I finish packing the car, and spend a few last minutes with Jack on the porch, before it's time to go home. Haven't been this sore since I ran two marathons back to back for a company fundraiser last year.

Damn if it wasn't worth it.

I can't get her out of my head.

Every kiss. Every taste. Every scream.

They leave their imprint in my bones and in my head. Her moans linger, ringing in my ears, long after she's gone. I'm hard for a freakin' ghost. The three nights we had might never stop haunting me.

They're still heavy on my mind when I close the place up, text the caretakers about taking off, and head to Sanford's for one last beer before I leave the best fuck of my life behind forever.

“Thought about sending the Sheriff by to check on you, Grizzly,” Mack says later, leaning over with a big smile. “When was the last time you didn't roll in from sailing, ready to wet your throat? She must've been somethin' to keep you home the whole weekend. ”

“Something, Mack. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell.” I take a long pull from my beer. I'm serious, too.

I love to fuck, but I don't brag. Grew out of that about the time my cock got its Prince Albert a decade ago.

“Fine. Leave an old man with his tongue hanging out,” the bartender chuckles to himself, sweeping a damp towel across the counter. “One of these days, you'll be done prowling around this happy hunting ground for pussy.”

“Bet you the SS Helene it won't be any time soon.” I smile, watching his eyes pop. Mack knows it's serious when I'm willing to bet my sailboat, the one named after my dead mother.

“Nah, kid, I don't take bets with no sport in 'em. Can't say I've got the storage to take her off your hands neither.”

My smile fades, and I swallow another mouthful of beer. “Why so sure, Mack? Don't tell me you think a chick almost young enough to be my daughter is magically 'the one,' or whatever bullshit people say?”

He stops cleaning the counter, looks at me, and lifts his eyebrows. “Fine. I'll bet both your brothers said the same thing before they got hitched. You told me yourself how surprised you were Luke fell into line, right behind Hayds. Don't assume the same damn thing can't happen to you.”

“No time for a wife. Company can't run itself. I'm going after the biggest deal of my life, too. Told you about the merger. I'd be one sorry SOB to risk everything I've worked for just to have regular pussy and –“

“Grizzly, it ain't about that,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “Go and ask your brothers if fuckin's all that counts when they come home to the women wearing their diamonds. Hell, ask me if sex is even at the top of the list when I think about all the reasons I miss my Rita. You'd better believe I miss her bangin' body every day, but I miss holding her, kissing her, spending my nights with her a hundred times more.”

I lower my eyes respectfully. His late wife died years ago, lost to a freak brain hemorrhage.

Old Mack came home to the love of his life slumped on the kitchen floor. Couldn't revive her. I was in town the week she died. I remember her funeral, and the long nights watching over the bartender and his kid, helping them with business for a few days. Also went out of my way to make sure Mack didn't do anything stupid with the frequent rum he picked up to drown his sorrows.

“All I'm saying, Grizzly, is you oughta at least leave the door open. It'd do you a world of good to have a woman worth more than keeping your dick wet. There's things I missed out on in life, but I don't regret one day I had with my wife and kid.” He looks at me, a sadness I'll never know fading in his eyes.

“How's the boy doing, anyway? Still plotting his big move on the librarian girl?”

Mack grins and rolls his eyes. “Ah, hell, don't get me started. That's a story for another time. You'd better hit the road before the storm rolls in.”

He's right. I pull out my phone and see the deep red lines of the front moving south from Canada, dense rains and winds certain to strike Chandlersport in the next hour or two. We say our goodbyes and I throw down a crisp hundred, leaving him a tip about ten times bigger than my drink.

We all have our little rituals.

Mack's big tip for the beer confessional makes me feel like the trip is truly complete. Helps ease me back into work. I've had my fun.

I'll head home to Wall Street re-charged, a whole lot of stress fucked from my system.

Usually, I don't think about the girls I've had. But when I get my car on the highway, listening to my driving mix to stay awake, I hope she's left town just as happy.

Hope she'll remember me, wherever she is. Almost as much as I hope I haven't ruined her for the other men she's bound to bed. The poor bastards won't be half as skilled at making her scream.

