I woke up with the kind of headache that makes you regret you ever existed. I didn’t just want to die, I wanted to go back in time and stop my parents from ever making me in the first place.

My bout of melodrama subsided once I got a cup of coffee in my system and had a couple scrambled eggs. I was standing over the kitchen counter in a kind of mental haze the whole time I was cooking, meanwhile, Charlie wouldn’t stop yapping at my ankles.

“No playing this morning, baby,” I said to him. “I’m sorry. Mommy is hungover.”

And then the memories came flooding back, bit by unpleasant bit. Come on, big boy. I had said that, hadn’t I?

Then I had a near panic attack when I tried to figure out how I had gotten home. I remembered Bruce walking me out of the restaurant and Oh God… I remember the way I was clinging to him like some desperate drunk. I think I even squeezed his ass. My cheeks felt like they were on fire just at the memory.

I noticed Charlie actually hadn’t pooped anywhere, which was a big relief. I never got a chance to come home and let him out, so I was going to give him a pass if he couldn’t hold his little bladder anymore, and I definitely didn’t walk him when I got home.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” I said, kneeling to scratch his cheeks. “Let me just put this back and I’ll get you outside. You must be about to burst.” I noticed something out of the corner of my eye and turned to look at his doggy bed, where a full-sized carrot was sitting conspicuously. It looked real, too. Where the hell had he gotten a carrot?

I took the carton of eggs and opened the fridge. I set the eggs down next to the chicken and vegetables, and then did a double take. Chicken and vegetables?

I looked in the fridge for the first real time since waking up and saw it was stocked with enough food to last me through the week. The freezer was also full of meat and a few loaves of bread. I just stood there, staring in confusion at what had to be a couple hundred dollar’s worth of groceries.

Then I noticed how neatly organized everything was, including the spare condiment containers I had probably kept around for several years now, because you never knew when you’d need some buffalo sauce. Every condiment container was organized in a color-coded system and from tallest to smallest. A quick glance around my apartment confirmed someone had gone through my stuff and organized everything. Including the stack of clean clothes I’d had on the floor that were now neatly folded in a pile outside my closet. My underwear was in that neatly folded pile, I noted.

Bruce.

It had to have been Bruce. He must have brought me home last night and then the state of my apartment had made some OCD wire in his brain catch on fire. But why had he bought me groceries? And from the amazing smell of the clothes he had folded, he had re-washed them with some kind of fancy detergent.

I almost got out the phone he had given me as his direct line and called him, but before I could dial his number, I saw what time it was.

I was already an hour late and I hadn’t even left the house.

I scooped up Charlie, sprinted down the stairs, set him down and let him do his business on the small patch of grass out front, and then ran him back upstairs like he was a football and I was a star running-back. I was shocked when my landlord didn’t take the opportunity to bust out of her room and harass me about rent, but I wasn’t about to complain.

I took the world’s fastest shower, threw on clothes and underwear while I tried not to blush at the thought that Bruce now had about a one in ten chance of guessing what color my panties were on any given day. I gave Charlie a quick kiss, and I sprinted outside. Bruce had found a really good parking spot right in front, which was thankful, because I was worried I’d have to hunt around the block for the car.

I only thought to check the phone Bruce had given me once I was in the car. I had a text from him.

Bruce: Don’t need picked up today. Meet at the office. Bring the banana.

Relief and a little bit of confusion ran through me. He had clearly been the one to make sure I got safely back to my bed last night, and he definitely was the one who was such a compulsive organizer that he had hit my apartment like a reverse tornado. I was reluctant to call any of it kindness, because I wasn’t sure Mr. Sex Robot was capable of kindness. He had to have rationalized it in some weird, coldly logical way as a thing he had to do. Maybe he just figured he couldn’t torture his intern if she drunkenly wandered into the street and got hit by a car, or if she died of malnutrition via ramen noodle overdose. The organization had probably been a compulsion and not an attempt at being helpful. He probably organized store shelves when he went shopping, too.

I opened the door to Bruce’s office just past ten in the morning. It was late, even by my standards. I stuck out the banana I’d picked up on the way like it was a peace offering.

