I watched her face from the corner of my eye as I turned the key at the base of the elevator buttons to reveal the button for my floor. As her eyebrows flew up and her soft, full lips parted slightly in surprise, I suppressed a grin.

Even after two years, reactions to the power I held amused me; that was, when they weren’t infuriating. Miss Marshall seemed to have relaxed around me since this morning, though she still kept her distance and didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. I had some ideas, but they weren’t particularly professional.

My father had warned me on his deathbed about fraternizing with the underlings without their written consent. Lawsuits were the bane of existence for large companies, and mine had managed to avoid them so far. I was not intending to be the CEO to break that streak, though everything about Miss Marshall made me question my dedication to that particular avoidance.

“Here we are,” I told her as the doors slid open.

Her eyes widened as she stepped reverently out of the elevator. I gave her the time to take it all in. After all, it was magnificent. Each exterior wall was built from glass which automatically tinted or cleared depending on the time of day. The interior walls, apart from my personal sanctuary and the restroom, were either half-sized or transparent.

This floor was my own domain. A fire crackled in the lounge in spite of the warm weather; the atmosphere it created was worth the extra air conditioning required to compensate for it. The deep, red plush carpets reflected in the glass, creating the illusion of greater depth and warmth. She took another step, and I took my cue.

“Welcome to my office,” I said. “Would you care for a drink?”

“Um…just a water, please.”

“Of course. Have a seat.” I gestured toward the comfortable couches in the sitting room across from the lounge, and she stepped over to them almost as if in a trance.

“Congratulations on winning the part,” I told her as I poured her drink.

I eyed the deep amber brandy glistening on the bar, then glanced at the clock. It was far too early to begin drinking, though it would do wonders for the conversation I was intending to have.

Resignedly, I chose water for myself as well, and carried the two glasses into the sitting room. Her fingers brushed mine as she took her glass. She pretended not to notice. I pretended not to care.

“What sort of details need to be hammered out?” she asked hesitantly after taking a sip of water.

I was suddenly surprised to find myself envious of the glass, cool and hard against her soft, full lips. I’d bet the entirety of my fortune that they were as warm and pleasant to kiss as they were to look at.

“Just a few papers to sign, a model release and contract and whatnot. Ms. Abrahms will cover all of that with you on Monday, I’m sure, and your supervisor will certainly tie up any loose ends left in your office.”

“Then—I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude, but why am I here?”

I watched the fear compound on her face with every syllable, as though I would strike her down in an avalanche of pink slips once she dared finish the question.

“Because of that look,” I said softly as my thoughts circumvented my filter to flutter out of my mouth.

Her brows drew together over her beautiful, soulful eyes, and her pretty mouth turned down into a confused frown. I shook my head to clear it, then turned my best smile on her.

“You’re here because I have some things to ask you.”

“About this morning,” she said dully, her frown melting into a look of pure resignation.

“This morning? Oh, that. No, you have nothing to worry about. I don’t make a habit of firing good people over unavoidable accidents.”

“And avoidable accidents?” she asked guardedly.

The image of her bare back rose in my mind like a striptease, sending a hot tingle down to my crotch. Her expression changed, making me realize that I was smiling. Leering, more likely. I forced my features under control.

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean,” I lied with a smile. “The only avoidable accident that I’m aware of is the squeaky pipes on the thirteenth floor.”

She flushed red and sipped her water to hide a smile. Pleased that she wasn’t cringing or groveling, I pressed on.

“That does, in a way, bring me to my reason for asking you up here,” I told her.

“Oh?” she asked. The fear was back again, and I cursed myself for the rotten segue.

“Sort of,” I amended. “Tell me, Miss Marshall, what have you heard about me?”

“Oh…I, um…” She looked down into her glass and only the tips of her ears turned red.

I wondered, in a flash of unfocused fantasy, if I could map the pattern of her blushes and decipher their meanings, would I be able to read her thoughts?

“You have the reputation of being very dedicated to your work,” she said slowly. “Your impression is that of a diligent CEO. You are clearly successful and, um…competent.”

A weight settled on my chest, tasting of disappointment and cold, hard, truths. You do not grow up in an environment like this without learning to read between the lines. It was obvious to me then that Miss Marshall had heard the same rumors which had been circulating online, and probably worse ones within the walls of my company.

With a sigh, I stood and paced to the window overlooking the river. I heard her nervously set her glass on the coffee table only to pick it up again immediately.

