“Drink?”

“Oh God, yes. Please.” I cast my pleading eyes at the waitress, who gives me a polite smile. “I’ll have a dirty martini. A double, actually.”

“Blake, slow down, we just got here,” my sister Rori teases. “You’ve got all night.”

“I know, but you have no idea how badly I need this.”

She laughs. “Is the new job really that bad?”

I purse my lips. I don’t answer until the waitress has taken all of our orders and disappeared back into the crowd, towards the bar. “It’s not that it’s bad, exactly. It’s just a bit ... much.”

Emma and Rori exchange a look, and I roll my eyes.

“Come on, give me a break,” I lament. “I didn’t say I couldn’t do it. It’s just a lot different than working for Mom and Dad, that’s all.”

Which, of course, is the understatement of the year. After all, I never once fucked anyone at the flower shop. Certainly not my boss. And not least of all because my boss was my dad and ... ew. I haven’t told anyone yet about what happened with Logan the other day, not even my sisters or Lucy. Now that it’s Friday, and we’re all sitting around a little Manhattan bar called Veneer, I have the overwhelming urge to spill everything.

I can’t, though. I know what my sisters would think — that I’m still Blake the baby, Blake the fuck-up. Blake who can’t make it in the city. Blake who can’t be trusted to behave like an adult.

I’m not saying my sisters are judgmental. Not exactly. But they see me as the baby. The one who never grew up. Finding out I did something as stupid as banging my boss isn’t going to help my case. I want to prove to them that I’m a grown-up now. Almost as much as I want to prove it to myself.

Which means putting everything that happened with Logan Cartwright completely and one hundred per cent behind me.

The waitress returns with our drinks — my double martini and Rori and Emma’s wine and Lucy’s Pina colada. I take a grateful sip from the wide-rimmed glass, then grimace. Why did I pick a martini? I ordered it because I thought it sounded like something a grown-up would order. Now I look enviously at Lucy’s drink. I should have ordered something with a damn umbrella in it. You really can’t go wrong with an umbrella.

“So, tell us everything,” Emma says, sipping her wine. The dim bar lights glint off the huge rock on her finger. “How do you like working for Logan Cartwright?”

I grimace again, though this time it isn’t because of the drink. “It’s okay. He’s kind of ... intense, I guess. He has me running around doing all these crazy impossible errands for him, like getting him last minute theater tickets to a sold-out show.”

“I guess that’s why he’s gone through so many assistants,” Emma muses.

My ears perk up at that. I remember she’d said something about this once before. “Oh yeah?”

She chuckles. “Yeah. He told us ten this year alone. That’s why I wasn’t sure about having Tyler forward your resume. I got the impression he might be a bit of a nightmare boss. Although Tyler says most of them ended up leaving because he slept with them.” She laughs at that. “So, I guess as long as you don’t sleep with him, you should be okay.”

“Haha, yeah, right.” I pick up my glass, but the liquid inside suddenly looks incredibly unappealing. I set it back down on the table. How could I have been so stupid? Now there’s really no way I can tell them what happened. And what does this mean for my job? Is Logan going to fire me, now that I’ve slept with him? Am I just number eleven in a string of misguided assistants who made the rookie mistake of letting the boss get into her ... filing cabinet?

“Can we get some mozzarella sticks?” I say, instead of spilling my guts onto the table.

“Sure.”

“And maybe some nachos?”

Rori laughs. “Whatever you want, Blake. We’re celebrating your new job.”

“Then can you flag the waitress down? Just order one of everything. I’m going to the bathroom.” I need a minute to catch my breath and collect my thoughts.

Lucy jumps up. “I’ll come with you.”

I don’t say anything, even though I want to be alone. I can’t exactly tell her that she’s not allowed to go to the bathroom. Instead, I just smile, and we both head towards the back of the bar.

“Are you okay?” she asks, leaning in close once we’re inside.

“Fine,” I say automatically. “Why?”

She squints at me under the fluorescent lights. “I don’t know, you just don’t seem like yourself tonight.”

I should lock myself in a stall and end this conversation now, but instead, I meet Lucy’s eye.

“I did something stupid,” I blurt.

“What?” She instantly looks concerned.

“I slept with my boss.”