Bruce stood, grabbed it, and promptly dropped it into the trash without giving it more than a quick skim with his eyes.

I blew out a breath. It wasn’t exactly a sigh, but it was close. “What was wrong with that one?”

“It was late.”

“Then why did you ask me to bring one?”

“I don’t need a good reason, intern,” He let the word pass those luscious lips of his with a slow, deliberate bite to it.

“Right.” I tried to keep my face a perfect blank, not wanting him to feel the satisfaction of getting to me. “Remind me, do you want your coffee with or without spit this morning?”

“Chef’s choice.”

I made an annoyed noise and stormed out of his office to make his cup of coffee. He had a talent for reminding me to hate him just when I started to get confused. It would serve him right if I really did spit in it, but he seemed to be calling my bluff. There was a level of wrong I wasn’t willing to cross, even to piss him off when he deserved it so badly. I settled for something less disgusting and dumped a packet of sugar in his coffee. I even added a splash of milk, hoping the bastard was lactose intolerant and had to disrupt his perfect schedule with a trip to the bathroom.

Okay, arguably, it was probably worse than spitting in his coffee. But all I had to do was remember the subtle look of gloating victory in his eyes when he threw away the banana.

I stepped back in his office, catching him on a phone call. I handed him the coffee and stood just in front of him as he bent his neck to take a sip.

There was a sound like a pipe springing a leak and I was suddenly bathed in a mist of warm liquid.

I looked down, not understanding how little dots of brown had suddenly appeared on my blouse and face. Then I saw the look of horror in Bruce’s eyes.

“Shit,” he said. He grabbed a handful of napkins from a drawer in his desk and started dabbing at my face and then my blouse.

We both froze when we seemed to realize at the same time that he was pressing a tissue to my breast. I looked up at Bruce, who was looking at his own hand almost in confusion, but desire was clear in his features.

“If you wanted to grope me,” I said through a tight, nervous throat. “You didn’t have to spit coffee on me.”

He pulled his hand back, and for the first time since I’d met him, he actually smiled. It was a good smile. It was the kind of smile that made your heart melt and made girls fall in love. It was self-deprecating, genuine, and so, so sexy. And the way his eyes flicked up to meet mine, twinkling with what I could’ve almost called mischief was the cherry on top. “Sugar,” he said.

“Yes?” I asked.

He frowned at me, then put a hand up to cover his widening smile and laughed.

“Oh,” I blurted, “Oh, yes. Yes. I put sugar in the coffee.” I had thought he was calling me sugar, and I actually answered to it? My God.

He still wore that gorgeous smile as he looked down at me and set his coffee on the table. “So,” he said. “Is that what you’d like me to call you instead of intern? Sugar?”

A blush exploded through me. I hung my head, torn between laughing and crying. “Actually, I’d just like to know where the best place to curl up and die of embarrassment is. Know anywhere nice?”

“You could come under my desk,” he said.

I wasn’t sure if he meant it as flirtation or not, but from the way he tensed after a few seconds, I thought it was unintentional. “I don’t think that would be a good idea right now. I’d get into trouble down there.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What kind of trouble could you possibly get into under my desk?”

“They say once an intern gets a taste of their boss’ banana, they never really stop craving it.” I tried to stop myself from saying it, I really did, but he had set me up far, far too perfectly for the dirty joke. I owed it to the universe to say it.

I expected him to laugh or even to act disappointed, but I only saw that same heat and intensity spark up in his eyes from when he was pressing the napkin to my breast.

He took half a step toward me, and for a crazy moment, I thought he was going to pin me to the door and kiss me. For an equally crazy second, I thought I wanted him to.

I cleared my throat and reached past him to pick up the coffee. “I’ll fix this. I’m sorry,” I said quickly and turned to half-run back to the break room.

I leaned against the wall in the break room a minute later and blew out a long, calming breath while a new pot of coffee brewed. I jumped when I thought I saw Bruce come strolling in, but something was off about him. Then it clicked. The messy hair. No tie. A few buttons undone. It was William.

“It’s the prodigal intern,” he said cheerily. “Tell me. Does my brother let you make coffee for other people, or does he want you all to himself?”

