It’s eight o’clock sharp when I make my way into Parks Real Estate Office. It’s not early by anyone’s standards, but considering I own a company that operates mainly in the evenings, it’s early for me. I expect to see an office full of life as I walk through the office. Instead, I find a mostly empty office.

What the hell? Does no one come to work on time?

I keep walking toward Jamie’s office. I need to take some time to make it mine if I’m going to be working here for a year in Jamie’s place. I can only handle so many motivational quotes and hippie incense.

“Good morning, Sean,” a sweet voice says as I walk to my new office.

I stop to greet the person when I realize it’s Olive. I cock my head to the side as I look at her sitting behind her desk. She looks slightly more put together today than she did yesterday. Her long hair is a little more tamed but still frizzy. She’s wearing dark dress pants with dress boots that are much more appropriate for the weather and the office, but somehow, it disappoints me. I quite enjoyed looking at her bare legs yesterday. She looks put together, except when I study her further. Her eyes have the tiniest of bags underneath them. Her lips are stifling the need to yawn. She’s exhausted.

“Coming into work early isn’t going to win you any favors if you are exhausted and worthless to the team, especially when it’s clear that no one comes in this early,” I say.

“I’m sorry. I mean…” She shakes off her apology. “I always come in this early. I try to beat Jamie in, so I can make sure the coffee is ready and everything is ready for her. I’m always the first to show up and one of the last to leave. That’s who I am. I’m sorry if I seem a bit tired. I had a bit of a long night last night. Tomorrow, I’ll be better.”

I narrow my eyes at her and resist the urge to laugh at her ridiculous apology. I continue into my office without another word to her.

I begin moving the incense, candles, and pictures of Jamie and her boyfriend off the desk and put them on the floor to make room for my laptop on the desk. I fire it up and open my email. Over a hundred unread messages pop up with more coming in each second as I stare at the computer. Some are from my business, and some are from Jamie’s business. Either way, it looks like I’m going to be spending most of my day answering emails.

I really need to find a manager who can be me when I’m not here. I know Jamie doesn’t believe in managers, but she doesn’t get to complain about how I run the company if she isn’t here.

I decide to start with looking through the applicants for the management position that I sent out yesterday. I said that all applications had to be in by noon today, so I expect most everyone who is interested in applying has already applied. Although I’m sure I’ll get a few stragglers today. Those who wait until today to send in their applications will get a mark against them. I need people who know what they want and are prepared for anything. Not someone who waits until the last minute.

I pull up the emails that are in reference to the position and am in shock when I see only five applications. Out of more than a hundred employees who work here, only five have applied so far. Hopefully, it’s the best five employees.

Did I not make it clear that the position would come with a huge raise?

Everyone should be fighting for the position, not unconcerned about it. Jamie really must have convinced these people that it’s better to be happy and have work-life balance than make money because this is not how normal people respond to the opportunity to make a lot more money.

I open the first email. It’s from Sandie. She has only one year of experience and is fresh out of college. Not what I’m looking for.

I open the second email from Melissa. Three years’ experience. Slightly better but still not what I want.

The third email is from Floyd. Seven years’ experience. He claims he brings in more commission than anyone else at the company. And he’s male, so he won’t distract me from what I need to be focused on. He sounds perfect.

I open the last two emails, and while I know I’ll interview all of them, my gut tells me that Floyd is my guy.

The first is more of the same. From Clay, who has limited experience.

The last email almost knocks me on my ass. It’s from Olive.

Maybe there is another Olive in the company? One who isn’t an incompetent assistant?

But, as I read the email, I know this is the Olive sitting right outside my office. The Olive who spilled coffee on me and apologized for kissing me. That was a first. Most women don’t apologize for kissing me. And that was the one thing she did right. If she would just kiss me every time she fucked up instead of apologizing, I would like her a lot more.

I begin reading the email from her.

To Sean Burrows,

I am writing to inform you that I would like to apply for the management position. As an assistant, I know I have limited qualifications, but I am loyal and have been an assistant here for almost five years.

I apologize for the initial meeting where I was late in picking you up from the airport, spilled coffee on you, and introduced you incorrectly, among other things. I know I did not make a great first impression, but I need this job. No one should still be an assistant when entering their thirties.

I have attached my résumé. I’m sorry for taking up so much of your valuable time.

Thank you for your consideration,

Olive Porter

P.S. I’m sorry for kissing you on the lips. I really was trying to kiss you on the cheek. I was told you were European, so I was trying to make you comfortable. I was clearly wrong about both.

