“Eight thousand views in two days? Man, I should do this for a living.” That’s a joke, of course, but I’m damned proud of my newest video, ‘Dirty Thoughts and Inappropriate Rami Malek.’ My friend Casey leans in from her desk opposite mine, wheeling across the carpet in her chair. She’s got the bobbed black haircut of Clara Bow, and the horn-rimmed glasses of that librarian nobody messes with because she might have poisoned apples under her desk.

“You should set a goal for yourself.” She adjusts said evil librarian specs. “If you make it to one hundred thousand subscribers, you can quit and start up your own platform.”

I blow a friendly raspberry. “I just do this for fun. Can you imagine anything more hilarious and awful than me giving my own advice to people? Before you know it, everybody’d be living in studio apartments, still single in their thirties, eating brownie mix out of the bowl.”

“What, pray tell, is wrong with a bowl of brownie mix?”

“Absolutely nothing, sweet friend.” Our ‘screw salmonella’ uncooked cookie dough parties are legend. “But you need a functioning life before you can lifestyle anyone else.”

Casey sighs and goes back to the book she’s reading. We both work at CAA in the literary department, scouring the hopefully unpublished and influentially published alike in an attempt to find the next big movie or TV franchise. I keep bringing my favorite indie self-help gurus to their attention. So far, they haven’t made any offers based on my recommendations, but I’m hopeful there’s always a first time. My absolute favorite YouTuber, Blaire Lavender, is going to self-pub her own book soon, and I can’t wait to show her off to the higher ups.

I click off my video, shaking my head. Casey’s the best gal pal a gal could ask for, but she loves me too much to be objective. I’m the one who needs all the help she can get. How am I supposed to help anyone else?

My phone rings, and I pick up. “Does Mario’s not have any more cherry Cokes?” I’m assuming it’s Gerta with our lunch orders, and boy am I ever wrong.

“Emma?” That voice, like a delicious whiskey-flavored ice cream with a chocolate wafer cookie thrust into the top of the gooey decadence.

Like I said, I was waiting on lunch. And now I’m hungrier, but not just for food.

“Mr. Walker. Hi.” I did not squeak that last word. I am a cool, professional woman. Just because the head of our department is one of the hottest men on the planet does not change that. It just means I need to wear extra-strength deodorant to the office.

“Emma, how many times do I need to ask?” He laughs, an easy sound. “I want you to call me Gavin.”

I know he’s asked me, but it feels a little too trendy tech startup for me to start calling all the higher ups by their first name. Things get too friendly, next thing you know you’ve left your underwear at the office, and you can’t find it when you need to collect all your personal belongings in a cardboard box before being escorted from the building. Because banging your boss is not professional in the slightest.

Banging bosses sounds good, though. Maybe it’s the ‘b’ sound.

“Are you still there?” Gavin Walker sounds worried, like maybe I strangled myself with the phone cord in the interim.

“I am, Mr. Walker.” I keep my tone bright and cheerful, but put a little emphasis on the ‘mister.’ He laughs again, and the sound glides over my skin. I get goosebumps, what can I say?

I can practically hear Casey rolling her eyes behind me.

“I need you in a meeting. Conference room C, five minutes.”

Five minutes? My stomach growls in pained anguish. That chicken club sandwich is going to come home to this desk only to find itself abandoned. What kind of monster am I?

A monster who wants to keep her job.

“See you there.” Gavin hangs up the call, and I spin myself around in my office chair. Casey’s watching me with her cheek in one hand and sardonic annoyance in her eyes. That is very hard to convey, incidentally. You really need to nail the eyeshadow.

“Any particular reason he needs a lit assistant in a meeting with his top agents?” she deadpans. I snatch my iPad in case I need to take notes and shrug.

“You ever think maybe he’s grooming me for a promotion?”

“I think he wants to groom you for something else.”

“Groom like a monkey, or groom like a serial murderer?” I get up, huffing a little in annoyance. “Case, he’s my boss. I’m not going to do something stupid. You know me.” We both stare at each other in awkward silence. “Like, you know how I’ve changed.”

“I know, you’re a grown ass woman, and it’s a meeting with people in it. I just worry about you anytime a handsome man saunters his way into view.”

“Gavin Walker does not saunter.” That is true. Gavin’s more a glider than a saunterer. He enters a room, and it instantly feels cooler. Cooler in a hot way, that is. If that makes any sense. To saunter, well, you might need to get someone like Fraser freakin’ Drake in.

I am not thinking about him at all, so you know. So you’re aware. He’s a tremendous jackass, always has been. When we were kids, he tried putting me in an extra-large pillow case and leaving me by the mailbox. And all I did to deserve that was pants him in front of the neighborhood.

Boy, would I like to pants him now in an entirely different and child-inappropriate way.