“He doesn’t own me,” I said a little more bitterly than I intended to. “I mean. I can make you a cup, if you like.”

William nodded, but the grin he wore was far too knowing for my liking. “What happened to you. Tried to take a coffee shower? With your clothes on?”

“Your brother apparently doesn’t like the taste of sugar.”

William squinted his eyes, as if he didn’t fully understand but didn’t completely care. “So,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning in the doorway. “What’s your story, anyway? Why is Bruce so interested in you?”

“Did he say something?” I asked, hating how hopeful I sounded.

William’s grin widened. “You know what, nevermind. I can see the whole picture here.” He laughed softly. “By the way, did you realize you’ve only been wearing pencil skirts since I told you my brother has a fetish for them? Naughty little intern, you.”

I blushed deeply. I couldn’t lie and say it was a coincidence. “I have a limited wardrobe.”

“Right. Well, since you’re definitely not secretly hoping to seduce my brother, I guess you wouldn’t be interested in his one glaring weakness.”

I tried so hard not to ask, but I couldn’t do it. “What is it?”

“A banana split. The guy would sell his soul for bananas and ice cream.”

I made a skeptical face. “I can’t picture him eating ice cream.”

“Well, believe it or not, he wasn’t always so uptight. A girl royally fucked him over, and his whole ‘never make the same mistake twice’ thing kind of went on the fritz. He has been pretty unbearable ever since. I’ve been waiting for him to get tired of it, but he hasn’t shown any signs of slowing down.”

“I see. And you’re supplying me with his kryptonite because you’re hoping I’ll sleep with him and loosen him up? That’s sick. You realize that, right?”

“Hey, there’s nothing sick about two consenting adults having sex. And there’s nothing sick about a man’s brother wanting to do what’s best for him. Just think it over. He needs it. You’d be doing a public service for both of us.”

I made a disgusted sound. “Even if I had secretly thought about sleeping with him, which I haven’t, you just made it so weird I could never do it.”

William dismissed my concerns with a flap of his hand and that grin he wore so easily. “It’s uncomfortable when someone sees right through all your pretenses. I get it. I’ll take my coffee and get out of your hair. But just remember. Banana split. Oh, and he likes dirty talk. Remember that. Drives him wild.”

William actually winked at me after I poured his coffee.

I stared at the coffee pot for a few minutes before I mustered up the strength to go back into Bruce’s office. I didn’t appreciate William and his cocky surety that I really was interested in Bruce. I had never fully come out of the high school mindset that sex was something special. Most of the women I knew, especially being in New York, took a much more liberal approach to sex. For them, it was a fun pastime. Something to do for a night as long as the guy clearly wasn’t a creeper and was clean.

I wasn’t even sure what had triggered me to make it into something so sacred and mystical. Yeah, I’d slept with a couple guys before. Okay, one guy. But I’d seen plenty of movies and heard the war stories from friends. I had a first-hand experience with exactly how fast a man can reach orgasm and the deep, dirty shame I felt afterwards when it was over.

I met the guy who took my virginity on a dating site after my college friends had bullied me into making a profile. We went out three times, and all my friends were telling me date number three basically has an unwritten requirement to end in sex if things are going well. I had felt weird about it. So weird. The guy was cute and we got along okay, but it hadn’t felt like the right time. Still, I went through with it. All thirty seconds of it.

I broke things off shortly after because the sex felt like it highlighted all the future problems I’d have with him. It was probably an overreaction, but it was the way I felt, and intimacy had intimidated me ever since.

And then there was Bruce.

If William thought I was seriously considering trying to sleep with the man, he really wasn’t even close to understanding me. I had enough trouble imagining sex with a guy I’d been dating—a guy I was getting along with. But Bruce?

Sex with him would be… hateful? I wasn't sure. The only ways I can imagine it happening were rough and raw and intense. It wouldn't be anything like the candlelit romantic pleasure cruise I had gradually built up as my ideal sexual fantasy. And yet I couldn't help feeling a cold shiver that quickly turned into warmth every time I thought about how his arms would be like steel, how strangely good it would feel to have some kind of power over a man who seemed to have the world at his feet. I kept thinking about how strangely wonderful it would feel to grip his length and watch all the power drain out of him, transferred to me as I took the captain's seat in his life, even if it was just for a while.

