The lobby is dead quiet as I walk inside. It is Sunday, after all, and most of the companies who work here are nine-to-five Monday through Friday jobs. Mine included but I’m a confessed workaholic, so it’s not unusual for me to sneak in and do a little extra during the weekends.

The security officer up front doesn’t even ask questions as I pass by the front desk on my way to the elevator. He glances up and nods, gently twitching his silver mustache into a kind, familiar smile.

You’d think the founder of a major dating website would have more going on in her personal life than this.

But you’d be wrong.

It all started when I was a teenager.

Hey, you two should go out.

You know who you should meet? My pal, Johnny.

You’d get along great.

My talents for tagging compatible partners grew more and more until friends of friends of friends all over Chicago were practically paying me to start setting them up on dates from my famous black book.

Yes, the Little Black Book. The number one dating app in the entire world.

That was all me and my picture-perfect love-matching algorithms.

Add in a little luck with early investments in cryptocurrency and I made my first million before the age of twenty-five. Five years later and I’m one of the Top 3 Wealthiest Women Under 30 in Chicago. The other two?

Beatrix Argento and Melanie Rose.

That was last year’s list, of course. We all turned thirty this year but we’ll still be just as influential without the benefit of our 20s. The fire beneath Little Black Book is far from burning out.

Unfortunately, my talents for love-matching don’t work so well on yours truly, but you know what they say.

Those who can’t do; teach.

I ride the elevator to the fifteenth floor. The lights are down as I step off but I could navigate this sea of desks with my eyes closed. My office is on the far side — in the corner, naturally — and I walk toward it on autopilot. The paperwork I need to fix is on my computer so it shouldn’t take too long to take care of. Then, maybe I’ll head home and actually take the rest of Sunday off.

Or not. We’ll see.

I twist the knob and push open my office door. I instantly grind to a halt as I see someone sitting in my desk chair in the dark, the sharp features of their face illuminated by nothing more than the bright blue of my computer monitor.

My new temp. My hot, new temp.

“Excuse me.” I flick on the lights. “What are you doing in here?”

“Whoa—” He jumps out of the chair and throws up his hand. “Hi, there. I was not expecting you to be here today.”

I step up to the desk. “Why are you on my computer?” I ask him.

He lowers his hands. “Okay, I’m sorry. I was in bed last night and I suddenly realized that I made a really big mistake on the budget report—”

“Yes, you did.” I cross my arms.

“Right. So, I rushed out here as soon as I could today to try and fix it before you came in tomorrow but then I remember that it gets locked at five on Fridays and the only way to access it was…” He waves at my computer. “So, I jimmied the lock and—”

“You jimmied my lock?” I repeat, my voice pitching as I inspect the door.

“It’s not broken or anything, I swear. But I fixed the thing! And the numbers add up now and… I’m really sorry, Mrs. Payne.”

I squint, letting my eyes hop from him to the computer and back again. “You fixed it?” I ask.

“I did.” He gestures to the monitor. “See for yourself.”

I set my purse down on the edge of the desk and walk around to take a look. He stays on the opposite side of me the entire time, rounding to stand in front looking nervous as all hell. I might as well have caught him with his pants down based on that white-faced reaction.

Still, he’s no less stunningly gorgeous with broad, muscular shoulders and a thin layer of sweat on his brow and those cheekbones—

Focus, Nora.

I sit down in my chair and look at the monitor. My budget software is indeed open right to the mistake he made. Perfectly corrected.

“Again, I’m really sorry,” he says above me.

“It’s...” I scan the lines again, double-checking for accuracy. “It’s okay. You did the right thing — though I am a little protective of my stuff, so next time, maybe just leave a note?”

“I did leave a note,” he says, pointing down.

My eyes catch the bright pink post-it note stuck to the edge of the monitor. I peel it off to read it.

“Sorry for the fuck up, Mrs. Payne. Clive.” I chuckle at the casual tone. “That about covers it, then.”

“And there won’t be a next time,” he says. “I promise. I know how much of an opportunity it is working here for you and I’ll do better, starting right now.”

I smile, trying hard not to fawn over him. I don’t know what it is I find so attractive about a younger guy who just wants to please me, but...

Clive clears his throat and walks backward a few paces. “Well, anyway, I should get out of here. Last time: I’m sorry, Mrs. Payne. It won’t happen again.”

“Clive,” I say.

He stops in the doorway. “Yes, Mrs. Payne?”

“It’s Ms.”

He smiles, revealing a gorgeous set of bright, white teeth. “I apologize, Ms. Payne,” he says slowly. “Won’t happen again.”

“Enjoy the rest of your weekend,” I add.

“I will,” he says. “You, too. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

My eyes wander downward as he exits my office, instantly clinging to the tight rear just begging to rip free of those pants. I sign hard once he’s out of earshot.

Goddamn, that’s a good tushy.

I kick my ankle off the floor and spin my chair around to look out the windows at the Chicago sky.

Maybe I should go over my notes again for the meeting tomorrow.

Or, I could go home and take Sunday off.

Notes, it is.