I MAKE A KISSY FACE at my reflection, making sure the red lipstick and heavier eye makeup I just applied look good before snapping my compact closed. The little button is lit on my phone, indicating it’s five o’clock and I’m officially off-duty. Graham usually comes out to say goodbye or see how my day went, but he doesn’t today.

Smiling smugly, I put a fresh spritz of perfume on my wrists and dump my things back in my purse. Every time he did run into me today, he tried to seem unaffected. The fact of the matter is he tried too hard, because it was obvious. Good. Let’s see how he reacts to this.

Switching out my office-approved footwear for a pair of black heels, I wheel around to face my computer. This will either work or it won’t. Either way, I need it to fall one way or the other. He’ll bite or he’ll let go—I’m giving him the opportunity and will respond based on his reaction.

I can’t handle this back-and-forth. If I have to force his hand a bit, I will. For the both of us.

I type out the email I’ve been constructing all day in my head.

I hit SEND before I can rethink it . . . or before I can add “I wasn’t wearing panties today either.” I’m not sure how he’ll take my announcement, but it’s Friday, so I should be good to go until Monday morning.

I almost make it around my desk when his office doors fly open. He stands in the doorway, his eyes dark. “Can you come talk to me for a minute before you leave?”

“Sure,” I say, my heart striking my ribcage with so much force I think it might stop beating. Following him in his office, he closes the door behind him.

“Have a seat.” He motions towards the chair in front of his desk as he drops into his seat behind it.

Pulling myself together, I cross one leg over the other as casually as I can manage and smile. He bit. Now to see how hard. “What can I do for you, Graham?”

“You’re quitting?”

“I take it you got my email.”

He sighs, not out of exasperation, but out of annoyance. That annoys me.

“Does that not work for you?” I ask. He just narrows his eyes.

“Look, Graham, I don’t want to complicate things for you. And I think I have,” I gulp.

“You have no idea,” he mutters. He shakes his head. “This is because I didn’t kiss you yesterday, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be so self-absorbed,” I say, although he’s right. This is because he didn’t kiss me, but I’m not sure how I would’ve felt, besides even more turned the hell on, if he had. Maybe it would’ve been awkward either way and we would’ve ended up here regardless. “This is about me wanting to work somewhere that I can understand my boss. Where I don’t feel his eyes undressing me one minute and then having him act like it’s a completely ridiculous thing to think the next.”

“I’ve never acted like it would be ridiculous to kiss you.” His eyes darken further. I shiver as he stares at me, slowly lifting himself out of his chair.

“I’ll admit I like it when you look at me like that.”

“How?”

“Like you are right now,” I breathe. “Like I’m pretty or interesting.”

“I do that because you are.”

“But you look at me like that, you let me know what you want to do to me, then you refuse to follow through. You play with me.”

“I didn’t toy with you,” he growls, coming around the desk. He stands in front of me, leaning back against his desk. Looking down, his face dances with early evening shadows.

“You did, but no more than I did you,” I admit. “I’m no victim, Graham. But you don’t play fair.”

I’m acutely aware of the rise and fall of my chest. His gaze is so determined, so heavy, that it nearly stings. I want to stand, to even this power field a little, but I can’t move. He makes it impossible.

“That’s why you wore this today, to get to me,” he maintains. “To drive me fucking nuts all day while you parade around, flaunting that body in my face.”

“You thought this was for you?”

He’s caught off guard, which only spurs me on.

“I hate to break the news to you, Graham, but I have a date tonight.” I watch that bit of news settle over his features. He forces a swallow.

Uncrosses his arms. Narrows his eyes as his lips form a thin line.

“So, if you don’t mind . . .” I say, standing and facing him. “He’s probably waiting.”

“Who is he?” he demands.

“Does it matter?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t.”

“Fine. He’s a friend of Camilla’s.”

“Camilla did this?” he almost booms. “You’re dating a friend of my sister’s?”

“I’m going on a date with a friend of your sister’s,” I correct him, like he’s crazy. “I’m not dating anyone.”

“Where’s he taking you?” he demands.

“So many questions . . .”

“For heaven’s sake, Mallory,” he says, throwing his hands up in the air, “Is he even taking you to a place that uses a damn fork? Does he have enough fucking sense to pay for your meal?”

Technically, you don’t need a fork for pizza. I giggle, my way of releasing some of the anxiety that’s rocketing through me from the way he’s looking at me. “It doesn’t matter to me where he takes me, Graham. It’s the fact that he wants to take me at all.”

“It does matter, especially when you’re dressed like you want to fuck. Damn it, Mallory!”

I look him right in the eye, my heart pounding. “Maybe I do, Graham.” I turn to leave, and he grabs my arm and spins me around. I catch myself on one of the chairs and gasp as he steps into my personal space. His cologne surrounds me, but this time, it’s mixed with something else. Something muskier. Something edgier. Something purely male that I’ve never experienced before but know I’ll never forget.

“You were making a point today.” Graham takes the final step to close the distance between us, our chests nearly touching. “Point. Made.”

I gasp a quick breath.

“Now it’s my turn to make a fucking point.” With that, his lips cover mine and I melt into his arms.