Fuck.

Milo ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the spot Constance had just vacated.

This…thing with Constance was getting out of hand.

Once she had come in, Milo had sat and had stayed seated the entire time she’d been in his office.

Not his usual preference. He liked to pace when he thought, but there hadn’t been an alternative.

Because if he had stayed standing, there was no way Constance, daydreaming though she might have been, would have missed the raging hard-on that tented his pants.

Milo exhaled, trying to get a hold of himself, and trying to understand what she did to him.

He had barely been able to speak, so intent he was with watching Constance as she furiously scribbled notes, then stopped, looking off into the distance as she thought.

Milo wasn’t sure she was aware of it, but she’d done it for years. Milo had noticed it immediately.

At first he’d thought it was a sign of inattention, and he’d been certain she wasn’t going to work out as his assistant. But over the years, he had learned that Constance’s mind was sharp, a rival for anyone that had ever worked for him.

So he overlooked her apparent thoughtlessness, spent a little time puzzling over the source of it.

And then it had become something else.

He’d started looking forward to it, looking forward to her.

She seldom looked at him, too busy thinking or writing, but that had given him plenty of opportunity to observe her.

Smooth brown skin, soulful brown eyes, nice, curvy body. Attractive, but not eye-catchingly so.

At least at he’d thought so at first.

As time had passed, he’d looked deeper, saw that her brown eyes had little flecks of amber. And her body…

Nice curves, he’d thought initially, but now he knew that phrase in no way described her.

She always dressed in professional clothes, nothing fancy, but when Milo had noticed the way they clung to her body, he hadn’t been able to stop noticing.

The way her breasts filled her thin blouses. The way her skirts hugged her perfect ass. The little sliver of thigh he could catch glimpses of when she crossed her legs.

The hard-on that had only just started to calm came back with a vengeance. Constance was sweet, soft perfection.

And sometimes she looked off into the distance with a little Mona Lisa smile on her face, one that intrigued him almost as much as her succulent body.

More than once Milo had wanted to ask what she was thinking about.

Whom.

He curved his fists before he could stop himself. The thought of someone else putting that smile on her face made him want to punch something every time.

It had also led to some of his more regrettable behavior.

Whenever he’d seen that smile, he’d been even more of an asshole than usual, made her work longer those days, but he didn’t care.

The alternative was knowing that Constance was leaving him, going to whoever put that smile on her face, and that was something he couldn’t abide.

All of it was probably for no reason. They seldom talked of personal things, but Milo knew she wasn’t involved with anyone. Hoped that was still the case, and, as fucked as it was, would do what he could to make sure it stayed that way.

He pressed the intercom that connected to her desk. “Constance, you’re going to stay late tonight.”