I overhear my mother asking Reagan to get her coffee from the nearby Starbucks, and I walk in, ready to give her my order as well.

“A venti café latte with an extra shot of espresso.”

Reagan turns and glares at me. I notice she isn’t writing down my order, and I can see my mother inching forward.

“Do you need me to repeat that for you?” I ask, raising a brow and waiting for her to respond.

“Why do you think it’s okay to come in here and tell me what to do without simply asking politely? Are you above being polite, Andrew?”

I can’t help but smile at her tone and ferocity. She’s the only woman who talks to me in this manner, especially in front of my mother. She’s definitely not like the others, and if I want to get Reagan’s attention, I need to play the game she’s playing because no one as sweet-looking as her can be this sassy all the time.

“It would mean so very much to me if you can get me something since you’ll be fetching a drink for Miranda.”

“Fetching?”

I nod. “Yes, fetching. That’s what you’re doing.”

Reagan inches closer to me and tilts her head back a little, raising her chin with sheer confidence. I’m so fucking turned on by her need to constantly challenge me. Never before has something turned me on to this magnitude.

“Dogs fetch.”

“Your point?” I ask.

She sweetly smiles. “Are you sure you want me to get you your latte, Mr. Powers?”

“Why, yes, Reagan, I am positively sure.”

“Okay. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“I’m okay,” I say. I give my mom a quick glance. “Mother?”

“Oh, no, dear. Please use the company card, and I’ll see you in a few.”

Reagan walks out, and as soon as the door closes, I take a seat on the chair in front of my mother’s desk. I’m expecting a lecture from her.

“You’d better be nice to her, darling. She’s not one to be messed with. And I like her, so don’t you dare do anything stupid. I can tell you right now, if I lose her, then you’ll be in the mailroom for two months and working every single weekend.”

I gasp playfully, appearing to be in shock. “Whatever do you mean? I will do no such thing.”

She rolls her eyes. “Everyone saw what happened between you and Reagan, dragging her into your office and then trying to get the girl to do your dry cleaning! Honestly, dear, that isn’t okay. Is that how you treat women? Because, if so, then I know to never expect more grandchildren.”

“I’m sorry.” I cough and widen my eyes when her words register in my mind. “Wait, what? More grandchildren?” I stammer.

The idea of having more children running around scares the living shit out of me. I don’t want Dawson to feel left out or another woman leaving us. Dawson’s the best kid, and I need to keep him safe. Plus, the idea of having a second child, or worse a girl, freaks me the hell out.

Marriage with the white picket fence isn’t what I want for myself. I don’t do love since it worked out so terribly the first time. I don’t do relationships because they are only one big clusterfuck. All I need is Dawson, my family, and the company to be completely happy and content.

“Just please mind yourself, and be the man I know you can be. Remember, CEO,” she says in a singsong tone, “Not DICK.” She grins.

I simply ignore her poke at my continuous need to be the office asshole.

I excuse myself and walk back to my office. When I look at the time, I see Reagan’s been gone for over twenty minutes.

How long does it take someone to get coffee?

I’m sitting at my desk when Reagan walks in nearly forty minutes later, and she hands me a cup.

“Oh, good. You’re not spilling it on me.”

“Oh, good. You’re not invading my personal space,” she responds with a sly smile.

“What took you so long?”

She shrugs. “I had some things to do after I gave Miranda her coffee.”

I take a sip from the cup she offered me and notice the smirk on her face.

“What the hell did you do to my drink?”

“Nothing.” She shrugs innocently. “Whatever do you mean, Andrew?”

I stand up from my desk chair and point at her. “I know you did something. Why didn’t you bring me my coffee as soon as you gave Miranda hers? And why are you standing there, smiling like you know something I don’t? I know you did something, and I’ll find out what it was.”

She leans in closer to me and fixes my tie with her hands. “I think you’re a little paranoid, Mr. Powers. I didn’t do anything to your coffee, and I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing. I’m a professional woman. Have a good day, sir.”

As soon as Reagan’s out of my office, I leave in a hurry and walk toward Remy’s office down the hall.

“Try this.” I thrust my coffee in his direction.

“I’m not trying that.”

“Why?”

He shakes his head. “Um”—he laughs—“Reagan spit in it, and I’m pretty sure she tossed in a dead spider, bug, or something no longer breathing just for the hell of it, too.”