Remember awkward sexy Rami Malek thoughts? Fraser Drake just joined that particular party. God, what is my problem today? I rub my eyes and sigh. Then I take my iPad and hustle over to Conference room C, courtesy of my uber-hot boss.

At least there’ll be no sexy shenanigans in here.

Or so I think, until I slide open the frosted glass conference door and find Gavin Walker standing at the head of a long, polished table. He looks prepared as I enter, hands braced atop the table on either side of him. He looks up at me, and a smile quirks at the right side of his mouth. Few things are as mouth-wateringly sexy as a half smirk. Did he even dress the way I like on purpose? The dark blue button up shirt matches his cerulean eyes. His raven black hair is smoothed back, shower fresh. He’s young and lithe and always ready with a smooth word and a sparkling eye.

My better judgment always tells me to be cautious around men like Gavin, but I admit my horny judgment tells me to ignore common sense. Still, I’ve managed to keep a professional distance between us, because I’m not some schoolgirl with a crush.

“Emma.” My name sounds mouth-watering on his lips. “I’m happy you’re here.”

It’d be easier if he didn’t sound so honestly pleased to see me. I take a seat at the other side of the table, all business. Open my iPad, all business. Feel the heated weight of his gaze, all business.

I love to mix business with pleasure. Except you don’t, Emma. Stop it.

“Always happy to help. Did you need something particular?”

“With you, it’s always particular.” He slides into his own seat, and I swear he winks at me. My face flushes a tiny bit, but I become preoccupied by my notes. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was hitting on me. Hell, who am I kidding? I’m damn certain he is.

“Did you reconsider signing that woman I mentioned? Nicki Persons?” She’s the best motivational diet person I’ve ever seen in my life. Got me to give up on cookie dough parties for a solid week.

Gavin leans back in his chair. “She was appealing. Everyone you find is appealing.” His eyes linger on my face. Well, feel free to linger. “But she doesn’t have that triple crown platform we mentioned earlier.”

I all but sigh. Right, the ‘triple crown’: 100k plus twitter followers, 200k plus YouTube subscribers, ten in the looks department. No matter how many times I explain to the agents over here that you don’t need to be a stunning platinum blonde to help people, they act like I don’t know what I’m doing. Considering all I do is eat up these people’s opinions, that’s kind of rich.

“So if she gets implants and dyes her hair, would you consider?”

“You know I don’t care about how she looks.” He leans forward, the picture of sad sincerity. “But I can’t get it past my team.”

Right, the infamous Gavin Walker team. They seem to keep him and his opinions on a tight leash. I can’t help the flush of annoyance that comes over me as I tap my iPad and open to a blank note page. “Man, everyone’s late. I suppose we’re the only ones who care about punctuality anymore.”

Gavin shrugs. “Meeting starts at a quarter past. You’re early.”

“You mean we’re early.” I can’t help the warm flush creeping up the back of my neck. “Why’d you make me show up five minutes before show time?”

Gavin studies me a minute, his cool blue gaze pinning me in place. “Maybe I wanted to get some time with you. Alone.”

That moment when your body and your brain are reading out two very different signals to you at the same time. My brain says to be extra cautious, while my body wants to be extra flexible. I cross my legs and shrug.

“I hope it was worth the trouble.”

“You always are.” He smiles, a flash of white teeth as the door slides open again. Gavin’s assistant, a sweet girl in her early twenties with wild hair and Warby Parker glasses, leads in Gavin’s top agents. They’re mostly men, mostly into Axe body spray and popped shirt collars, mostly clicking their tongues at me as they settle in for the meeting. I might ‘accidentally’ trip one or two of them. Why the hell does Gavin have such an obnoxious cadre of douchebags on his team? He’s classier than all of them combined.

Ah, well. Business will biz, I suppose.

The meeting doesn’t last very long. Mainly, it’s one or two of the Axe Boys, as I like to call them, bringing up a celebrity’s newest cookbook, or advocating to sign up the newest, hottest YA novel. This time, it sounds like the Hunger Games in space with a little bit of Sense and Sensibility for the girls. I have no idea what such a book would look like, but apparently it went at auction for a cool million, so what do I know?

Gavin approves both projects, while I sit there with my iPad, pondering a bit. What was the purpose of bringing me in here? I’m not the secretary, and I’m not an agent. I know Gavin likes to flirt, but he can flirt on his own time. Why bring me into a meeting?

Well, all I can think of is Blaire Lavender and her upcoming book. Maybe this is the time. Seize the day, Emma Brightman.

“If there’s no other business?” Gavin says, pushing back from the table. The guys are stretching and cracking their backs like they just put in some serious work.

“I have a suggestion.” I wheel in my chair to face Gavin. All the guys around the table look lost and confused, like a piece of the furniture suddenly got up and started talking. “There’s this incredible blogger I follow, Blaire Lavender. She’s a self help girl—”

“Here we go,” one of the guys—Byron—says, flipping his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Chick shit.” All the men around the table chortle, but I don’t. Au contraire, I dig my heels into the carpet. And it is very plush carpeting, too.