Almost, I said. Part of me bleeds jealousy when I picture her with anybody else. The rest is all ego, hoping she'll remember me every time she pulls out her toys or uses her fingers.

As a matter of fact, Greed is my middle name. I want her whispering my name every time she comes. Want it so much, see it so clear, it's fucking scary.

I don't know what just happened on this trip. But I know it needs to end now, so I can forget her and get on with life.

* * *

“Ready for your ten o'clock when you are, Mr. Shaw.” Nina pokes her head through my door, a young blonde so bright eyed and bushy tailed, I think she'd suck me off anytime without even asking for a raise.

Too bad she isn't my type, and I never screw employees. Bad policy. “Thanks, Nina. Be right out.”

I glimpse her ass bobbing through her skirt as she turns, disappearing back to her desk, the huge NEOLITHIC logo hanging over it. It'll make some guy happy, sure, but it has nothing on Bekah. It's too small, too flat, too weak to echo the crisp sting when I strike it.

You're still thinking about her. Get a damned grip, I tell myself.

No, really. I'd better, especially when I'm pulling my senior team off the trading floor to talk about the merger. My eyes go through the small glass window next to my office door, past Nina quickly fixing her hair before the meeting, and back to the logo.

I founded Neolithic with just a few million in my trust fund and a whole lot of dreams. Went balls-to-the-walls in the first few years, happy to be doing stocks instead of real estate. Ten years later, I've earned billions, and put a lot of old bulls to shame who thought they were the hottest, slickest shit-kickers in hedge funds. Also beat out my little brother, Hayden, who did well for himself taking over our old man's Windy City real estate empire.

He's earned like a fiend, too, but he's no Grant. Almost lost his shirt when our dad's gold digging ex, Kayla, tried seizing the family fortune. That's how he got his wife, Penny. His blushing bride was a publicity stunt and legal shield turned true love. Most twisted Cinderella story I'd ever heard until my brother Luke got in deep with our old help, Robbi.

Fuck, why am I thinking about my brothers and their love lives so much? It's still her.

Bekah, stewing in my brain, perfect ass and tits and a mewling whimper I'll never forget. I check to make sure my hard-on isn't showing when I stand up, fixing my tie briefly in the mirror, before heading down the hall to the board room with three minutes to spare.

I'm never late for anything. In this industry, timing is God. A put option executed a minute too late, or a counter-offer rolling in a second too soon, can be the difference between seven figures and eight.

Sure, these days the super computer algorithms clock so much just right, techno-babble miracles I've had designed by the whiz kids I poached from MIT. But a man's gut will never be obsolete, and neither will his time management.

Half those kids in programming are a little older and wiser now. Okay, I actually mean a lot.

Doesn't matter. I still see the same nineteen and twenty year old baby faces when I walk into my board room. Half a dozen senior managers making more than most guys three times their age slam their phones down and give me their full attention, sitting up straighter in their chairs. I don't need Hail to the Chief to feel like the goddamned President.

“Morning, sir. I know you'd like to get right to it, so here's the report I compiled last night. The last part talks about what I think we need to do to sweeten the deal for Corbin. He wants to bite, or he wouldn't be doing this at all.” My VP and chief fund manager, Jake, slides a one page piece of paper over as soon as I sit down.

The room is silent except for Nina's fingers moving over her keyboard, transcribing every word, while I scan over his five hundred words. It's the maximum length I'll accept for a morning briefing, but I'll cut him some slack because what's on the line is damned important.

Neolithic is in serious talks to merge with Corbin Financial. It's a hundred year old firm with roots as deep as American investing itself, and it looks like the old wolf who runs it is finally interested in handing over the wheel so he can ride off to retirement. His firm also lost its ass recently in a few bad pharmaceutical bets. He's looking for an injection of a billion dollars, easy, to cover the losses.

If I play my cards right, his loss will be my zenith. I'll take Corbin-Neolithic to the moon, and plant our fucking flag on it.

