The next morning I slink into the office, trying to creep past Sloane’s desk as quietly as I tried to get past Ally last night.

And it works about equally as well.

She pops her head up over the cubicle wall. “There you are! Come on, I’m dying to know! How did it go?”

She’s grinning in a way that lights up her whole face and I’d almost be touched if it weren’t for the fact that I totally don’t want to talk about it.

“It didn’t,” I say, continuing on past her desk and hoping that’ll be the end of it.

But she’s already up and following me. “What do you mean, it didn’t?”

“I mean he was a no-show.” I dump my purse in the drawer of my desk and flick the button to turn on my monitor.

Sloane gasps. “That bastard!”

“That seems to be the common sentiment, yes.”

“Did he message you? Explain himself?”

I shake my head, although I’m already remembering Mister Bigshot — Trent’s — words. He still wants me. He wants to find me. He wants to make me do everything I described to him.

I swallow. I can feel my cheeks already flushing.

“What?” Sloane studies my face, her blue eyes piercing into me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

I force myself not to laugh. There’s oh-so-much I’m not telling her. “Nothing,” I say instead. “I’m just kinda bummed, that’s all.”

Her face softens. “I know. I’m sorry he turned out to suck. I’m not going to say I told you so but … next time no messaging for a month before meeting, okay?”

“Oh trust me, I’ve learned my lesson.” There would definitely be no more messaging.

Definitely.

Right?

I mean, probably.

I haven’t replied to his message, and last night I told myself I wouldn’t. That I should just let this whole thing die. I normally wouldn’t ghost on someone — I mean, that’s just rude — but in this case, it seems like the most humane way to handle the situation. That way neither Trent nor I have to have any awkward conversations.

Plus, you know, that whole thing about not wanting to get fired.

I flop down into my desk chair and wiggle my mouse until my computer comes to life.

“Any new photos in yet?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

Sloane shakes her head. “Nothing.” She rolls her eyes. “We still don’t even have half the content yet. We normally have it all by now. This is getting ridiculous.”

“Yeah, totally.” She starts on her usual rant about all the overtime we’re going to have to work and I’m glad to have her off and running on a new topic. The more she talks about the catalog, the less she’s going to ask about my date.

Eventually she wanders back to her own desk — still ranting — and I turn to my computer, letting out a big sigh. Sloane is the best work BFF I could hope for, but sometimes she’s a little too perceptive for her own good. I have to be super careful not to let slip what really happened last night.

I load up my work email and quickly scan through my messages. Nothing important — good. For some reason, I still had this niggling fear that I was going to get called into HR today. But I guess Trent still hasn’t realized who I am.

I suppose I should be insulted about that. I mean, he’d looked straight at me in that meeting.

Then again, he has hundreds of employees and I’m just one mousy brunette among dozens. I don’t exactly stand out. If I was a beautiful blonde bombshell like Sloane, things might be different, but I’m not.

I was just me. Hannah, plain and short.

I let out another sigh and get to work. I’ve been rewriting the same damn chair description for about a week now. Partly because I don’t really have much else to do, and partly because I can’t think about that chair without thinking about my emails to Mister Bigshot. Fucking him in that chair — that’s what I’d told him I wanted to do.

My cheeks flame for the thousandth time, thinking in embarrassment of all the things I wrote to him. The pictures I sent him … oh, God, the pictures. They might actually be the worst part. I mean, you couldn’t see my face in any of them, but still — just knowing that I had sent my CEO the lady equivalent of dick pics was mortifying.

But then I think again of his email to me yesterday. That he still wanted to do all those things to me. In fact, that he was going to make me do all those things.

The thought sends a dark thrill coursing through me. My boss is arrogant and crass — but god damn, do his words make me shiver.

The thought of Trent Whittaker holding me face-down on his desk while he rams his cock into my clenching pussy…

The thought of giving Trent Whittaker a blowjob under the table while he’s with a client…

The thought of Trent Whittaker going down on me in the back of his SUV…

I squirm in my seat then reach up to fan my face a little. I glance around to see if anyone’s watching me and accidentally catch Sloane’s eye. She furrows her brow, looking at me with curiosity.

“Is it hot in here?” I pretend to laugh.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Must be just me then!” I realize I sound a tad manic so I cut my losses and just turn back to my computer.

Get it together, Hannah, I chide myself. Remember all that stuff about not wanting to get fired? Acting like a maniac in the workplace is probably not a good route if one wants to remain gainfully employed.

Only I can’t resist pulling out my phone and clicking open the Lovemail app one more time.

I scan his email again, and the same familiar feelings of longing run through me.

How can Mister Bigshot be the same prick who runs our company? And how come the arrogance of his last email only makes me want him even more?

God, how I would love to just be able to do everything he said. Just give myself over to him.

After my experience with Matt, I can only imagine that someone like Trent would be on a whole other level. The things he could make me feel…

Of course, I realize with a sinking feeling, if I gave myself over to him, he’d realize just how unlike SweetVixen I really am. That I’m shy and inexperienced when I’m not hiding behind my computer. That my own ex-boyfriend once fell asleep during sex with me.

Ugh. No.

I have to end this. Now.

I take a deep breath and look at his email one last time. I should reply. Just to let him know I can’t do this. Tell him not to look for me, not to try to figure out who I am. He’ll respect that, I’m sure of it.

I just wish I was sure I wanted him to.

I take one last deep, steadying breath, glance over my cubicle to make sure Sloane is busy elsewhere, and then I click the bright red reply button.