Without thinking I opened my mouth wide and stuck the length of the divine thickness into my mouth and then slowly pulled back, licking the tip as I looked up.

“What?” I said to my two friends who sat across from me looking amused.

“With technique like that, why in the world did Evan ever leave you?” Emmaline, my friend since kindergarten, said wryly as she stared at me with amusement filled eyes.

I rolled my eyes, “Stop being gross. This popsicle is delicious. You know I haven’t had carbs in—”

“Six months... we know, we know,” Misha cut in. She was married to an electrical engineer who owned his own engineering firm. She was the wealthiest person I knew, but her clothes belied that fact. I could see a hole near the neck of her blouse and her jeans were faded in a non-fashionable way. I bet the hole was from the stapler where the thrift store workers had stapled the price into the garment and, of course, Misha had haphazardly ripped it out leaving a hole behind. But I knew she didn’t care. As long as she didn’t pay full price, she was happy. She wasn’t only the wealthiest person I knew, she was also the cheapest.

“From the way she was eating that popsicle, if I had to guess I’d say she also hasn’t been with a man in about twice as long. Poor girl is going through a sex drought,” Misha said, unable to resist teasing me.

“Misha, please...we’re in public...” I hissed.

“Don’t shush me, you were the one deep throating a popsicle like a porn star.”

I blushed.

“Frankly, Lacey, I’m embarrassed for the popsicle. You didn’t even take it out for a nice dinner or anything.”

I tossed my napkin at her. She dodged it easily, but it fell into the plate of the guest immediately behind her.

My eyes widened in panic. I immediately began to mumble, “I am so sorry, sir. I’ll pay for that.”

The sir in question took his time withdrawing my balled up napkin from his now unappetizing dessert. I winced as he dropped it with a plop next to his plate and then he looked at me. His eyes were the same color as the chocolate popsicle I’d been devouring. And if I were being honest with myself, he looked just as delicious.

With his large hands, olive complexion, bedroom eyes and thick lashes, I found myself enthralled and instantly feeling inadequate. He was a beautiful specimen of masculinity. Nope. Definitely not my type. Then why was my pulse skipping a beat?

“Maybe if you hadn’t been so busy performing sexual favors on that ice cream concoction, you’d have seen me sitting here.”

My mouth dropped open and I struggled to come up with something to say when I heard Misha laugh. I shot her a glare.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said stiffly, raising my chin and looking down my nose at him. It was my signature move whenever I was feeling insecure. I would pretend to be high and mighty when really I wanted to hide my face in a dinner napkin and run away.

The man stood up and instantly my friends’ giggles stopped as they watched him approach. He was tall, at least 6’4 and he moved effortlessly in his close-fitting black shirt and expertly tailored dark jeans. My shoulders tensed and I forced myself to appear aloof and unaffected by his size, but more so unaffected by his presence. After all, he was just a man like any other... except sexier. I didn’t get a chance to admonish myself for having those thoughts, when he then bent down and said against my ear, “If you ever need any help getting out of that drought, I wouldn’t mind being of assistance.”

He turned to Misha and Emmaline, saying, “Enjoy dessert, ladies—I know I did.”

And with that, he walked out of the restaurant.

Misha barely waited for him to disappear before saying, “Oh my God, he was gorgeous. If I’d known throwing trash around a fancy ice-cream shop would get the attention of a beautiful man like that, I’d throw all the trash.”

“Uh huh,” Emmaline nodded in agreement. “What did he say to you just now?”

“I hope it was something dirty,” Misha said.

“He apologized for getting upset,” I said, trying to keep a straight face, but it was no use. My friends knew me too well.

“You’re a terrible liar, Lacey,” Emmaline said with a laugh.

I shrugged and promptly changed the subject, but in the back of my mind was the feel of the man’s breath against my ear.

Later that week, I made my way to the temp office to meet with my recruiter. I did mostly contract work, going from one client to another. I enjoyed it. I didn’t like routine or staying in one place, so temp work was great for someone like me. My recruiter, Kadija, had called me last weekend, telling me to report in because she had an opportunity that I’d love. I was a little apprehensive. Kadija had a habit of assigning me the most difficult of clients. I normally didn’t complain because it meant the pay was even more, but I wanted to take it easy. I wasn’t feeling as motivated to deal with difficult people lately. I figured it was because I was getting older and crankier... even though I was just turning 30 not 70.

