“There’s a certain stigma when it comes to different kinds of sex. Like if we choose to do something a little different, it’s inherently wrong. Let’s get rid of that stigma together, because there are some things that I can tell you that you need to try. I’m talking about everything from toys to the continually made fun of edible panties. Nothing is off limits here. We’re going to get down, dirty, honest, and HOT. Let’s dive in, shall we?”

—How to Spice Up Your Sex Life,

I think I may have made a huge mistake. Yesterday was unquestionably amazing, and in the moment I put aside all the hesitations I had about sleeping with the boss. But in the morning, my head is clearer, as it usually is. What happens to me if that’s all he wanted from me? The contract I signed didn’t have a length of time attached to it. He could fire me today if he wanted to. And what if he doesn’t want to? What if he wants to keep going and I’m the first employee that he’s slept with? That’s an entirely different ball of wax and not even necessarily better.

I didn’t tell Alice what happened when I came home last night, because I knew what she would say. That it was utterly, utterly stupid. Which it was. And then she’d ask for details. I’m not ready for either of those things yet. Seeing how it goes today, I’ll be more prepared.

My stomach is in knots on the way to the office. What do I say to him? How do I handle this? The hypocrisy of it all hits me. I’m writing content for people that hopefully makes their dating and sex lives better, yet I can’t get my own together.

I try to keep my head down, avoiding as many people as I can. I don’t know if anyone saw Chance and me go to the roof together, but if they did, I don’t want to answer questions about it. I hope that everyone I met in the break room had gone home by that point, because if there were rumors about me meeting him in his office, then there would definitely be rumors about the roof. And those would be true.

There’s a note on my desk when I get to my office. Chance is out for the morning, and the article that he’d like me to start on next is one about keeping sex interesting after you’ve been in a relationship for a while. I haven’t even sat down yet and I’m already blushing. I have no idea if he chose this topic because of what happened yesterday, but it’s certainly on my mind. I already have ideas for the structure of the article, and they all feature fictional Chance and fictional Me.

I grab some coffee and get to work. Unlike the first date article, this one pours out of me. I cover everything from toys to food to exploring potential kinks. There’s so much here that I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface by the time noon rolls around.

Frankly, I’d be happy thinking about this article for a very long time. I get to imagine what it would be like to have Chance use toys on me, and the thought of him licking whipped cream off my nipples has me so worked up that I’m squirming in my seat. The possibilities are endless.

An email pops into my inbox, and I catch my breath because it’s from Chance. Just a few words.

Can I take you to lunch?

My heart leaps into my throat. I want to. Being out with Chance sounds like a dream come true. Even though the sex was amazing, it’s more than just sex. But should I? I’m not sure if I should keep this going. There are so many variables and so many possible things that could go wrong.

But then I think about yesterday and what I wrote about first dates being like lottery tickets. We’ve already had sex, but this would be our first date. I need to practice what I preach. I need to scratch off the numbers and see if I win.

Absolutely.

He responds right away.

I’ll come by in ten minutes.

I spend that ten minutes trying not to imagine all the possibilities I’ve covered in my article while touching up my make-up and hair. I wore a skirt that I love today, swishy and fun, perfect for a lunch out.

True to his word, Chance appears at my door ten minutes later and we walk out together. I’m going to have to accept that the rumor mill is running. At least Darcy and Emily see us on our way out, as well as a bunch of employees that I haven’t even met yet.

“So where are we going?” I ask him when we reach the elevator.

“There’s a little Italian place around the corner that I really love, if that’s okay with you.”

I smile, suddenly relaxing. “Fine by me. I love Italian.”

It really is just around the corner. One of those airy little restaurants that throws open their walls in the summer and lets their tables spill out onto the sidewalk. As we enter, the host smiles at Chance and waves him through even though there’s a line. “I come here all the time,” Chance says to me as he pulls out my chair, “so when I call and ask for a last minute reservation, they’re very willing to accommodate.”

“I’m sure being an extremely good-looking and rich CEO doesn’t hurt,” I say, smirking.

He laughs. “No, it doesn’t.”

We take a few minutes to look at the menu, and I end up ordering Spaghetti con Polpette and he orders Fettucini Alfredo. The waiter takes our order immediately and our water glasses are never less than half full.

“Is this a date?” I ask. “Are we dating now?”

“This is definitely a date,” he says. “This is not a ‘we had sex and I feel obligated to have lunch with you’ situation. And if you agree, I would very much like to keep dating you.” That smirk reappears. “Dating among other things.”

I can’t keep the grin off my face. “I think I can live with that.”

He smiles too, and for a second we’re just smiling and the world is perfect.

“So,” Chance says, leaning his elbows on the table, “what I know about you I know from reading your blog, but I really don’t know anything else.”

“What do you want to know?”

He shrugs. “Anything. Everything. What’s the story? How did you get here?”

I laugh, even though it’s not particularly funny. “Are you sure? It’s not really a fun story.”

“I’m sure.” The tone of his voice makes me think that he’s talking about more than just hearing my life story.

