Sweet Cheeks comes into the office around nine, gloating about her night. I think she’s talking about Tathan, but that couldn’t be, I was with him, in the hot tub.

Now I’m confused.

Zane walks by and hands Paul a folder.

“Zane!” I whisper and chuck my pen at him so he’ll turn and look. He’s watching the UPS guy outside and clearly not paying attention to me.

“Who is she talking about?” I whisper harshly when he stops at my desk.

Zane doesn’t look my direction for long—there’s another UPS guy outside now, and his attention is fully diverted. Not only is he shamelessly gawking at the men on the street, but he’s dancing around with one headphone in, the other hanging down as I’m sure he’s listening to a Britney Spears song.

“Zane?” I yell, causing the entire office to prairie dog and look over at me. Thankfully, Zane gets the point and pulls his headphones off.

“What’s up, muff?”

I take my ruler out of my desk drawer and slap his forehead. “Don’t call me muff. It’s weird coming from you.”

“Ow.” He rubs his forehead that’s turning red. “What do you want?”

“What’s Sweet Cheeks saying over there?”

“Who’s Sweet Cheeks?” he asks, scratching the side of his head.

“Uh. . . her. . . .” I point to the tall blonde standing by the coffee bar. “I don’t know her name.”

“Oh. . . that’s Lucy.” He puts his earbuds back in and shakes his ass at me, starting to walk away. I tackle him—inappropriate office etiquette, but I could give a flying fuck about any of that.

“Is there a problem, Amalie?” Paul asks when he steps out of his office and sees Zane and me on the floor, wrestling.

“Uh, yeah, actually there is.” I get off Zane and point my finger toward him, straightening out my dress with the other one. “Did you tell Tathan I was free this afternoon?”

I’m going to get myself fired.

“Come into my office.” He turns to Zane who’s on the floor still. “Zane, buddy, get off the floor.”

Zane trips me when I stand up. Turning to glare, I give him an inappropriate gesture to cement this clusterfuck of a day before walking into Paul’s office.

I walk in and sit in the chair next to the door, ready for some answers. “Spill the beans.”

“What do you want to know?” He takes a seat behind his desk, and the smirk on his face tells me right then he told Tathan I was free and might have possibly been telling him other details.

“What’s with your son? Why is he all up in my business all the time? Doesn’t he get enough play in the office that he doesn’t need to ask me out?”

He shakes his head. “Tathan doesn’t get play around here if that’s what you’re implying. Far from it. . . but that’s something you need to talk to him about, not me. Give him a chance. He really likes you.”

“So everyone keeps saying.” I’m being sarcastic, and he knows it. “Why me? When he can have any woman he wants, why me?”

“Amalie, you know the type of person he is. He sees things in people they don’t even see in themselves.” Paul has a point. I have to learn to overlook the why of why he wants me in his life and focus on the moment, focus on Tathan and forget about the fact throngs of women are clamoring to have him worship their bodies with the camera. Yep, not going to go there at all.

“Did you know that he’s twenty-six and has only had two girlfriends his entire life? Both were long-term too.”

I want to ask if they’ve found their dead bodies or something, because why else would someone break up with Tathan Madsen unless they were deceased? It just doesn’t make any sense to me, but yet here I am, refusing to believe he’s any more than a guy collecting girls in a bucket.

I know I’ve had a misconception about Tathan. I never really expected him to be that good guy. I didn’t want him to be. I was counting on him being a manwhore.

“So what happened to those girls?” I finally ask, relaxing in the chair.

“Ask him.” Paul folds his arms over his chest. “He’ll tell you. He’s the most honest person I’ve ever met.”

“Okay.” I nod, though I have no intention of actually asking him. “Why is it that he’s so fucking drawn to me?”

“Again, Amalie.” He leans forward to get his point across. “Ask him.”

Growing frustrated with his cryptic answers, I stand and intend on going back to my desk. Only he stops me before I get to the door. “I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time. Give him a chance.”

Ugh. Just ugh.

Between Zane singing “Womanizer” on repeat and Sweet Cheeks not knowing a goddamn thing about filing paperwork, my morning sucks and I get nothing accomplished. On more than one occasion, I had to tell her that “N” came after “M,” not the other way around.