I tugged at my earrings nervously as I got into the elevator. I was terribly claustrophobic, but my therapist had suggested I face my fears straight on in order to get better. Emmaline was my therapist and she was currently in graduate school online earning her master’s degree in psychology. I didn’t know if her advice was any good or not, but it was free.

I sighed in relief when the elevator dinged, signaling we’d arrived at my floor and I practically jumped out of it, heading in the direction of the temp agency. I found the frosted glass door, pushed it open, and before I could even approach the window to sign in, the receptionist smiled widely at me and said, “Don’t sit. Go straight in.”

I raised my eyebrows and did as I was told. Normally, I read all the outdated magazines in the lobby before Kadija made an appearance.

Speak of the devil, she met me immediately as I entered.

“Lacey Cabot. Now if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.” She gave me a big hug as if we hadn’t seen each other in years, when actually it couldn’t have been more than three months.

I hugged her back, no matter how uncomfortable it made me. I hated hugs from strangers and yes, I’d known Kadija for a couple of years now, but I didn’t even hug my aunt who’d practically raised me. Actually, my aunt didn’t hug anyone. She was a stoic woman. I tried my best to take after her, but I wore my emotions on my sleeves, no matter how hard I tried to hide them.

As expected, Kadija could see that I was surprised. She smiled at me, showing off her deep dimples in her flawless caramel-colored face. Her hair was in dreadlocks and artfully arranged in a bun on top of her head. She smiled at me as if she had the best secret she could barely contain.

“I know, I know. I practically tackled you when you walked in, but Lacey, I got a call from a friend of a friend who is looking for a personal assistant. It’s a great opportunity for you!”

I frowned. “A personal assistant gig? That’s not my thing.” I had an issue with the idea of being at someone’s beck and call.

“You don’t have any office work or something along those lines?”

“He’ll pay you seventy-five dollars an hour.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

Kadija smiled like the Cheshire Cat. “Uh huh. Now you change your tune. Come on, step into my office.”

I followed her silently in a state of shock. What person in their right mind would pay some stranger seventy-five dollars an hour to just do menial tasks like fetching the dry-cleaning and paying their utility bill? I narrowed my eyes.

“Who’s the client? Isn’t that a lot, even for a personal assistant? It must be someone crazy difficult.”

“Not at all. I promise you that.” Kadija smiled in an assuring manner from the opposite side of the desk.

I didn’t believe her and I said as much. “Come on, Kadija. Seventy-five bucks an hour? For how long?”

“Oh...well…indefinitely,” she said, pulling at the sleeve of her blouse.

I didn’t like the sound of that. “So let me get this right, someone indefinitely needs a personal assistant and is willing to pay me seventy-five dollars an hour for my services?”

She nodded, “I know it sounds crazy—”

“Yep.”

She continued, “But it’s a legitimate job.”

“Tell me about the client.”

She smiled in relief, probably thinking my curiosity would get the best of me. “His name is Oliver Foster. His personal assistant just recently retired so they’re looking for a replacement. Have you heard of the Foster family?”

I shook my head. “Should I have?”

Kadija shrugged, “They’re one of the oldest families in the area. They keep a pretty low-profile.”

I made a noncommittal sound and Kadija continued, “My source tells me he’s a harmless old man who just needs a little companionship.”

“Sounds a little like an escort service—”

Kadija tossed her hands up. “At least try to work with me here, Lacey. I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime and didn’t your car just die?”

She was referring to my early 90s Honda. I loved that car and I had been too cheap to replace it. I didn’t like the idea of taking out an auto loan, so when my car had died, I started taking the bus everywhere instead. I wasn’t enjoying it. Public transportation drove me crazy. I didn’t like all the people sitting so close to me, randomly talking to me or having to reach over people to signal for my stop. I hated it, but I hated the idea of debt more. I watched my aunt struggle with debt while she raised me and I didn’t want to repeat that experience in my own life. For the most part, I was a practical person and I didn’t like complications.

“Yes, my car died,” I admitted with a sigh.

“And for the amount of money you’ll make working as Mr. Foster’s assistant you’ll be able to buy a car with cash or at least put down a nice down payment pretty soon...”

She had a point but I wasn’t going to tell her, and then she sweetened the deal. “I heard he gives bonuses.”

I kept my expression as impassive as I could before saying, “Oh really? Cash bonuses?”

“His previous personal assistant made an extra five thousand a month on top of their salary.”

“Five thousand dollars?”