“Like I was saying. She’s an independent self help guru, and she’s legit.” I lay out Blaire’s triple crown credentials on my fingers. “She has over five hundred thousand YouTube subscribers, three hundred k Twitter followers. And, she looks like this.” I whip out my iPad, and pull up her profile. Blaire’s a gorgeous young woman, with creamy skin and flowing black hair. The men all gather around like pigs to a honey-scented trough. I swear, one guy even licks his lips.

“Dude, she is super hot. Look at this, man.” He passes my iPad to Gavin, whose eyebrows raise a fraction. Yep, Blaire’s the full package. That makes me smirk as I add,

“And she’s trans.”

The men around me all react like I shoved a snake down their pants. What a bunch of gentlemen. Gavin’s the only one who doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, he smiles.

“I see what you’re getting at, Emma.”

Indeed he does. “It’s a fresh face in the market, with a fresh experience and take. She’s the real deal, Gavin.”

I don’t coo his name over candlelit dinner in his office; I say it outright in a meeting, giving me a little bit of power. All eyes are on me now. Gavin puts my iPad down, steepling his fingers. Finally, he nods.

“Contact her, and get a proposal together. I want to know what this would look like.”

I’m in. I have to keep from standing on top of the table and shaking my ass in all the douchebags’ faces. Keeping a handle on myself is harder than you’d think, but I manage. After all, the assistant who discovered Blaire Lavender has to keep cool.

The meeting breaks up, all the guys side-eyeing me as they slink out of the room. Gavin holds up one hand to me, waits until all the others are out of the room. Then, he stands and slides his hands into his pockets. He glides over to me—I’m telling you, the man can glide. He leans against the desk as I stand. His eyes trace over my face.

“You did well.” His blue eyes flash, and I swear they linger on my mouth.

“So, that was a test? To see if I can hold my own with the big boys?” Not that I’d call them particularly big, but they are definitely boys.

“I wanted to know if you’d take initiative to go after what you wanted, even when out of your depth. And you did.” He leans in closer, never touching, but getting nearer and nearer to it. “You continue to surprise me, Emma.”

“Wait until you see this Blaire proposal. You’ll be surprised into signing a major contract with her.” I keep my voice even, but a thrill rushes up my spine.

“We can discuss all kinds of surprises tonight, over dinner. What do you say?” he murmurs.

Dinner? Me and Gavin Walker? Part of me is already out the door and heading to my apartment to spend three hours getting ready. The other part of me is cautious. He’s my boss, after all, and—

The glass door slides open, and the sweet assistant girl pops her head in the room. “Mr. Walker? Call for you. It’s from a Ms.—”

“Thea, do I have to explain a closed door to you again?” He looks over to her, and his charming, mellow expression hardens to ice in a flash. Thea quails in her sensible high heels. “Didn’t they teach that concept to you at Barnard? Or were all your classes in women’s liberation and basket weaving?”

Hot damn, but that took a fast turn. Thea adjusts her glasses; I swear, the poor kid’s knees knock together. “Um, n-no. M-my specialty was in the African diaspora and—”

“Shut the door. Tell whoever it is I’ll call back.” With that, Gavin turns his attention back to me. But on behalf of the sisterhood everywhere, I shoot Thea a commiserating look as she closes the door. God, I remember being just out of college and trying to compete in the world of Hollywood. It was a terrible time. I just want to give that kid a hug.

“Sorry, I hate to be interrupted. Where would you like to go for dinner tonight?” He’s back to his charming, panty-melting act…but the magic moment’s been shaken.

“I’d love to. Really. But I’ve already got plans with a couple of my girl friends. We’re going to the Algonquin Lounge, you know the place on Melrose? Really good cocktails, really killer flapper ambience?”

“Emma Brightman. Are you turning me down?” He doesn’t say it like he’s hurt, though. In fact, a slow smile creeps over his face. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the chase is what excites him the most. Well, boss, chase this.

“You’re going to evaluate Blaire’s proposal? Well, I’ll evaluate yours as well.” With that, I pick up my iPad, neaten my cute but office appropriate jacket sleeves, and head for the door. “Thanks for bringing me in, Mr. Walker.”

His laughter follows me out into the hall. As I walk back to my desk, part of me feels naughty and daring for everything that went down. Part of me can’t believe how bold and reckless I was. Part of me is elated I get to contact Blaire Lavender about her proposal.

And a tiny, strange part of me can’t help comparing Gavin’s ice blue eyes and aquiline features to Fraser’s earthy, rugged exterior. Why the hell is Fraser Drake coming into the picture at all right now? Other than to drive me crazy.

What kind of crazy is a little harder to figure out.