“Miss Marshall. A man can’t grow up in an environment like this without learning to read between the lines. Dedicated to my work is what you said, wasn’t it? Which clearly means that I am a workaholic, incapable of creating human connections. Am I right?”

“I… Um…”

“Diligent CEO. Not a diligent worker or businessman, a diligent CEO. I am not entirely insulated by my position, I’m afraid. I am fully aware of the opinion most American people hold of CEOs. Ruining the economy, robbing people blind, etcetera. So, for me to be described as a diligent CEO means that those negative qualities are in the forefront of your mind—or, at least, in the minds of the people who described me for you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again with a guilty glance at the floor.

“Successful…that adjective comes with an addendum. Successful in business, a profit hound, a heartless money-grabber. Competent? I’d wager my fortune that the word you were replacing was a synonym for ruthless.”

“Not exactly a synonym,” she said quietly, still refusing to meet my eyes.

“Then ruthless was the word,” I realized out loud.

She nodded, barely perceptibly. Her eyes shone as if she were about to cry, and her breasts heaved with long, deep breaths. I had blown her cover, called her out on her verbal tiptoeing, and in doing so had frightened her more than she had been frightened that morning. I immediately regretted it, wishing to slide back in time just a few minutes and keep my translations to myself.

To my surprise, however, she blinked her eyes clear and turned her gaze on me. I felt glued to the spot for a fraction of a second as the sea-colored flecks in her stone-brown eyes glowed as they caught the light streaming in from every window.

“You are correct,” she told me apologetically. “I’m…well. You know.”

“Thank you for skipping the apology,” I told her wryly. “I’m not entirely sure what I would do with another ‘I’m sorry’.” I shook my head and began pacing again.

“The people…the consumers and the employees…were used to my father. He presented a Santa Claus personality to the public, and they ate it up. Everybody wanted to buy their kids AllGood toys, not just because the toys were better, but because they felt as though they were buying their toys directly from the man himself. Now that I’ve taken the helm, people feel less secure. Consumers are no longer eager to give this company their money, and employees no longer feel secure in their jobs.”

I was talking more to myself than to her now, attempting to sift through all of the data to come up with a solution.

“Can…can I help?” she asked.

“Do you want to?” I shot back with more force than necessary.

I expected her to wither and fold away into her seat, but she simply pressed her lips together.

“If the company is in trouble, then that means that my job is in trouble. I love my job. Yes, sir, I would like to help if I can.”

The animal within me knew exactly how she could help. There was no faster way to win the hearts and minds of millions than to be seen publicly snuggling a baby; better still if the baby were blessed with curly hair and impossibly stunning eyes. The CEO in me refused to indulge in that fantasy at all, under threat of potential legal action. They arrived at a compromise after the silence had stretched into awkwardness.

“Perhaps you can,” I said thoughtfully. “You see, Miss Marshall, I desperately need to overhaul my image. I need people to see who I am outside of the office to prove that I am a three-dimensional, trustworthy, family-friendly sort of person. I need someone to help me find the parts of my life to emphasize.”

I turned away from her and paced across to the window again, bracing myself to cross a threshold of no return. Finally, I stopped and turned to her.

“Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight? I would like to show you another side of myself.” I saw her eyes flicker over my body at warp speed, an unintentional reveal which stoked my own boldness.

“Dinner? Ah…is that against company policy?” she asked, sounding sincere.

“Miss Marshall,” I said with a smile, appreciating her apparent innocence. “I create the company policy. I would bear you no ill will if you were to decline, but don’t worry yourself about policy. There would be no one to enforce it aside from myself.”

“Oh,” she said, realizing.

“Yes. So, Miss Marshall, would you join me for dinner this evening? I will have my driver pick you up. Say around six o’clock?”

“Um…yes, all right,” she said, seeming conflicted.

Every bone in my body ached to break her soul open and spill her thoughts. It had been so long since I had conversed with someone who was so indirect and so seemingly innocent that I had forgotten the frustration of seeing a thought cross a person’s mind and having no key with which to interpret it. I gazed at her until she squirmed uncomfortably, then I looked away.

“An informal response to an informal invitation,” I said with a grin which I hoped would look easier than it felt. “Perfect alignment.”

“Where will we go?” Miss Marshall asked, touching the hem of her sweater.

“It’s a surprise,” I said with a wink.

“But how will I know what to wear?”

“Clothing will suffice.” For now, I finished internally. “I could find your address in our records, but I would prefer to get it from you. You can write it down here.”

I handed her one of my many miniature legal pads, and she quickly scribbled down her address.

“Thank you. My driver will see you at six.”