“His office looks more like an upscale jazz lounge than a place of work, all dark wood and smooth leather. And it doesn’t only look good.

“Whenever I take a seat on the designer chair across the desk from him, it feels like my ass is being cradled by fluffy clouds.”

My boss stops reading and turns his steely blue eyes on me.

“I’m glad you enjoy my furniture, Kat,” he says.

“It’s fictional,” I say quickly, but my defense sounds as thin as Keira Knightley, even to my own ears.

Heath raises an eyebrow. “Your protagonist works in a private investment company. Her boss has made a fortune from going short on stocks of unethical companies, even though he's only twenty-eight.

“His last big move was basically a $100 million bet against this company that was running a pyramid scheme. Oh, and he’s also—” Heath glances at the screen of his computer “—a sanctimonious, arrogant bully.”

I squirm in my seat as Heath stares at me.

“Did I miss anything?” he asks. There’s no anger in his eyes. If anything, he seems amused by the whole thing. But I feel like crawling into a hole and dying.

“Umm… Not really,” I lie.

I wonder if he’s also noticed the part where my main character describes her boss as “a man with the body of a Greek god and the face of a Hollywood heart-throb.” Because—surprise, surprise—that’s based on him, too.

“It may be fiction, but I’d say it’s at least based on a true story. Wouldn’t you agree?” he asks.

I swallow. How is my throat so dry?

“Very loosely based on reality. Just the background stuff, really.” I force my lips into a smile.

“Hmm…” As Heath nods distractedly and leans forward to read the writing on the screen, the messy pile of dark hair on his head tumbles forward. His finger scrolls the wheel of the mouse.

Normally, I’d be fantasizing about that digit scrolling my wheel, if you know what I mean. I mean the one in my panties—is that too vague? I’ve been wondering if I should use that in the final version of my novel. Either way, that’s the kind of dirty thought that’s gotten me into trouble in the first place.  

God, I wish a great, empty void would appear right under this stupid chair and suck me away somewhere else. Anywhere else.

This morning, I got to the office early so I could edit a few chapters of my romance manuscript before work. But the computer on my desk was dead, and nobody in the IT department picked up any of my fourteen calls because it was too early in the morning.

I actually bumped into Jeff from legal in the elevator, though, so I knew he was around. He’d once mentioned liking to tinker with computers in his spare time so he probably could've helped.

But he's also a creep who stares at my chest and says things like “milk jugs” and “birthing hips.” I wouldn't be too surprised if one day he says something like, “Does this rag smell like chloroform to you?” And that would be the start of my life as a sex slave, kept in the dungeon of Jeff's basement.

So, for the sake of my freedom and liberty, I decided to use my boss’ computer.

It seemed like a good idea, until I realized I’d forgotten to take out my USB stick before slipping out of his office.

Even worse, my moment of realization came only seconds ago when Heath started reading out a passage from my manuscript.

And he hasn’t even gotten to the sexy part…

“Heath, I’m so sorry I used your computer. I promise I won’t do it again,” I say, breaking the silence before he finishes reading the whole thing. “We should get back to work. Mr. Mikhailov’s assistant has already texted me to let me know his flight from Moscow had landed on time, so he should be here in less than an hour.”

“He flies on his own private jet. Of course he’s on time,” Heath says, easily dodging my obvious attempt at changing the subject. He reads on. “I realize Mr. Jones is standing right behind my chair. As he bends down, he rests his hands on my shoulders. I can’t help but imagine those big, masculine hands running all over other parts of my body. His stubble tickles my neck and I almost giggle, but then he whispers, ‘You’re in trouble now, Sarah.’”

Heath huffs a small laugh. His eyes twinkle with amusement as a thin smile forms on his lips. “Is that where it ends?”

“It’s uh, not done yet,” I say. “Really, it’s not ready for anyone to read yet, so—”

God, how is he so damn gorgeous? Those steely blue eyes make it hard for me to even think when he's around.

“Oh, these pink marks with comments from Jane—these aren’t notes from someone who’s read this?”

“That’s just Jane… my roommate. She, uh, beta-reads for… Uh, that means she reads my manuscript and gives me her feedback before I publish it,” I stammer.

Why am I telling him all these things? Shut up already, Kat! He already knows too much.

“Hmm…” Heath’s eyes refocus on the screen, his forehead wrinkling, even as his lips remain curled up. “You want my feedback?” Before I could respond, he says, “I like it, up until the sex part. I feel like there are…more creative ways to have sex in the office that you haven’t considered.”

Blood rushes to my face, heating up my cheeks and ears. Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled my hair back into a ponytail today. Now there’s no place to hide from Heath’s penetrating gaze.

“Uh… thanks,” I say softly.

I want to shrink into the size of an atom and vanish. Maybe that way Heath will remember this day as the day his assistant simply poofed into thin air, rather than the day his assistant left some smut she’d written about him on his computer.

God, what if, years and years from now, Heath will still remember me as the assistant who left some smut she’d written about him on his computer? What if he whips out this story to tell his ultra-wealthy clients at parties and they all laugh at me as they clink their champagne flutes together?

“If I were the boss in this story…” Heath glances at my flushed face and smirks wickedly. “I’m not saying I am… I’m just making some suggestions. But if I were him, I’d make my assistant give me a blow job under my desk. Or maybe I’d strip her naked and fuck her against the glass wall so anyone looking in the right direction can see her O-face.”

Now it’s not just my face that’s red hot. The tingles between my legs tell me blood is rushing to another part of my body, too.

I wonder if he’s done all those things before—Heath does have a little bit of a reputation, although that was years and years ago, before his marriage and subsequent divorce.

I should probably be outraged that my boss would say such dirty things to me—in his office, no less. But I was the one who stuck my USB stick where it didn’t belong.

And if this were to go public… Considering Heath is the golden child of Wall Street, it’s going to end up on the tabloids, or even that page on the newspaper with all the zany, funny articles.

And although I’m a nobody right now, I don’t want my name associated with that. I’d hate for anyone to Google my name, only to find out about this dumb mistake. I want people to only see my books when they look me up—not that I have any published yet, but I will.

I guess a scandal with my notorious boss could help boost my sales, but I’d rather not have something like that be my claim to fame.

I’ll have to admit I like Heath’s ideas, though. I like them so much wetness is leaking out onto my panties just thinking about him doing all those things to me…

“Thanks for the feedback,” I say before my thoughts get any wilder.

Despite my overwhelming wish to disappear, I decide to face this problem head-on. That seems to be the only way to end this torture. I put my hand on the big, wooden desk between us, palm up. I meet Heath’s gaze. “Can I have my USB stick back, please?”

“Of course.” Heath casually pulls the little device out of his computer.

He’s acting as if he hasn’t deliberately dragged this out, but I haven’t missed the naughty glint in his eyes, or the amused smile playing on his lips. He’s enjoying this.

“Thank you,” I say as he deposits the USB stick on my palm. I ignore the jolt of electricity that I feel when our hands touch for a second. “I’ll get the files ready for the meeting with Mr. Mikhailov.”

Without waiting for a response, I get up from the chair—which really is comfortable, despite the awkward situation—and hurry out of Heath’s office before my arousal leaks through my clothing and leaves a spot on the leather.

As I close the door, I hear Heath say, “I’ll be here if you need more help with your story.”