I chuckle, reading her email. I don’t know why she thinks she should be our manager or why I would even consider her. She has no experience, and on her résumé, she doesn’t even list if she has her real estate license. She has no qualifications for the job. But I have to hear her try to explain herself to me. Maybe it will cheer me up from the fact that Jamie will never be mine, but I’m stuck in this frigid, cold place anyway.

I stand up and walk over to my office door before opening it. Olive is seated at her desk, typing away on her computer.

“Olive, I’d like to see you in my office.”

She narrows her eyes and frowns but then slowly turns her frown into a fake smile before getting up from her desk. “Of course.”

I hold the door open for her as she walks into my office and takes a seat across from me. I take my time in walking back to my seat behind my desk, letting the anxiety that I know she must be feeling creep up higher and higher until I’m sure it’s seeping out of every pore in her body.

“Do you know why I called you into my office?”

“No idea,” Olive answers honestly.

It’s strange not to hear a sir or Mr. Burrows. That’s how I’m always treated—formally and with respect. Olive doesn’t bother with sir or misters though. At least, she doesn’t today.

“I wanted to talk to you about your application.”

Her eyes widen. “Is this an interview?”

I smirk at her thinking I would give her an interview so easily. “No, this is more like a preinterview.”

“Oh.”

“Tell me why you think you have the qualifications to even apply for this position?”

She takes a deep breath, and then for the first time, I see the tiniest spark in her eyes.

“Because I have more experience than anyone other than Jamie in this company. I know my title says assistant, but I do a lot more than a typical assistant would. I am Jamie’s right-hand woman. And I know that, if she had to choose a manager, she would choose me. I deserve this position. I’ve worked my ass off for five years. I’ve earned a promotion. I don’t have my real estate license because it’s expensive to take the test, and there was no need to get it if I was never going to get promoted, but I could pass the test in my sleep. I know everything there is to know about real estate, and if I don’t get this job, then I quit.” She bites her lip when she says the last word, like she didn’t mean to reveal to me that she planned on quitting if she didn’t get the job.

But her biting her lip has drawn my attention back to her lips instead of staying focused on the task at hand. It would be nice to have that lip on my mouth again.

“You should quit.”

Her eyes widen so much, I’m afraid they are going to pop out of her head. “What?”

“If you quit, then I can fuck you, and I really want to fuck you. If you stay, well, then I can’t.”

God, what am I saying? This is definitely harassment.

I’ve been forward with women before, but this might be taking it a bit too far. It’s just been too long since I’ve had a woman in my bed.

“I have a boyfriend.”

I smirk. “I doubt that.”

She frowns. “His name is Owen, and he’s a musician. And I quit, but not so that I can fuck you. I quit. Good luck running this company on your own without me. You’re going to need it.”

I watch as she stands up and begins to walk out of my office. This really isn’t going how I planned it.

“Wait,” I say, standing up.

To my surprise, she pauses. I don’t know why I’m going to say what I’m going to say next. I suspect it’s because I’m thinking with my dick instead of my brain. I should just let her walk out of here, but Jamie would be upset with me. And, for the first time today, I’ve seen something in Olive that I think could be developed into a more confident woman with just a little help. And I know just what she needs to do that. She could become my pet project, and just maybe, I can show Jamie that I’m not such a bad guy. That, if things don’t work out between her and her baby daddy, then she should give me a second chance.

“I’ll give you a real interview, just like everyone else.”

“And you’ll stop talking about fucking me and being an asshole in general to me?”

I take a step forward until I’m invading her personal space. “I’ll stop talking about fucking you, and I’ll try to behave more like your boss instead of an asshole.”

“Good. I’ll see you for my interview…”

“Tomorrow,” I answer.

“Tomorrow. If you need anything taken care of today, let me know. It was nice speaking with you, Sean,” she says.

She extends her hand, but she’s not paying attention to how close we are, and she grazes across my dick that is hardening more each second.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, retracting her hand.

I laugh. She almost made it out of here without apologizing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Porter.”

She turns and walks out of my office without looking back.

I smile to myself as I walk back to my desk chair and picture what it would be like to bend her over my desk and fuck her here. How pink would her cheeks get? Has she ever been fucked properly by a man? Or is she secretly one of those quiet, insecure girls who becomes a fierce tiger in bed?

I promised I wouldn’t mention fucking her again, but I didn’t promise not to think about fucking her.

And that’s how I get through the shit-ton of emails I have—by envisioning her naked ass up in the air as I bend her over the desk.