“I don’t say anything I’m not certain about.”

I am instantly reminded of him telling me that we’re good together, and I wonder if he questions that now. “I’ll go. Thank you.”

He doesn’t move. I don’t move and that something indescribable I felt in the bathroom, and the restaurant, and every time I’m near this man, is happening again. I can’t escape it. I don’t want to escape it and I wonder how I can work with him and how I can leave and never see him again. “Have a good lunch,” he says, pushing off the desk and disappearing around the corner, and I swear he takes all the air in the room with him.

My shoulders slump. How is it possible that my nipples are tight and aching? How can any man affect me this intensely? My mind goes back to the two men in my life, both extreme opposites, both had seemed right because they were so wrong, and turned out to be just wrong. And painful. But Shane is right and still wrong, and there seems to be nothing I can do about it.

“You ready?”

I glance up to find Jessica standing just this side of the hallway. Holding up a finger, I punch the intercom button. “I’m going to lunch with Jessica unless you need me to stay?”

“What I need is Mike Rogers.”

“I’ll keep trying him on my cell phone.”

“Oh good grief,” I hear Mrs. Brandon say. “Let the poor girl go to lunch before you run her off too.”

My eyes go wide and Jessica, who’s now standing in front of me, lifts her brows, her expression ripe with amusement. “Go to lunch,” Brandon Senior commands, giving me two of the Brandon men’s approval.

I open my drawer, snatch my purse, and point toward our escape path before he changes his mind. We flee for the front and I stop to talk to the receptionist. “Hi, Kelly,” I say. “I’m going to lunch. If Mike Rogers calls, it’s crucial he talk to Brandon Senior. If we miss him, we might both get fired.”

Her eyes go wide. “The last thing I want is that man angry at me. I’ll be careful not to miss the call.”

“Great. Thank you.”

Jessica and I head to the elevator but I’m not feeling good about this decision. “I’m worried about leaving.”

“We can stay close,” she says, as one of the cars opens. “There’s a fancified pizza place downstairs.”

“‘Fancified’?” I laugh. “I’m not sure that’s a word.”

“It is because I say it is.”

“You are a match made for Shane.” I cringe at the telling statement and quickly attempt a recovery. “Pizza it is,” I say, dashing into the elevator.

She follows, punching the button and scrutinizing me. “Match made for Shane? I’d ask you how well you know him again, but I’ve seen how he looks at you. I already know.”

I don’t fall into the trap of asking what that means. “What I know is that not only is he a Brandon, he’s a winning attorney. You seem to hold your own well.”

“He called you Ms. Stevens earlier today and just now he called you Emily. And you call him Shane.”

“You call him Shane.”

“I’m his direct secretary.”

“Jessica—”

“I’m not being nosy. I have a point. If you both want to be discreet—”

“There’s nothing to be discreet about.”

“Then get the formality right,” she finishes as if I haven’t spoken. “Communicate and decide how you’re going to handle it and stick to it.”

She has a point. “Thank you, Jessica.”

“None needed. I protect Shane and he is very protective of you, which means I protect you too.” She doesn’t give me time to digest that tidbit before adding, “Maybe one day, not this day, you’ll trust me enough to tell me about it.” The elevator doors open and about five people are ready to crush us. We clear the car and fall into step.

“Has Brandon Senior threatened to fire you yet?”

“You’re the second person to ask me that in half an hour. And yes. He has.”

“And you said what?”

“He’s trying to find Mike Rogers so I asked him, if he fired me, who was going to find Mike Rogers for him.”

She laughs. “He must really want Mike Rogers, and, truth be told, so do I. He’s rich, sexy, and actually has a personality.” We enter the line at the pizza joint.

“Well, that will be a change,” I say, “considering everyone else involved in the hedge fund Senior has going is an ass.”

“Money does that to people,” she says, repeating exactly what Shane’s mother had said, before turning her attention to the cashier to order a slice of pepperoni and water. I do the same, both of us paying and moving to the end of the bar.

One of the six round wooden tables comes free and Jessica points. “Grab it. I’ll grab our food.”

I take our waters and quickly dart forward and claim our spot, then grab a stack of napkins. About the time I’m fully settled, she joins me, and I take a bite to give a thumbs-up. “This is good and way too easy to grab considering how fattening it is.”

Jessica finishes a bit and dabs at her mouth. “I get it to-go sometimes, usually on those lonely Friday nights. My love life sucks, probably because I’m always working.”

“Shane’s a slave driver?”

“To himself. I try to help and force him to go home, but I fail mostly.”