I have no idea why this woman—this woman, with her emerald green eyes that are so vivid they’re almost glowing, even in the dreary gray backdrop of the storm, curves so fine I can trace their lines even under the black raincoat she’s wearing, and the most perfect lips I’ve ever seen—is walking in the rain carrying an absurdly large pink box of pastries.

If the events of the last few seconds haven’t made her ask the very same question, I don’t know what will.

I looked up from the deluge of emails I’d been scrolling through on my phone to see her go down hard, the hot pink box slipping and shaking in her hands, and by the pink color in her cheeks, she must know I witnessed the entire thing.

She looks up at me from her awkward position on the sidewalk, her lips parted slightly, and I’m at a loss for words.

A man in a sallow-colored trench coat comes up behind her, shouting into his phone. “No, you asshole.” His voice is nasal, high-pitched, and it sets my teeth on edge. “I told you to move that product or find yourself another job. If your desk isn’t cleaned out by the time I get there, I’ll kill you myself.” As he snaps angrily into his phone, he registers there is a woman splayed out on the sidewalk and steps gingerly around her, his belittling and condescending expression implying he’s sidestepping a steaming pile of garbage. My jaw clenches tight.

I don’t really have time to perform a rescue mission, even if it is happening right outside my office building, but something about her has arrested my attention. Stopped it dead, right in this moment, and I can’t act like that prick on the phone. Not this time.

So even though I have a meeting scheduled with some of my top executives and only about five minutes to prepare, and even though I called the meeting, I do the only thing I can think of.

I step over to offer my hand to help her stand up.

“Are you all right?”

At my words, her face flushes from pink to scarlet. “Yeah. This is the best day of my life.” Her tone is rueful rather than biting, and she hesitates for a moment before she reaches up and puts her hand in mine. A zing dances up my arm, zeroing straight to the middle of my chest, and she takes in a quick little breath. Our eyes meet for another eternal second, and then she drops her gaze, grasping onto my hand a little tighter as she pulls herself up.

When she does, she’s not quite steady on her feet. “Shit,” she says softly, and her face turns an even deeper shade of red. “Sorry.”

“Do you have an extra pair of shoes?” It’s an idiotic thing to say, and I know it, but I have to say something, and her hand in mine is leeching all of my cool business demeanor right out of me. I’m actually finding it hard to breathe.

She flicks her eyes upward, catching herself. “No. And now my doughnuts are all over the ground.” She squares her shoulders, seeming to will herself to gather her composure. “Thanks for the hand up. If you could forget that you ever saw this—”

“Not a chance.”

She shoots me a dark, but surprised look. “Why not?”

I don’t know what it is—if it’s the storm, if it’s the way she looks, the tendrils of her dark hair escaping from the careful knot at the nape of her neck—but the next words that come out of my mouth are the pure, unvarnished truth. “You looked so good, kneeling down on the sidewalk.”

Jesus. This is not what I had in mind when I stepped out of the car.

Her mouth contorts, and then she presses her lips into a thin line, nodding as if all of this is predictable, commonplace, disgusting. “I think I’ve got things from here.”

She’s pissed, and as she stoops to pick up the box, which is now only about a third full of pastries, my brain works overtime to figure out what the hell to say to fix this. In this moment, I hate myself. Dominic Wilder, billionaire and president of Wilder Enterprises, the man with all the answers—and what, I have nothing?

“I’m sorry,” I finally say, as she wrestles the top of the box back into place. My voice is low and urgent—far more urgent than I meant for it to be—but there’s no way I can let her walk away from me like this. “That was inappropriate.”

Her face shifts again, and she seems to make a decision, nodding once, sharply. “It was.” Then her expression softens. “But we can agree to forget it.”

It’s been a long time since anyone spoke to me in such clipped tones, and it’s not pissing me off like it should. Surprisingly.

“Is there anything—?” Christ. I have no idea why I’m pushing this hard, for some random woman on the sidewalk who I’ve never seen before in my life and will probably never see again. “Do you need a ride? To a shoe store, maybe?”

This makes her smile, at least a little, though there’s a look in her eyes that I can’t quite place. “No, actually.” Her eyes flicker down to the sidewalk, then back up to meet mine. “I’m actually going in here. It’s my first day at Wilder Enterprises.”

I laugh out loud. “Oh, really? What department?”

She bites her lip. “Executive Support.”

“I’m Dominic Wilder.”

I didn’t know a person’s face could get so red, despite the fact that she was firing snippy responses at me a minute ago. She sighs a little. “I know. I’ve—I’ve seen your picture.”

“I look a little different in the flesh.”

She screws up her mouth into one of quaint disgust. “I hate that expression.” Then she remembers herself—remembers that I’m her new boss’s boss’s boss’s boss. “I’m sorry. We’re not getting off to a very good start.”

“We can agree to forget it,” I say, because when I look into those eyes, which are already burned into my brain, into my memory, it takes me a glacial moment to think of anything else at all. Except, of course, the very inappropriate things I’d like to do with— “What’s your name, Miss—”

“Vivienne,” she says, without hesitating. “Vivienne Davis.”

“Ms. Davis, you’ve having a very interesting first day.”

“I wouldn’t mind if the rest of the day was far less interesting.”

“I’m sure that could be arranged.”

Vivienne laughs, the sound uncertain. “I’m not—you’re not firing me right now, before I even start, are you?”

“This is a place of important business matters,” I say, eyeing the spilled pastries. “But I think we can let this one slide.”

Let this one slide? Who the hell am I right now?

“Thanks.” Vivienne’s smile is small, tentative, and then she squares her shoulders again. “I should—I should go in.”

I offer her my arm. “Let me at least get you to the elevators in one piece.”

Her eyes go from me to the box of doughnuts, and then she shrugs, turning the box on its side and tucking it under her arm like a briefcase. “They've already been dropped once.” Then she slips her hand into the crook of my arm. At her touch, I feel a jolt pass through my entire body that warms me.

Three wobbling steps and we’re inside the expansive lobby. Vivienne takes it in—the three-story atrium, the wide marble staircase leading to a second-floor restaurant, glassed-in elevators. “Wow.”

“Welcome to Wilder Enterprises,” I tell her. Even though the words are on the tip of my tongue, I stop myself from spilling out, Don’t ever leave.