“Oh no. Blake, you didn’t.” Her face falls.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe for her to tell me that it was no big deal?

“I know it was stupid,” I admit. “It just kind of happened. We were eating Thai food, and then he kissed me, and then the next thing I knew, I was on his desk with my skirt up around my waist.”

“Oh, God. Blake, that’s awful.”

“I know.” Except there’s still a teeny tiny part of me that thinks it wasn’t awful at all. That thinks it was mind-blowing and life-altering and completely fucking orgasmic. But I don’t say any of that to Lucy. “I swear it’s never going to happen again.”

At least that part is true. Whatever I may have felt about Logan in that moment, I definitely know it can’t ever happen again. No way, no how.

“No, definitely don’t do it again. Once is a mistake, but twice is just stupid.” She tries to smile, but I can see the concern still etched in her eyes.

“Couldn’t agree more. Don’t tell my sisters, okay? They already think I’m such a fuck-up. I really don’t need them knowing I did this. Especially not Emma.”

At that, Lucy actually laughs. We’ve both had many conversations about how obnoxiously perfect my sister is. She’s lightened up a bit since she met her fiance, Tyler, but she’s still way too much of a goodie-two-shoes. She’d have an aneurism if she knew what I did. Not to mention that she’s the one who helped me get the job — she’ll probably feel like it’s her reputation on the line, and God forbid anyone sully that.

“Don’t worry,” Lucy says. “Your secret is safe with me. You want to get back out there?”

I take a deep breath. “Yes, let’s.” I slip my arm through hers. “Do you think they ordered any deep-fried pickles? I’ve got a craving for pickles like you wouldn’t believe.”

I go into work on Monday with every intention of playing it cool with Logan. I might even straight up tell him that what happened last week is not happening again. I want him to know just how serious about this I am.

Except I never get the chance. Logan spends the entire day out of the office. Kath says he’s in meetings, but when I check his calendar, he only has a couple of conference calls scheduled. Nothing that would keep him out of the office all day.

I spend the evening dwelling on it, which, believe me, I realize isn’t the behavior of a girl who wants to put this firmly and one hundred percent behind her. Thankfully, by Tuesday morning, I’ve once again scrunched up my willpower and am prepared to tell him just how I feel — that last week was a mistake, that I take my job seriously and have no intention of fucking it up for an ill-advised fling.

Except, once again, I never get the chance. Logan is nowhere to be seen. His office door is closed, the lights are off, and everything is quiet. I creep back over to Kath’s desk.

“Where’s the boss today?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“Canada.”

If I’d been drinking coffee, I would have spit it out. “Sorry, what?”

“Northwest Territories, to be specific. Meeting with some big mining honcho. He’ll be back in a few days.”

“Right.” You’d think he would have bothered to tell me. After all, I’m his personal assistant. Surely, that would require me at least having a basic idea of his schedule. “I guess I’ll just find something to do.”

“I think he left you a list,” Kath says. “On your desk.”

“Great.” I let out a huff and clomp back to my desk. Sure enough, there’s a folded piece of paper nestled on my keyboard. I don’t know why he didn’t just email me. I snatch the paper up and unfold it. For a second, I have the wild hope that it’s not just a to-do list, but an actual note, an apology for having to be away, or maybe something to say he’ll be thinking about me, that he can’t get what happened last week out of his head.

Of course, it isn’t. It’s a to-do list, plain and simple. I scan it quickly, my stomach twisting in irritation at the list of asinine tasks on there. Clean the cappuccino machine? Get the photocopier serviced? Scan all of the vendor contracts from the last six months? I actually groan out loud. I mean, I know it’s my job. And I know that it was a stupid fucking fantasy to think that he’d write anything personal here. But it still sends a lance of pain through my heart. I feel torn into a thousand pieces over what happened last week, and Logan doesn’t seem to be affected by it at all. How is that fair?

And more importantly, how could I have been so stupid?

I take the to-do list Logan oh-so-thoughtfully left me and study it. With a sigh, I head to the kitchen. This is my job, I remind myself. My feelings — or non-feelings — for Logan Cartwright don’t factor into it. I might as well throw myself into the list. Starting with wrestling that beast of a cappuccino machine.