I strode into the boardroom, feeling confident in the power suit that Kate had persuaded me to buy after happy hour, and secretly sexy in the lingerie she had pressed on me “until you make up your mind about the new designs,” loving the way it hugged my ample curves. My heels—another Kate order masquerading as a friendly suggestion—lifted me up and made me feel invincible, like I could take on the world.

Watch out, boys, there’s a new superhero in town.

I faced down the conference table full of department heads, Grant at the end, and refused to let my stomach do the slow flip it wanted to.

“We need a complete image rehabilitation,” I said crisply, clicking on the PowerPoint, “and I have a plan that will get us there.” I looked directly at Grant, square in the eye: “You show up to work every day, no partying, no girls. You complete one staged charity photo op every day.” I slapped a stack of papers down on the table. “This is your schedule. Your first event is right now.”

He opened his mouth to protest, and I steamrolled right over him. “You are going to go pet some kittens with cancer, and you are going to look happy about it for the camera.”

“I can’t just cancel—” he started.

“Kittens,” I repeated firmly. “With cancer.”

The rest of the table was holding their breath waiting to see if Grant was going to be enough of a dick to say no. He glanced around at them, looking for support that he didn’t find, and then back to me.

It’s just—” he began, not quite whining, though the tone was dangerously close.

“Your driver’s waiting to pick you up right now. Cliff will escort you there. Cliff?” I called, and Grant’s bodyguard came in, still holding the coffee I’d bought him earlier that morning during our little chat. I gave him a grateful smile. “You’ll make sure Mr. Devlin gets to those kittens, won’t you?”

“Sure will, ma’am.” He stood just a little closer to Grant than he had to, just to reinforce the message. Grant looked from me to him, and back to me again, and then nodded.

Message received.

I watched Cliff very diplomatically hustle Grant out, and smiled, victorious.

Cliff was a very loyal employee to Grant Devlin, but he also happened to be the owner of seven rescue cats, and a volunteer at the local no-kill cat shelter. Just one of the many things you can learn about someone when you take them out for coffee and a frank chat about the future of the company.

Step one had just gone off without a hitch.

Now I just had several dozen more steps to go.

* * *

It was afternoon that same day, and for all that things seemed to be going well, they also seemed like they could fall apart any minute. I had a million people to call about rescheduling meetings, a million personal thank you e-mails to send to my allies in the conference room this morning, a million networking opportunities to sort through and decide which would best advance Devlin Media Corp’s agenda and mission.

Not to mention the fact that I still had to hire an assistant to do my old job, and until that time, guess who was doing my old job too? A very reliable but overworked trio I liked to call me, myself, and I.

Still, there was something so exhilarating about taking the bull by the horns. Win or lose, no one was going to say I hadn’t tried my hardest, and that felt damn good. It was a big fat ‘take that!’ at Jacinda, at the snobby rich kids in college, at the whole damn universe, and it lit up my veins with fire and adrenaline.

“Hello, Lacey.”

I looked up, startled, and my breath caught in my throat. Grant was leaning against my doorway so sexily it should have been a crime warranting life imprisonment or maybe just some temporary imprisonment in fuzzy handcuffs (nope, I was definitely not picturing him in fuzzy handcuffs, or me)

He must have changed outfits for the photo op, and damn, he looked good. A well-tailored black suit that hugged his shoulders and his arms, a slate grey tie that made his eyes look like a stormy sea with secrets and treasures lurking beneath.

Somehow he hadn’t found time during that wardrobe change to shave, because why shave when you can just look ruggedly handsome all the damn time?

I looked away quickly before he could see my reaction. “How were the kittens?” I asked.

“Furry.” I looked back at the tone of his voice; he made a face and picked a white hair off his cuff as if it might bite him. “And they shed. Quite a bit. I think it may have gotten into the weave of the fabric permanently.”

“I’m sure you have other suits you can wear.”

“Not here.” He began to unbutton his suit jacket leisurely, sliding it off his shoulders. “So many people are allergic to cat hair. It’d be inconsiderate to keep this on while I’m at work.”