“What's this?” I stop, my finger tapping the page. “I don't remember anything about our capital going international last time we talked?”

Jake shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “Correct. That part's new. Mr. Corbin believes his firm's new direction is best served in Europe. Industrial research and manufacturing, I believe. Thing is, he's running short on funds to branch out as quickly as he'd like in the old world. He wants us to cover marketing to new E.U. clients, plus a sizable investment in several French companies seeking whales to buy corporate bonds. They're listed at the bottom.”

I look them over. My eyebrows go up when I see one in particular. “Jesus, Fabius? They're practically an arms manufacturer. What's he doing, putting his money abroad in a war machine? Is it even legal?”

“We're looking into that now, sir.” My chief legal counsel, Crowley, speaks up, adjusting his round spectacles. “International trade in this area is a little outside my expertise. Most of our business has stayed domestic. We've never sunk our own money into foreign companies before, much less military. From what the new boys I hired to consult with are saying, it's perfectly legal, as long as our accounting and audits are real neat.”

“Yeah, and Corbin wants his answer by...four o'clock sharp, according to this.” My finger taps the last sentence of Jake's briefing. “He wants an arm and a leg, and not much time to mull it over, doesn't he?”

“That's his style, sir. Real ball buster. Bastard knows if we're not serious, he'll just walk across the street to Stern-Moore, and they'll be happy to play ball, even if they take their sweet time. Our main negotiating point is capital and speed.”

My fingers tap the table angrily. Nina looks up, her eyes narrowed, shooting me the look she always uses when she asks if I'm okay.

No, I'm not. I'm really fucking not okay when I've got all of six hours not to blow this deal, and I can't even think straight because my brain is glued to last weekend, a million miles away, screwing a woman there's no earthly reason I should be thinking about now.

The empty chair several seats down also annoys me for some reason I can't pin down. “I notice our new intern hasn't shown up. Is that part of this game? You'd think Corbin would want his own daughter around to hear what we're thinking. Not that I mind her missing Jake's 'bastard' comment.”

My VP smiles nervously, fidgeting with a silver cufflink on his right arm.

“It's her first day, sir,” Nina says, looking up from her screen. “She isn't quite used to taking the metro down here. Called in an hour ago to say she'll be a little late, but she should be here any minute and –“

My secretary goes quiet when the door opens. Then it's my turn to shut up, and there isn't much choice when my tongue turns to stone.

In walks the impossible. It struts over, takes the empty seat at the end of the table, murmuring a few red cheeked apologies about being late to the punch.

Nope, no, and hell no. It can't fucking be!

Oh, but fuck, it is.

A few of the trading analysts I've brought in clear their throats uncomfortably when they see me staring like a maniac. Can't say I blame them. I think I've turned white as a sheet, questioning my own sanity. I consider excusing myself so I can race to the bathroom and splash cold water over my face, as much as I need to so sanity returns.

There's no time.

One second later, my little moscato's eyes land on mine, and I'm not the only fool in this room staring like a deer stuck on railroad tracks. She freezes, hands clutched tight on her notebook computer halfway out of its case, the redness draining from her cheeks as they go ivory pale.

“Rebekah Corbin, everyone,” Nina says, introducing our new intern with a worried smile. She doesn't have a clue why I'm still staring at her like a complete lunatic, nor can I tell her. “Wonderful to have you on board.”

That name. Hearing it, seeing it, knowing it's attached to the woman whose become my absolute obsession since I blew Chandlersport...shit.

And that isn't the half of it.

“Pleased...pleased to be here,” she stammers, looking away. She blinks, taking in the room, doing her damnedest to keep her eyes anywhere and everywhere that isn't smack in the center of mine. “Sorry about the traffic. I promise I'll make a better second impression.”

“What brings you to Neolithic, Bekah?” Yes, I use the shortened version of her name. I also look the woman I've fucked dead in the eyes, watching the color flow back into her cheeks when her eyes finally meet mine, and damn is she ever red.