I groaned out loud. Maybe William wasn’t completely wrong, but he was still crude and he was still an ass.

I shook the thoughts from my head. I had a job to do.

I knew Bruce would be getting impatient already for his coffee. I wouldn’t put it past him to know exactly how long the walk to the break room takes and how long it takes to brew a fresh cup of coffee. He’d probably be able to tell me exactly how many seconds longer I had taken than I should’ve. He could deal with it though, and if he really cared to ask, I’d tell him I was in the bathroom.

I loitered in the break room for another minute or so until a pair of women came in.

“Don’t even ask about the Murdoch account,” said the older of the two women. She wore a rueful smile. “You’ll just remind him and we’ll all end up stuck here for the weekend until we get it sorted out.”

“Ugh,” said the other, who was helping herself to coffee. “You’re probably right.”

The woman with the coffee noticed me then. She was a few inches taller than me and looked to be in her thirties with a pretty, freckle-smeared nose and brown hair. “You’re Bruce’s new intern, right?” she asked.

“Yep,” I said. “Word has already spread, I guess?”

She nodded. “Bruce has never made a secret of how much he hates the idea of interns, and I’ve never known him to have one, so yeah. People were naturally pretty curious when you showed up.”

She paused, and I realized she was waiting for me to explain what the real story was. I also realized she and most of the office must have their own explanation already. They thought I was sleeping with him, or that he was hoping to sleep with me. I wished I could brush off the way their assumption stung, but I couldn’t. All these people I’d never even met were so ready to assume I fell neatly into the stereotype of the young intern looking to get ahead. I guessed I shouldn’t be too surprised. It was easier to think the worst of someone you didn’t know than to bother learning the truth.

I made an effort at a polite smile and laughed a little. It seemed like the best way to diffuse the situation without having to explain the truth, which was probably too ridiculous to believe anyway. He caught me eating his banana and he hired me to punish me.

“So?” she asked. She wasn’t going to let me off easy, apparently. “Are you two… you know.”

“No, no. Definitely not.” I tried to scrunch my face up to show just how crazy that idea was. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you in a relationship, then?”

“Nope,” I said, even though I was quickly reaching the point of wanting to tell this nosy woman to shove her fifty questions up her butt and leave me alone.

The other woman who had come in with her had picked up on the conversation, and leaned in a little bit. “If Bruce Chamberson wanted me to be his intern just for sex, I wouldn’t fight it.”

The woman with the coffee laughed in surprise. “Stacy! You’re married.”

Stacy shrugged. “If Michael saw Bruce, he’d understand. Though to be honest, I think I’d have more fun with William.”

The woman nodded. “Sure. But if you wanted an actual relationship, I think Bruce would be the better bet. William would be the one if you wanted something with no strings attached. Bruce strikes me as the type who would get really possessive.” She thought about that, then crinkled her eyes and grinned. “In the sexy man-bear kind of way.”

Stacy laughed, and I started to feel like my chance to slip out of the conversation was here.

“Well, I’ve got to get back to the man-bear,” I said.

Both women laughed.

“Oh to be young again,” said Stacy as I was leaving the break room, even though she couldn’t have been more than a few years my senior.

I did my best to gather my wits on the way back to Bruce’s office. It was only my first week, and I already felt like I’d been sucked into something far more turbulent and out of my control than I expected. I could quickly feel my own emotions getting tangled into this, into what was supposed to be a job. Candace seemed to think I was crazy for not wanting to sleep with Bruce. The women in the break room clearly did. Even Bruce’s brother was pretty much telling me to sleep with him.

I was starting to think Bruce and I were the only people on the Earth who didn’t want us to sleep together. But if I was honest with myself, I wasn’t sure that was true. The look in Bruce’s eyes floated into my thoughts, and I couldn’t forget the way his touch on my breast had ignited something in me that still felt like it was raging deep down.

Getting dirt on Bruce might be the least of my challenges. It was starting to seem like I was also going to have to figure out how the hell I’d deal with my growing, confusing feelings toward him.