“My parents,” I say, “are really successful people. That’s important for later in the story. They’re both lawyers.” I clear my throat and take a sip of water. Generally, I try not to tell this story. “But when I went to college, I decided that I didn’t want to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or any not the careers that my parents thought were valuable. I decided that I wanted to study classic literature. My parents were so furious that they said they wouldn’t pay for school, which was fine. At the time I was convinced that I would a great job using the degree and that paying back the loans wouldn’t be a big deal. They thought I would back down and do what they wanted.”

“Sounds like a good time.” Chance laughs softly.

“You bet. Fast forward to graduation, and my parents make it clear to me that they expect me to be gainfully employed, because I’m a McLean, and McLeans contribute to society. So I got a retail job while I looked for a job that I actually wanted.”

The waiter appears with our food, interrupting me, but Chance waves me on. “Keep going.”

“It didn’t work. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to keep a job, even a crappy one. I had a string of bad luck. I got laid off, my position was downsized, and I’ll even admit that I did get fired. And every time it happened, my parents became more frustrated with me. It became unlivable in their house, so nine months ago I moved in with my best friend, Alice. I’ve been sleeping on her couch. Though now that I have a salary that’s way more than I ever expected, I’m hoping to get my own place really soon.”

“I can relate to that,” he says. “I had parents who were…very similar. They had dreams of me becoming a politician, and they did everything they could to push me in that direction. But it was never what I wanted, and they’re absolutely mortified with my current job. Which I have to admit makes me smile a little.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry. It’s the worst. Because you love them but they just don’t understand why what they want for you is the worst thing that could possibly happen.”

“And when we reject their plan they feel like we’re rejecting them,” he says.

“Exactly.”

He laughs. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Are we, though?” I ask, shifting the topic. “You know how complicated this could get. Are you sure? Because now you know that this job is basically the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and if all you want is a little sex, then I’d rather keep the good memories of yesterday and move on.”

Chance clears his throat. “I would love for you to keep yesterday’s memories as good memories. But I don’t want to move on. At all. I said yesterday that it was easier to have a no sex in the workplace policy, but that’s not the only reason. I was never interested in anybody I worked with before. I was never tempted to break that policy until you walked into my office, and I don’t have any regrets. I don’t want to stop; I don’t want to slow down. I want to know as much about you as I can. And,” he lowers his voice, “I want to fuck you in as many creative ways as the two of us can think of.”

I snort into my drink. “Just wait until you read the article I’m working on. You’ll have plenty of ideas.”

“Oh really?” He raises an eyebrow and I see that lust in his eyes, the kind that lets me know that he’s thinking about taking me on this table right now. “I look forward to being very, very inspired.”

His eyes have gone dark, and I recognize that look. It’s the same one he had yesterday on the roof when he was all the way inside me on the verge of coming. Blood rises under my skin, and an unexpected hunger seizes me. And it’s not hunger for the amazing food that’s in front of me.

“By the way,” he says, “We’re going to post the one-night stand article tomorrow. I know we talked about having a backlog of articles but everyone is really eager to see the response.”

“Great,” I say, trying to ignore the flurry of nerves that just sprang into my stomach.

“It’s going to be amazing. You’ll see.” He glances behind me, and I realize that it’s not the first time he’s done that during the meal. “Are you okay?” I ask. “You keep looking over there.”

Chance clears his throat. “There’s a guy watching us eat. I’m used to it, because it happens a fair amount. This one just seems a little intense.” He smirks at me. “And it’s not usually men.”

I laugh and glance over my shoulder. I don’t see anyone obviously staring, but I don’t have as good a view of that side of the restaurant. “Well,” I say, “I’d take it as a compliment.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” He stops looking and focuses again on me.

We chat a little bit more about his parents and the stress of having a family who isn’t supportive, and we talk about other things. The kind of music we love and hate, our favorite places in the city. But now that Chance has alerted me to it, I can feel that I’m being watched. I look over my shoulder a couple more times and manage to locate the source: a man with large, dark sunglasses in the corner who does seem to be staring with a certain amount of intensity. Even trying to ignore it is hard, because I can feel the gaze like it’s a laser on my back.

I’m focusing more and more on it until I can’t take it. “Okay,” I say. “I know that I said to take it as a compliment, but that guy is making me uncomfortable.”

Chance doesn’t hesitate, gesturing to our waiter for the check immediately. He stands and holds out a hand. “Let’s go. I’ll tell the Maître D’ to put it on my account.”

He guides me out of the restaurant and back onto the street, and it takes me a second to realize that we’re holding hands. Chance seems to realize it at the same time I do, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he weaves our fingers together as we walk back toward the office.

“Is this okay?” I ask. “I mean, are you okay with people knowing?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrug. “Because some people might be unhappy about you suddenly dating someone at the company?”

He pulls me to a stop just outside the door to our building, and wraps his arms around me so I have no choice but to look up at him. “I don’t think keeping secrets ever ends well,” he says. “Especially in business. I’m not dating you because I want to make other people happy. I’m dating you because I want to, and that makes me happy. Everyone else can mind their own damn business. Okay?”

Soft, warm butterflies take flight in my stomach. “Okay.”

And then he kisses me and I forget where I am entirely.