Sloane and I get back to the office just in time for the staff meeting.

The Loft & Barn offices don’t have a boardroom big enough for everyone in the company, so meetings are broadcast over video conference. Each month, they rotate which department gets to join the Whittakers in the actual boardroom. This month, joy of joys, it’s marketing.

The group of us files upstairs. Though us plebes work on the eighteenth floor, the executive offices are up on thirty. It takes three elevators to get all of us up there, and Charlene stands in the eighteenth floor lobby the whole time, directing us in like an anxious air traffic controller.

“Come on, come on!” she hisses, making some elaborate arm gesture that I’m pretty sure means “snakes on a plane” in sign language.

I cram into an elevator with Sloane, Jim and a few other people from our section. We get to the thirtieth floor and head to the boardroom. Nobody talks. No one likes going to these meetings in person — at least when you’re logging on over video you can get some work done or surf the internet while the meeting drones on. When you’re in the boardroom you actually have to look alert and pay attention.

Oh well. At least it means getting to see the Whittaker brothers up close and personal.

It’s standing-room only in the boardroom so I find a spot at the back, between Jim and Sloane. We amuse ourselves by taking bets on how many times Charlene will smooth her hair down during this meeting. She is, of course, right up at the front of the room, where the brothers won’t be able to miss her.

It isn’t long before the murmuring in the room quiets. I strain to see above the people ahead of me. Is it …

Oh yes. There he is.

Trent Whittaker.

Also known as sex on a stick.

The man might be a tyrant but the Lord has blessed him well in other departments. Six-foot-something and built like a caged animal. He filled out a suit the way most men could only dream of doing. Dark hair, dark eyes, a perpetual six o’clock shadow that you just want to feel rubbing up between your inner thighs.

Whew. Maybe there was a sweet vixen in me yet.

I look away as Trent starts talking, too embarrassed now to look at him. Just being in the same room with him is enough to make my panties feel uncomfortably damp.

“Thank you to everyone for being here today.” His deep voice carries through the room. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Trent Whittaker.”

There’s polite laughter in the room. As if there’s anyone here who doesn’t know him.

“Hello to all of you out there in video land, and welcome today to our marketing team, who are joining us up here on thirty.”

The polite laughing turns into polite clapping. I’m sure half the people tuning in online have already stopped watching, but here in the room, his very presence is keeping my whole body at full attention. Lust is coiling inside my gut. I blink a few times, trying to vanish the mental image of him throwing me down on the boardroom table and taking me as hard and fast as he wants.

This is crazy, I think, as a flush covers my skin. I seriously need to get out more.

“My brother Luke has asked me to pass on his regards today.” Trent’s voice is like butter, melting over us. “He wanted to be here but he’s busy with the new collection and … well, we wouldn’t want to interrupt a genius hard at work, would we?”

Everyone laughs politely again.

I try to distract myself from the rich timber of Trent’s deep voice by looking around the room. I take in the wave of grey and black suits, the neatly coifed hair. Even Charlene, who normally doesn’t dress up, is wearing a smart charcoal blazer. I look down at my own yellow sundress, suddenly aware of how out of place I must look. I wrap my white cardigan tighter around me, glad that I’m at the very back of the room.

“We’re well on track for the season, and Luke is in the final stages of finishing this year’s flagship pieces.” Trent flashes a thousand megawatt smile. “Now, I know normally we would already have the pieces finalized by now and you would have the photos and the catalog would be well under way. But I promise you Luke and I are both working as hard as we can to get everything ready for you.”

He pauses to take a sip of water out of a glass sitting on the boardroom table. His throat bobs as he swallows once, twice, three times. No one in the room breathes a word in the silence.

“It’s going to be a busy couple of months,” Trent finally says, setting the glass down and looking slowly around the room. “So I’m here to ask you a small favor. We need you. In the coming weeks, as the photos and product lists start to come in, we need you to push hard. All hands on deck. There’s going to be some overtime. There are going to be some weekends. But if we all pull together, we can make this fall collection — and of course, the fall catalog — the best that Loft & Barn has ever seen.”

No one dares to groan out loud, but the temperature in the room drops perceptibly. I pull my little cardigan tighter around me. So that’s what this meeting is about. Buttering us up to work a bunch of overtime.

A hand shoots up in the front row. Surprise registers across Trent’s face, though only for a second. He’s quick enough to plaster on another winning smile.

“A question. Yes?”