Kadija nodded, now looking smug. “So are you in? If so, I can arrange a meeting later today.”

“That would be great,” I said, relenting. Beggars can’t be choosy, as my aunt would say, and hey, I needed the money.

Kadija clapped her hands together like a gleeful toddler and thanked me. She then slid a card over to me. I took it curiously and realized that it was a hand-written card with an address and a code on it.

“What’s this?”

“Mr. Foster’s address and security code. He’s expecting you.”

I still felt a little hesitant, but then I thought back to my bus ride to the temp office. There’d been a guy on there who kept insisting on singing to me. And when I’d blatantly ignored him, he had tried to spit shine my shoe. Or at least, I was giving him the benefit of the doubt that he was trying to shine my shoes and not necessarily trying to spit on me. Yeah, I needed a new car. I needed Mr. Foster’s money.

Kadija was nice enough to call me a taxi and less than thirty minutes later, we pulled up in front of Mr. Foster’s estate. There was a security guard out front who beckoned for us to pull up.

He lowered himself to our line of vision and said through the window, “Are you Miss Cabbage?”

“Cabot,” I corrected tightly, blushing ever so slightly. I didn’t think my last name was that difficult to pronounce.

He gave a self-deprecating laugh and shook his head. He scratched at his long beard and said with a little smile, “Sorry about that Miss Cabot. I’m terrible with names. I have two daughters and I mix them up all the time! And their names sound nothing alike.”

I smiled slightly at his attempt to be friendly and told myself to stop being so uptight. “It’s okay. It happens.”

He then surprised me saying, “Miss Cabot, ummm cars aren’t allowed on the property. You’ll need to walk to the entrance.”

“Walk?” I said looking down dubiously at my feet. I wasn’t exactly wearing walking shoes.

The security guard looked apologetic as he opened the door for me and I slid out. I paid the driver who watched the entire exchange wordlessly before driving off.

“How far away is the actual estate?” I said unable to tell since the large gate was covered in ivy and I couldn’t see through the bars to the house on the opposite side.

“About half a mile,” the guard said, and my mouth fell open.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I mumbled. I wasn’t the athletic type. My idea of working out was lifting a spoon full of ice cream to my face to shove into my mouth. I was lucky I had skinny genes, because I was a lazy glutton to be completely honest.

“Maybe it’s only a quarter mile—”

“That doesn’t sound much better.”

“Okay. Well, it’s definitely less than ten minutes.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“Could be worse,” the guard said with a smile. He then walked to his little office and hit a button, the gate opened and suddenly I felt nervous. What was I getting myself into?

“Just follow the path straight up... you can’t miss it.”

“Sure. Great. Thanks, ummm—” I realized then that I hadn’t asked his name.

“It’s Peter. Peter Nguyen. You can call me Pete. Everyone does.”

“Nice to meet you, Pete. And please, call me Lacey.”

He smiled and shook my hand. “You better head on up. He’s going to wonder what’s taking so long.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Well, wish me luck. Hopefully, I won’t be too much of a sweaty mess when I get there.”

He shrugged. “Trust me, Mr. Foster either won’t notice or won’t care.”

“He’s a pretty laissez-faire type of boss?” I asked hopefully.

“Mr. Foster’s a character.”

I wanted to ask more, but I needed to get a move on so I waved my goodbye to Pete and started up the path to the estate. And it was then that I saw that the ground wasn’t flat at all. It was hilly.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I said out loud as I made my way up the first hill, huffing and puffing as I went. I knew I should have been impressed by the beauty around me; the immaculately kept lawn, the overhanging trees along the path that must have been hundreds of years old, the gardens that begged to be on the cover of a gardening magazine.

But I was miserable. The flowers aggravated my allergies and made my nose run. My eyes were watering and I couldn’t stop sneezing. My calves were on fire and I felt sweat running down my thighs. My granny panties were uncomfortably tugging in weird places and I hazarded a look behind me just to be sure no one was watching as I reached under my skirt and attempted to tug them back into place. And it was then that I heard the laugh.

Startled, I looked to where it had come from and saw a man standing there with a smug smile on his face.

I could feel myself blushing as I opened my mouth to explain myself, but then I promptly closed it as the man grew nearer. I immediately took a step back. I recognized him and if the stupid smile on his face was any indication, he clearly recognized me.

“Please tell me you’re not Mr. Foster.”

He smiled widely at me. “Hate to disappoint you, but I am.”