By Friday, I’m completely rattled by Jax’s presence in the office.

He comes and goes when he pleases, but he’s always there at 5:00, when I walk down the hall to meet with him about the things we’ve done that day.

I’m about to go to our third meeting, but my head is pounding. I can’t get my heart to stop hammering in my chest.

Every meeting is torture. Sitting across from him, wanting to touch him, wanting to kiss him, wanting to bite him—and knowing all the time that Sandra is watching the clock. She agreed to these meetings, but she hates them. Every day at 4:30 she adds more confirmations, more scheduling, to my list, and when I get back from Jax’s office at 5:30, she’s inevitably irritated that I haven’t done them all yet.

So I’m scrambling to send out the last few emails when the clock on my computer screen ticks over to 4:59.

I’m outside Jax’s door at 5:00 sharp. I pull it open and step into the silence. He works without a secretary, and by Wednesday afternoon he’d had the clear glass doors leading to his inner office replaced by opaque ones.

Raising my hand to the metal detailing on the door, I knock softly, three times, and wait.

“Come in,” he says from the other side of the door, his voice muffled by the thick, dark glass.

It’s even quieter inside the sanctuary he’s created for himself. Since Wednesday I haven’t seen him outside it unless he’s coming or going, but I can’t imagine that he spends his days sitting here, waiting for 5:00.

He’s writing something in a leather-bound journal of some kind, and it takes several moments after I sit down for him to look up. When he does, his eyes light up. His gaze is fiery even if his mouth remains in a neutral line.

“I’ve got my notes from the day, Mr. Hunter. Is there anywhere in particular you’d like me to begin?”

“Let’s get to the meat of it, Ms. Schaffer,” he says, leaning forward. “Has there been progress on the major features?”

“Sandra finished with approvals for the Prada showcase, and the lineup for the menswear section has also been given final approvals.” I look down at my notes, but his eyes never leave my face. Every time I glance up, his look of pure longing and lust sucks a little more of my breath away. I continue down through my notes.

It takes five minutes to give him all the information I have.

At the end, I lapse into silence, looking across the desk into his blue eyes. They’re still locked on my face. He is clearly not thinking about the inner workings of Basiqué.

It pisses me off. What right does he have to take up my time like this?

“Does this even matter to you?” I say, not bothering to keep the frustration from my voice.

He only looks a little shocked. “Does what matter to me?”

“Basiqué. Are you concerned with the day-to-day here? How is that going to help you decide if you’re going to close down the magazine or not?” I hate how shrill my voice sounds, but I can’t help myself. The past three days have been a hundred times more exhausting than the entire past year. It’s awful to be so close to Jax and not touch him, even though I know I can’t. I can’t.

Jax studies me from across the desk, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and all at once I feel a rush of fear and regret. What if my outburst is what makes the decision for him? He can’t be that volatile, can he?

“You’re out of line, Ms. Schaffer.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I choke out the words. “I know. I’m sorry.” I clutch the papers in my hands, my palms slick. “Was there anything…anything else you wanted to know?”

“Yes.” His voice is so smooth, so sultry, that it tears me in two. I want to listen to him talk all day. And I want to run from the room. “Are you always this high-strung? Always so confrontational?”

The question stings. “No,” I say, a couple of tears pricking in the corners of my eyes. My voice is much softer than I intended it to be. “No, I’m not. I’m usually—” I look away. “This is a very demanding job, and I need it to work out.”

“How so?”

“I can’t—” Talking about it without crying will be impossible. “Getting to a stable place is—it’s everything to me. If I can survive working with her for another year, maybe two, it’ll be my ticket to any job I want in the city. I’ve put—” My breath is coming hard and fast. “I’ve put so much into this job over the past year. So much. If the magazine goes under, it’ll all be for nothing.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Why?” The question barely makes it out of my mouth.

“Ms. Schaffer, you’re so motivated it makes the Energizer bunny look lazy. Why don’t you think any business on the island wouldn’t hire you?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Because Ms. Sarzó’s opinion has so much influence?”

“Yes.”

This is the truth that I almost never admit out loud, to anyone. If I falter, disappoint Sandra, she could put an end to my career in this industry. It’s happened before.

Jax looks like he wants to ask more, but instead he folds his hands together on top of the desk.

“Would you like to know what I think?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“I think you need some…release.”

The way the final word curls off his tongue sends shivers down my spine, straight to the throbbing space between my legs.

“That’s not—we can’t talk about—”

He slaps both hands down on the surface of the desk and I jump. “We can talk about whatever I want to talk about. This is my publication, remember?”

I respond instantly to his dominating tone, leaning into it, heating up.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize unless I ask you to.” He switches so easily to another mode. I saw a glimpse of it in the car on Tuesday night but I was too timid to respond to it then, too overtaken by the champagne and the party.

“All right.”

“As I was saying, it’s clear to me that you need a way to release some of your nervous energy.” As he speaks, he stands and comes around the desk, then kneels next to my chair so he can whisper into my ear. “I can assist you with that.”

“You can?” The heat of his breath on the sensitive spot below my earlobe is driving me wild.

“Of course. You didn’t think I came here to micromanage your boss, did you?”

I can’t speak. I shake my head.

“You’re right. I didn’t. I came here because there’s something about you, Ms. Schaffer, something about you that makes me want to do all kinds of filthy things to you.”

This is on another level. My entire body stiffens, but he places his hand on mine and strokes gently.

“Let’s make an arrangement.”

I match his whispered tone. “What kind of arrangement?”

“You give yourself to me, completely, for thirty minutes, every day at 5:00. And I’ll make it worth your time.”

Goosebumps cover my skin from my head to my toes.

He’s not finished.

“Everything between us will take place in this office, during our scheduled meetings. Forget the party—that was an impulse we both surrendered to. From here on out, there are no strings. No attachments. One month, and it’s over.”

The timeframe coincides perfectly with the release of the second issue.

The truth—the ugly, shameful truth that I’ll never admit to out loud—is that I’m starting to crack under the stress of being so perfect every day, in every way. But something has to give.

It might as well be my insistence on staying far away from Jax Hunter. My track record on that has been less than stellar anyway.

So I don’t hesitate.

“Okay,” I breathe, my hands tightening on the arms of the chair. “One month.”

“Are you entirely sure?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’ll begin tomorrow.”