“Are we going to get overtime for all this extra evening and weekend work?”

There’s a noticeable shift in the room. It’s the question everyone in the room wants to ask, but I can’t believe anyone actually dared to do it. Trent’s eyes darken, somehow making him appear even more sexy and commanding.

“Let me turn that around and ask you a question. Do you have a family?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Great. And when one of your kids is sick, do you get overtime to take care of them?”

“No.” The man in the front row who’d asked the question folds his arms.

“Right. You take care of them because you love them.”

“But that doesn’t…”

“Here at Loft & Barn, we’re a family. We take care of each other. You, me, all our friends in marketing and out there in video land. We’re all in this together. Taking care of each other.”

The man in the front rubs his chin nervously. “But that’s the thing, see, I actually do have kids and I need …”

Trent cuts him off. “Perhaps you aren’t understanding me. This is a very simple problem with a very simple solution. Either you work the overtime, or you find a new job. The same goes for everyone else in this room.”

God, he’s an asshole. Yet for half a red hot second, I find myself wishing that smoldering gaze was directed at me. Eyes flashing, bodies burning, hearts beating…

Sloane leans over. “I bet that guy in the front is wishing he’d kept his mouth shut,” she whispers to Jim and I.

Jim rolls his eyes. “Next time my kid’s sick, I’m going to bring him in and let him puke all over Trent Whittaker’s six thousand dollar suit. Then we’ll see how much he likes family.”

I snort.

Loudly.

Oh God, too loudly.

The room gets quiet. Trent stops talking.

“Is there a problem at the back? Anything anyone would like to share with the group?”

You could have heard a pin drop in that boardroom. My stomach rocks back and forth, as if I’m on a very tiny boat during a very big storm. If things get any worse, I’ll be the one puking on Trent’s six thousand dollar suit.

A minute ago I had wanted to feel his eyes on me, all over me, and now I’m terrified as those same eyes scan the crowd. I try to keep my gaze level and not meet his glare, but it’s no use.

I feel the exact second his eyes land on me. My skin starts to burn. My legs shake. My breath goes ragged. He’s focused so intently on me that it’s as if we’re the only two people in the room. In the universe.

I can’t help but stare back at him. I can feel my lips part. My nipples go embarrassingly hard and I tug at my cardigan again, wishing to God I was the type who wore button-down shirts and formal blazers.

Our eyes are still locked, like a beam of electricity is connecting us.

Finally, Trent Whittaker snaps his folio closed. I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“Right, that’s all we have time for today.” He strides out of the room without looking back. The grey-haired woman I recognize as his secretary scurries after him.

People begin filing out of the room quietly. Everyone is morose about the overtime but the real grumbling won’t start until we’ve gotten away from the thirtieth floor. As soon as the elevator door closes though, Jim bangs his fist against his head.

“No overtime. Weekends and evenings, all because I’m supposed to love this company the way I love my sick kid.”

Sloane pats his arm. “Don’t worry, buddy. Trent’s right there in the trenches with us. Slaving away in his six thousand dollar suit.” Sarcasm drips from her voice.

We all shut up when the elevator door pings open again and we see Charlene standing there.

“Great meeting, right team? Really inspirational, as always. Let’s show Trent we can make this the best season ever.” She claps her hands together, smiling.

“Do you know what the hold up with the collection is?” Jim asks. Sloane and I hover behind him, not wanting to miss it if there’s going to be a showdown.

“Well, not as such, no, but the Whittakers are so very busy, as you know. I’m sure they’re just working on making it even more perfect than usual.”

Jim is shaking his head. “There’s something going on,” he says darkly. “I don’t know what it is, but it ain’t good.”

“Well, we aren’t going to get anywhere with that attitude, are we?” Charlene trills. “You heard Trent — we’re going to make this the best catalog yet.”

I try not to roll my eyes. How can one person be so out of touch?

Then again, I’m just as bad as she is. Trent had basically threatened to fire the whole bunch of us, and all I could think about was what his ripped chest must look like underneath that suit.

Maybe I’m just as deluded as Charlene.

Or maybe I just really need to get laid.

I think again of Mister Bigshot, of his invitation to meet.

Could I … ?

I shuffle back to my desk, lost in thought. I can’t get Trent Whittaker’s dark blazing eyes out of my head, but I have something better.

I have a Mister Bigshot.

I pull up the Lovemail app before I can change my mind.

After all, I deserve to have a little fun, don’t I?