“Good experience, I hope. I've heard a lot about your firm...Mr. Shaw.” She hesitates, but at least she doesn't screw it up, and tell the whole room she knows me as Grant. The room is quiet as she gathers her words. “I'm not interrupting anything, am I? I'm new, but I'm up to speed. I've read about the merger in the works with my father's company. I won't get in your way, no matter who my dad is. I'm here to learn. Not to spy. Dad made that clear when I took the job. I'm too honest...too clean to screw it up.”

“Clean,” I say, my eyes drifting to the puritan white blouse she's picked out for her first day. It would normally take more than a business formal outfit to get my dick hard, but 'normal' went out the door the first time I sucked the perky nipples I know she's hiding behind it. “We can use another good girl or two around here. Make yourself at home, Bekah. This firm has launched a lot of careers in finance and beyond, and it'll do the same for you, if you're willing to work it.”

Pardon my slip of the tongue. I meant to say work for it, but the only work that comes to mind as my eyes devour her involves us both naked, sweaty, grunting.

My fists tighten on the table. I have to get a grip before one mad twist of fate derails everything.

“So, Crowley, let's get back where we left off. I want to hear both sides of what's at stake and what's to gain if we go international...”

The next half hour is a normal Neolithic meeting before we break.

Perfectly ordinary, except for the fact that the nicest cherry I ever plucked is sitting less than a stone's throw away, her jade green eyes glued to her computer.

She can't bear to look at me. Whenever her eyes go up, they're on Nina, seeking silent approval from my secretary. Good sport that she is, Nina gives reassuring smiles.

My new intern's first task will probably be helping to clean up the transcript of this meeting later. Easy, if only the woman she's working under wasn't working under a man who had Ms. Clean under him forty-eight hours ago.

By the time we're through, scrambling to our offices, I hesitate, lingering in the room. I regret bowing out of that zen karate routine I had going last winter. Meditation might've helped control this raging hard-on.

I watch her scamper past in my peripheral vision. That tight ass she's hiding under the skirt is too much like the sun: deadly to stare at, and just as likely to burn me raw.

Hold it together, I think to myself. Simple advice now that she's out of sight, and out of mind for the next five seconds.

I can't deal with this now.

I have less than six hours to find out what the hell I'm going to do before I throw the merger, and lose my mind to this siren who's set up shop just a few cubicles away.

Logically, the smart thing to do would be to carry on with our business, purge my naughty thoughts with as many pics of sad puppies and war orphans as I can find, and pretend we never shared three insatiable nights together.

Obviously, that won't fucking work.

I have to say something. There's too much on the line to let it go.

She has the leverage to screw the Corbin deal into next Sunday, one way or another. But I can fire her any time, and send her home to daddy to get bawled out when he finds out she can't handle a simple entry level office job.

Mutually Assured Destruction.

Little consolation.

I'm not used to doing business with a sword hanging over my head. Any slip, any mistake, any choking on this brutal angst I'm sure is ten times greater in her, and everything's blown to kingdom come.

I can't have that.

If it's even possible to co-exist in the same office and pretend it's just business, I need to talk to her today.

* * *

I'm locked in my office until late in the evening. At about three, Jake comes in with the new report from legal, plus the day's numbers from our usual lines of business.

We're looking good. Fit enough to pull off this deal with plenty to spare, allocating what we need to overseas.

Control freak that I am, I'm bringing a lot to the table. Jake heads out to draft the formal memo, and we sit in agony for the next half hour after I see it's sent, waiting for the call.

At four o'clock sharp, the phone rings. I rip the receiver up to my ear and try to forget about Bekah while adrenaline storms my blood. Yet again, I can't fuck this up.

“Shaw.”

“Mr. Corbin is on line one, sir,” Nina says cheerfully. “He sounds happier today,” she adds, lowering her voice.

“Put him through,” I snap, sitting tall as a board in my chair.

“Shaw? I've looked over the latest offer personally,” he says, skipping the pleasantries. I'm not sure this man knows the word.

The bastard holds me in suspense until I'm sure he can hear me draw a tense breath. “I understand there was some...hesitation before it went out, yes? You understand how important new markets are to Corbin Financial, particularly our close and growing partnership with the European firms I've listed?”