“Uh, I guess.” My mouth had suddenly gone dry. My lips too. I licked them.

“So glad you agree.” He smirked, and began to undo the buttons of his burgundy dress shirt, revealing a hint of sun-kissed brown chest hair and then some more and then oh God.

“What are you doing?” I squeaked.

“Being considerate,” he drawled, shrugging off the shirt to join the jacket. His bare chest was muscular, glistening slightly with the sweat of having walked up the stairs to the office, oh God I was staring at my boss’ chest—

“Oh I just suddenly remembered that I have to copy these things!” I blurted, grabbing at the closest stack of papers I could find, who knew what they even were, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except escaping before I embarrassed myself further. “Goodbye well I guess I’ll go do that in the copy room which is not here and you’re here so goodbye!”

I fled to the copy room, and assembled the papers on the adjacent counter with shaking hands. They were actually things that needed to be copied, thank God. Okay, a few minutes here to regroup and figure out what the hell was going on and stop imagining other things he could take off—

“Why are you doing that? That’s not your job.”

Grant was leaning—yes, sexily again, dammit, he was becoming a repeat offender—against the doorway, looking genuinely curious about the answer.

Also looking sexy.

He really needed to stop doing that.

“Because I haven’t hired an assistant yet,” I said curtly, turning away and trying to ignore that fact that when he crossed his arms like he was doing right now, his biceps looked like he could rip logs in half.

“Isn’t that why we have interns?”

I made the mistake of looking back at him to answer. He was stretching. Oh Jesus Christ on a cupcake, he was stretching, and oh hells yes this lady would like tickets to the gun show—

“These files are full of confidential information.”

I tried to say this in a tone of voice that I hoped conveyed professionalism and not, say, ‘get out of those pants right now.’ Judging by the way he began to saunter towards me, I failed.

“Phones!” I squeaked. “I just remembered some important calls to our charity opportunities which you really wouldn’t want to distract me with so—”

I tried to duck past him out the doorway, but he blocked my exit easily. How was he this bad at social cues?

Lacey, you seem flustered.”

Well, no shit, Sherlock!

“Can’t you take a break for a bit?” He added. “You’ll feel much better after a bit of conversation and some food in your stomach. I’d bet all my stock options you haven’t even had lunch today.”

A granola bar, but he probably wouldn’t think that counted. “I’m busy!”

“Too busy to take care of yourself?”

“Why do you care?”

“Well, you’re the one who told me to take an interest.” He leaned forward, radiating concern, his face inches from mine, his bare chest close enough that I could have reached out and—

“In the company, not me!” I whirled back to the copier, slapping the records down as quickly and professionally as I could, and hoped he didn’t see my fingers shaking as I keyed in the number of copies. Oh god, his full, pouty lips, so close to mine, looking so soft and kissable, I could have—

His footsteps padded softly on the carpet behind me. His hands encircled my waist and I felt his breath on the back of my neck. “Tell me, Miss Newman—are all those rumors I hear true? About young and high-spirited ladies who take a little perch on this machine, and—”

I twisted around but not entirely out of his grip; he was pressing me up against the copier, he was far too close to be safe, the scent of him, suntan lotion and aftershave and clean sweet sweat, those sparse bronze hairs along his muscular chest and arms, strong powerful arms that could grab me harder and pull me to him and press his lips against mine—

“Do you realize how serious this is?!” I snapped, and if my voice was shaking with lust he must have interpreted as fear, because he let go.

“All these people’s jobs are on the line,” I continued, my fury mounting. How dare he toy with my emotions like that! He knew what he looked like, he knew what it would do to me. “You have a choice: either shape up, or lose the company. Your call, boss.”

He took a step back, gaping at me.

I whirled on my heel and stormed off.

“Some of us have work to do!” I shouted over my shoulder – and ran straight into an intern who was carrying a dry-cleaning bag with a fresh shirt.

“He’s in there,” I jabbed my finger. “Get him covered up before we get a damn harassment lawsuit!”

Or a riot.