaking,” I say evenly, raising an eyebrow. The woman quickly bustles in, taking that as an invitation, and I can see that she’s holding a stack of papers.

“Sorry for the interruption, I’m Andrea, Mr. Madsen’s PA,” she explains. I open my mouth to ask what he could want that can’t be handled over the phone, but she answers that by promptly setting the papers down in front of me while Jorge glares. “I have the rental agreement and business partnership contract for the restaurant downtown here. He said you’ve both looked at it over email, so I just need your signature here and here,” she rattles off so fast I can barely keep up.

I haven’t looked at the contracts, but I know Harry is insistent on formalities like these. So without another word, I pull the contracts toward me and jot down my signature on each.

“Anything else?” I ask curtly, hiding the fact that it’s actually pretty damn exciting to make things official. I can’t gush too much around people I don’t know.

“Nope,” she chimes happily, taking the contracts back. “I wish half of Mr. Madsen’s friends were as brisk as you. Have a nice day.”

Just as soon as she stormed in, she’s gone, and Jorge and I exchange a glance.

“Maybe hiring an office receptionist is in order, down the line,” Jorge whispers to me with a conspiratorial wink, and I grin.

“That, or maybe a new set of locks.”