I grab the phone on Remy’s desk and dial Security, demanding them to meet me at my mother’s office.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“She’s fired. I don’t fucking care who the hell she is or if she’s my mother’s assistant. We don’t need crazy people like her in this office.”

Without thinking, I storm out of his office and toward Reagan’s. If she thinks she can get this over on me, she has another thing coming. I’ll fire her ass so fast, she won’t know what hit her. Then, I’ll blackball her with every other company in the city, making it impossible for her to get a decent-paying job within a five-hundred-mile radius of Chicago. She’s done. Gone.

Security meets me, and I tell them to pack her things and wait to escort her out. I completely ignore the questioning looks on the guards faces because this is my fucking show, not theirs. If I want her out, she is out.

“Miranda,” I call out as I walk into the office, seeing my mother and Reagan working on the documents on Miranda’s desk. “Get up, Reagan. Security’s waiting for you. You are to be escorted off the premises immediately.”

“What?” they both say at the same time.

“You heard me,” I growl. “Remy told me what you did to my coffee.”

My mother gets up, and I don’t look her way. She can’t fix this with a few kind words. My eyes are steady on Reagan’s, and she’s not moving.

“Did you hear me?” I demand.

“You can’t fire me. I told your mother what I did, and I knew Remy was watching me. Don’t tell me to fetch you anything again. I am not a dog, and I deserve respect.”

“You could’ve killed me!”

“Killed you? Are you serious? A little overdramatic, aren’t we?”

“You need to leave and never come back.” I point at the door, still keeping my focus on her.

“She will do no such thing,” my mother says.

Reagan and I turn toward her direction.

“But she—”

She puts up her hand. “Stop this right now. Drew, I don’t care what happened. I told you to be nice. This is what you get for treating people as if they owe you the world. Disrespectful behavior only gains disrespect in return. Now, leave, and go back to work, or so help me, I will embarrass you in front of the office.”

“What the fuck?” I mutter. I leave before she treats me more like a damn child.

However, with each moment that passes, I realize that the anger inside me is fueled by the sexual desire I feel for Reagan. It’s eating away at me with each second, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

Throughout the day, I can’t get her out of my head. I’m continuously thinking of ways to get back at her. Some things are a little extreme, like super-gluing her office chair so that, when she sits down, she’ll be stuck. Or putting snakes in her office, so when she walks in, she’ll scream and run away. Like I said, extreme and over the top, I know. If I do any of those things, my mother will follow through with her threats. There has to be something I can do to get back at her.

I’m heading into my next meeting when I enter the conference room and see Reagan bent over.

Fuck. Me.

It’s almost impossible to hold back the animalistic growl bubbling inside me. Her round and tight ass is staring at me, taunting me. My cock pushes against my pants, wanting to be well acquainted with her and that sexy body of hers. Not only is her ass in full view, but I also notice her long, tan, and toned legs spilling out from beneath her fitted dress. The navy-blue dress she has on today hugs her perfect curves.

When she stands up and turns around, my eyes go directly to her perfect set of tits, and almost instantly, my palms twitch with the need to feel her supple breasts beneath them. Everything about her is perfect.

I have no idea why I’m thinking about her like this—beneath me, clawing my back, screaming my name.

Shit. She’s my mother’s assistant and off-limits.

“You’re early,” she says, pulling me out of my fantasy of her in only those heels, lying on her back on the table.

“I don’t like being late,” I inform her. “It means you’re rude and unprofessional.”

“Hmm,” is all she says before putting down the folders for today’s meeting.

Once everyone’s here and Miranda has Frank and Howard on the line, I see Reagan sitting down with her iPad, typing out whatever’s being said. I ignore the pulsing need for her and focus on the meeting.

* * *

When I get home from work, I take Dawson to the local burger shack, so we can pick up our order.

“How was your day?” he asks while we walk toward the restaurant.

“Hectic and busy. Grandma yelled at me for not being so nice.”

“But, Daddy, don’t you always say we have to be nice to others, no matter what?”

Damn, my son has a point. I should be nice to Reagan.

“You’re right, Dawson.” I ruffle his hair.

When we walk inside the sixties-style diner and walk up to the counter, I notice Reagan on the other side. She’s staring ahead while I stare at her.