"Morning, Ms. Pearson."

"Good morning, Mr. Stokes."

Our sales division head, John Stokes, walks out of the elevator with his bike and complete cycling gear on. I admire that he's sixty-four years old and still rides his bike five miles to and from work every day, but he's also the last person I feel like seeing right now. Frankly, he's my boss's boss. I didn't even think the man knew my name.

"So how are you adjusting to managing your own team?"

According to my pitiful sales numbers, not so well.

"I'm really enjoying the challenge, sir. Thanks for asking." I smile painfully.

"How long have you been a manager in the department?"

"A couple of months. Not that long."

"Hmm . . ." He holds his chin as if he's in deep thought. "I spent a bit of time going over your numbers over the weekend, and while you're doing a decent enough job, I think there's definitely room for improvement."

Could my luck get any worse? The division head picks my numbers to review out of all the teams in our department.

"You're a hundred percent right, Mr. Stokes, but I'm not worried," I say with feigned confidence. "My team is young. Give us some time, and we'll get the numbers up."

"Cocky, huh? I like that."

"Not cocky . . . just confident, Mr. Stokes."

"Even better." He smiles. "So Sloan, may I call you Sloan?"

"Of course."

"You show a lot of promise, but unfortunately we are a numbers driven department and potential doesn't make the stockholders happy. Results do. So I'd like to check in with you personally around the end of the quarter. See where your numbers are. Then we'll know how to proceed from there."

"Sure, that sounds fair."

"You took the day off yesterday, right?"

Wow, he's definitely paying attention.

"Because of this," I say referring to my face.

"May I ask what happened?"

While my scars are healing nicely, I still basically look like the bride of Frankenstein. People at work are trying to be polite about it, but I know they're talking about me. Especially because I haven't told anyone the truth about how it happened. In my opinion, it's really nobody's business.

"Freak accident."

"I see. Well, Sloan, I'm not going to beat around the bush. I'm thinking that I'd really like to see you match the numbers that Regan Pullson's team is bringing in by next quarter."

A wave of nausea hits my stomach. He has to realize that he's asking me to perform an almost impossible feat. Regan's territory is larger and more established than mine. Two facts that she never lets me forget.

"Um, okay," I say while holding back angry tears. “I’ll work on that.”

"Make sure to book yourself on my schedule with Martha."

"Will do, sir. Looking forward to it."

Mr. Stokes turns to walk toward his office when he stops to speak to me once more.

"And one more thing, Sloan."

"Yes?"

"I didn't see your name confirmed for the advanced sales training program."

Crap.

Every manager in the company has been strongly encouraged to enroll in the company's advanced sales training program. An invitation-only program which is offered once a year and is held in a different city every year. Our company is global, so sales managers from all over the world attend. It's expected for me to enroll since I've newly been made a sales manager, and it's actually a privilege to be invited, but I dread the entire thing. Sitting in an auditorium and listening to panels of men speak on how innovation in pharmaceutical production is changing the world all day is not my idea of a good time.

"I actually planned on confirming with Fern this week."

Fern is my immediate supervisor and the person in charge of confirming my enrollment. I hadn't confirmed my participation with her yet, because I had a personal conflict with the date. The conflict being I didn't want to do the shit. I'm sure she couldn't wait to share my procrastination with Mr. Stokes, because although she puts up a good façade, it's obvious that she, as well as another woman in this division, namely Regan, do not have my back.

"The training is always a good time, and you'll definitely learn a lot. I'm a keynote speaker on one of the goal setting panels this year. It'll be nice to have a few members of my team in the class."

I'm not entirely sure what's happening, but the fact that the head of the sales department knows that my numbers suck, calls me out on them, and is double-checking to make sure that I attend the sales program tells me everything I need to know. I have to go if I want to keep my job. But I'm going to hate every minute of it.

"Sounds awesome, Mr. Stokes. I'll be there."

"There's a man in the lobby who I guarantee you just made me ovulate. If I'm pregnant by next month, you all will know the date of conception and who the father is."

I almost spit out my cup of coffee from chuckling at the comments of our office receptionist, Gidget. She's a relatively new hire. Young and spunky, a little thick in the thighs, and someone I'm starting to have a serious girl crush on. She basically has no filter, and that's rare to find in the very corporate—boring—world of pharmaceuticals.

"Who is he?" I ask. Always curious about whatever gossip she has to share for the day. Desperately wanting to think about anything but my own personal drama.

"What are you two hens clucking about now?"

