“Ladies, the walk of shame is over. You looked fabulous when you went out last night and that dress looks just as good on you the next morning. There’s nothing shameful about choosing to have a good time and owning it. So own it, and soon enough we’ll be calling it the walk of victory.”

—How to have a Fantastic One-Night-Stand as a Successful, Independent Woman, Heartmakers.com

This isn’t possible. It’s not real. Things like this don’t happen in real life, except maybe they do, because I’m standing in what might be the most gorgeous office I’ve ever seen. It’s not huge like Chance’s office. It’s the perfect size: cozy, with a desk and a floor to ceiling window and another wall that’s painted a shade of teal that makes me feel like I’m in the Mediterranean.

In the corner, there’s a chair that looks like you could sink into it with a cup of tea. I don’t think I could have designed a better office for myself if they had asked me to. It’s like they read my mind. Which is kind of freaky and kind of awesome.

“This would be my office?” I feel like I need to ask because I’m still not entirely convinced that this whole morning hasn’t been a fever dream brought on by Noodle’s horrible dog breath.

Chance gestures to the desk. “Sit.”

I do.

He leans over me and moves the computer mouse. Dear God, he smells good. Like water and pine and soap and something else that makes me want to take a bite out of his arm. “Since you’re not officially on the payroll, you don’t have a log-in. I’m going to let you use mine.”

“Thanks.” I’m glad that thanks is the word that came out because I’m so distracted by how delicious he smells that my brain could just as easily have said ‘waffles.’

He pulls up a document filled with headlines and smaller paragraphs. “We’ve been thinking about bringing in a writer for a while, so my staff and I have kept this document of ideas for articles we think might be beneficial for the website. I already know that you’ll be perfect for this, but why don’t you give the first one a try, and I’ll read it at the end of the day.”

I look at the top of the list, and the pitch is a good one: How to have a one-night stand as a woman in the modern age. That, I can do. It’s been a while, but I’ve had my fair share of one-night stands. It’s a tricky thing to get right.

“Even though we’re here to help people have lasting connections, we know that one-night stands are going to happen, and in the current dating culture, they’re way harder on women than they are on men.” Chance half sits on the desk next to me, and I feel like he’s his own center of gravity and I’m being pulled toward him. With him so close, and thinking about one-night stands, I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to go home with him.

The whole night flashes behind my eyes. Meeting at a bar. Drinking and laughing. Pretending to be surprised when he kisses me before I get in the cab, and secretly being delighted. I’d pull him into the cab with me, and we’d be off to his place. I know myself, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him in the cab, and we’d hardly be able resist giving the cab driver one hell of a show.

We’d barely make it through the door before our clothes were off and he’d have me up against the wall before I could take a breath. All that built up heat would jump back and forth between us, and by the time he’s pushing inside of me, I’d be so close that it wouldn’t take long for either of us to finish. And then we’d have another drink before moving to the bedroom for round two…and three.

Hell, if I went home with him I’d try for more than three. It’s easy to tell that the body under those clothes is pretty much perfect. You don’t get to be the CEO and face of a matchmaking company without having the entire package, and if his face looks this good, everything else must be exquisite. My mind is distracted now, forming dark and smudgy images of us tangled together with sheets and nothing else. Slow and pulsing and–oh God yes–I want that.

“Caroline?”

My focus snaps back to him and I realize that I’ve been staring and that he finished talking a while ago. “Sorry,” I say, blushing. “Already thinking about the article.”

He smiles, and I get real life, honest to God butterflies. Chance stands. “I’m glad to hear that. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I will. I’ll get started right away.” I reach for the mouse so I can at least pretend to look like I’m going to start, and I miss, knocking the mouse off the desk. It lands at his feet. Damn it, why am I such a klutz?

“Whoops,” I say, trying to sound light. I reach down to get it, and…oh my God.

He’s still standing so close to me, and I didn’t judge the distance. Now I’m grabbing the mouse and my face is…against him. Right there.

I get myself back into the chair as fast as humanly possible, and I’m pretty sure that all the blood from my body is now in my face. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I swear I’m not usually this awkward. I’m just…nervous.”

“That’s all right.” Chance isn’t smiling now, and he doesn’t seem angry just…I don’t know, shocked? “I’ll give you a chance to work. Email me the piece when it’s done. My address is already in the email program under my name.”

And then he’s out the door and I watch him walk down the hall. Two of the office walls are glass and I can see people looking in my direction, which makes me blush even more. I have no doubt that they just saw that. They either think I’m the klutziest girl alive or that the new girl is already hitting on the boss. No matter what, it’s a pretty humiliating start to a job that I’m not even sure I have yet.

One thing’s for sure though, Alice has got to hear about this.