“Of course. New markets, new friends, no obvious downsides there. My men dug through your international obligations and collateral this afternoon, one more time, and they're all looking very healthy. We're comfortable doing business.”

“Trust, but verify? How perfectly invasive of you.” His voice is ice cold. He doesn't give me a chance to answer before I hear his hand slap something hard on the other end of the line. “That was a joke, Shaw. We've done the same damned thing with your mortgage securities. We're not partnering with anyone too dumb to learn from 2008.”

“Very funny.” My nostrils flare, but I don't laugh. Normally, I'll gladly boast about how I made half my fortune whenever someone mentions the infamous year the entire housing sector went to shit, and nearly took the whole economy with it. “So, is that a yes?”

“Christ. Are you drinking right now, or just dense?”

I clench my jaw. It's incredible this disrespectful, short-fused prick has such a sweet daughter. I guess the gene for being a complete jackoff skips a generation. If it weren't for the fact that I had her begging for every inch of me last weekend, I'm not sure I'd be able to hold my fire.

Somehow, I do. With any luck, he'll never know I've had his own flesh and blood. Our dirty little secret makes me a hell of a lot harder than the money and prestige I stand to make from this deal, too.

“I'm perfectly sober, Mr. Corbin. If there's nothing else to discuss, and you're pleased, I'll tell my legal team to wait for the new draft from yours. We can get this thing done by Q4, and start counting profits over wine. I always enjoy a good moscato.”

“Such cheap tastes for a man who's half as rich as I am. Ah, well. You do like to play up that whole 'Bastard Axe' thing, don't you? Curious choice. Every axe I've ever picked up has been rather dull.”

I bristle when he knocks the nickname. It's been hard fought, earned me more respect than I'll ever have for him, business partners or not. “Perhaps you never met the right one.”

“We hope so. Also, I told you, I won't be glancing at the profits more than once a year very soon.” I can practically hear him turning up his nose. “This is my golden parachute. I'm leaving, as soon as the chips are in place. It'll be a hands-off approach as soon as the ink is dry. I'll turn what I've built over to younger, more capable minds. It's them you'll be dealing with in the board room.”

I know who he's hired. Typical Ivy League brats desperate to make some real money for the first time in their lives so they can prove they're not just resting on their family's blue blooded laurels. I've chewed up at least a hundred of them throughout my career, and I'm confident I'll do the same with whoever Corbin appoints to oversee his share in our new company.

I'll still have to deal with the jackass making my blood seethe, of course. But it won't be a regular thing, and that just might make this palatable.

“I'll deal with them just fine, Mr. Corbin, plus whatever else makes us the most money.” Us. No matter how many times I say it, I'm not used to thinking in such terms. Too bad. I'd better get real comfortable, real fast. “I'm glad we could do business.”

“One more thing,” he says, completely ignoring me. “My daughter started work today, didn't she?”

Oh, yeah. That.

Shit.

However much this asshole angers me, I've never been afraid in this conversation until he mentions Bekah. “Yes, she did, and she's a lovely girl. I'll check up on her before I leave today. I'm confident she'll learn what she needs to here, and help us out during the transition. You selected a good place for her. We'll treat her right. She'll make us both happy.”

I don't even let myself remember all the ways I've made her happy: up, down, and sideways.

“She'd better,” he growls. “Lord knows Rebekah needs someone to scoop out that simple, idealistic brain she got from her mother and install a backbone. Hopefully, you're the man for the job.”

I'm the man, all right. The man she called sir as I drove my dick into her, fucking her little pussy again and again, until she was almost too exhausted to walk.

Re-living the mind bending pleasure doesn't mean I've forgotten his gross, low opinion of his girl. If I didn't have billions on the line and so much distance between us, I'd reach through the phone and clock him across his smug, nasty jaw for shitting on her.

She's twenty-one. A woman. To him, she may as well be eleven.

“She'll perform splendidly,” I say bluntly. “She's off to an excellent start. You don't have anything to worry about with her serving as my intern.”