Enter the company's resident hair flipper and ass kisser, Regan Pullson. Also known as the biggest passive aggressive bitch in the office and the woman who Mr. Stokes just threw in my face. Reagan and I have been at odds with each other since basically the first moment we met. There's just something about me that she doesn't like, and now that we both head our own team of sales reps it's getting even worse. Everything is a competition with her.

"I haven't had enough coffee for her this morning," I mutter under my breath as Gidget chuckles at my comments. I knew almost immediately that Gidget and I would get along famously when she was hired. She totally gets me. "If she flips her hair one more effin' time."

"I was telling Sloan here about the giant wet dream in the lobby," Gidget says to Regan. "He's so hot that I'm about to go to the bathroom and use the hand dryer to dry my thong out."

I belly laugh again.

This girl's a hoot.

"Honestly." Regan rolls her eyes and turns her lips up with distaste. "You're so inappropriate, Gidget."

"I try, thank you very much."

Gidget curtsies facetiously.

"Why are you even back here talking about him anyway? Isn't it your job to find out why he's here and who he's here to see?"

"That's exactly why I am back here." Gidget grins and turns to point directly at me. "He's here to see you, Sloan."

"Me?" I respond incredulously.

"Yep, he specifically asked for you, and I just need to say this. If you're not seeing this guy romantically, then please tell him that I'm ready and available to have his babies. His big, strong, Viking babies. Tell him I'll be sure to raise them in the ways of his Viking gods."

I can't help but laugh out loud this time.

Gidget is certifiable.

"Well now I have to take a look," Regan says. Which is not surprising. Now that she knows that the mystery man has asked specifically for me, all of a sudden, she needs to know who he is and what he looks like. As if it's a problem that a hot looking guy is asking for me instead of her. That's why I take great pleasure in the look on her face when she returns from the lobby.

A look of a woman who just swallowed crow.

"He's definitely here for you," she says dismissively.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I say. "Who does he work for?" I ask standing up and meticulously freshening up my red lip gloss in the reflection of my computer. It's the only bit of makeup I can actually apply considering that I have a large, ugly, gauze pad on one side of my face and a bluish eye.

"I don't think by the looks of him that he works for anyone the three of us know," Regan says as she walks away. "He's definitely not in pharmaceuticals. Not legal ones anyway."

I can't imagine the kind of person matching Regan's description who'd be here to see me. But as I get closer to the lobby, I smell my guest before I see him and realization sets in.

I know him.

My visitor is wearing a distinct woodsy, but clean musk and leather scent that smells expensive and unique only to him. And once I make my way around the corner of the hallway into the lobby, and verify who it is, I almost choke on my own saliva.

He's massive, muscular, and standing against the wall in all black, stubble covering his strong jaw, his midnight kissed hair shorn low, with his tatted forearms crossed in front of him. It's only been a few days since I last saw him, but he's grown hotter if that's even possible. Even I have to admit, that if I didn't already know him, I'd climb him like a pole right in this entryway.

But I do know him.

And there's something about Cutter King that reminds me of every bad relationship I've been in and every bad decision I've ever made.

He's desperately good looking, but he knows it.

He's built sturdy and strong like a tank, but he's reckless.

He looks like every woman's fantasy, but for me he's a nightmare.

In the real world Cutter King is dangerous, arrogant, and entirely too smug. All excellent reasons why I'm not remotely interested in exploring anything physical with him; not to mention the fact that he alludes to getting inside of my panties almost every time I'm within six feet of him.

Pervert.

"Is everything okay with Elizabeth?" Is my passive aggressive way of asking him what the heck he's doing at my place of business unannounced and uninvited.

"The baby's still in her belly as far as I know."

"So then why are you standing in the middle of my lobby?"

We now have an audience. At this point I should shove a bucket of buttered popcorn in Gidget's lap and a bag of Twizzlers in Regan's, because all four of their eyes are fixed on the two of us. Moving back and forth between us like a game of ping-pong.

"I came by to check in on you, like I said I would, but guess who wasn't home in bed like a good girl?”

"What are you talking about?" I ask defiantly.

Cutter gives me a stern stare.

"You know what I'm talking about. You're here at work when I specifically told you to take a few days off. Good thing for you I knew where to find you."

Gidget giggles under her breath, and I'm quickly reminded that people are listening. People who are probably interpreting this conversation in the completely wrong way.

"Can you go into my office for a moment, Mr. King? Third door on the left. I'll be there in a moment."

"Of course, Miss Pearson," he says as he shamelessly winks at both Gidget and Regan before walking toward my office. "I'll be waiting patiently.”