“Oh, I have too many worries with that one, but they're none of your business. I'll have my people send over the draft agreement in the morning. Good day.” He hangs up.

“Yeah, and fuck you, too,” I mutter to myself, slamming the phone down.

I should be relieved. I've just landed the biggest deal of my life, one of several very scarce, narrow paths available to take Neolithic to the next level. My company earned its name on the exchange as a sleek, fast moving shark. Now, it'll be a whale, huge and feared and respected.

I'll let Corbin have his input in name only, and hope he spends his retirement drunk and stupid, blind to his business, a lot like my own dad before he died.

One way or another, he'll find the rope to hang himself, like all pricks do.

This Bekah problem won't be solved so easy.

I get up, heading for the bathroom. I have a date with the cold water that's been waiting for my face all day. I splash it long and hard, dry myself off, and then fix my tie.

Better. Refreshed, I pound my fist on the door, and start heading for Bekah's desk.

If I'm quick, I'll probably catch her before she leaves.

I'm not wasting another second. If she hasn't figured it out yet, I left behind the only things I take my time with in Maine. In New York, I'm not the same man, and I'm damned sure not her sir – even though hearing it again would be a hell of a lot more pleasant than dealing with her asshole father.

* * *

The lights are dim for the night in the main lobby when I step inside. I see Nina's monitor flick to black at her desk, meaning she shut down and walked out just a minute ago.

Damn, that probably means Bekah went with her. I'm about to turn and head back to my office for wrap up when I hear the ladies' room door next to the elevators open. She moves fast. Faster still when she catches a quick glimpse of me.

I've never seen a person tap the first floor button in the elevator so many times. I speed walk over, shove my hand against the door, and utter one word. “Wait.”

There's something huge in her throat. It must hurt to swallow it. I watch her as I step through the doors, stop in front of her, and slam my fist on the HOLD button. She's not getting out of here before we've had a chance to talk.

“Why didn't you tell me you were Rebekah Corbin?” I can't believe I never got her last name.

“Didn't know you'd want to see my ID before we slept together.” She looks hurt. Flustered. I want to come closer, but I can't. Not if I want to keep this insane twist of fate professional. “Jesus, Grant. Listen, I'm sorry. I'm just as shell shocked over this as you are. If I'd known who you were, I'd have never let it happen. Honestly...”

“No regrets, remember? That's what you told me before you left my place. You were right. I won't let this change that. We can't change the past, and we'd be stupid to ignore it.” I'm coming closer, risky as it is. My hand stabs the wall above her head. Staring down at her, my face twitches once, so close to the lips I'm still dying to taste.

“Just let me do my job. No games, Grant. Please.” Her voice is soft. Defeated. It isn't hard to see the hunger she's holding in, no different from mine, mingling with shame. Both on a very short leash.

“Games? You think I've got the time? This isn't television. No room for slapstick, sneaky, passive-aggressive Romeo and Juliet crap. You know I'm direct. Hell, if I wanted more than I'm telling you now, I'd be hiking up your skirt and fucking you right here for half of New York City to see.”

As if on cue, a car blows its horn about thirty floors down, audible through the thick glass surrounding the elevator. She bites her lush little lip, as if she's considering it.

“Don't. No teasing. It's nothing but trouble.” Wise words.

Wisdom I shouldn't need from a girl who's barely old enough to drink. “You're right,” I growl, taking my hand off the wall. I do a turn, giving her breathing space, stepping over the metal barrier, back to the marble floor.

“What do you propose, then? Pretend it never happened?”

“You're the one who said we can't take back the past, and I guess you're right,” she says, lowering her eyes to the floor, before bringing them to me again. Fuck, they're lonelier than I've ever seen.

How could it be just three days ago when they were full of laughter, life, and the best pleasure she'll ever know?

“What's going to make you comfortable here? We both deserve an environment for work. Some place serious, without any...distractions.” Without wanting to fuck you so hard I can't think, is what I really want to say.

I hold my tongue because I'm serious about making her comfortable. My tongue isn't getting the best of me again, and neither is the greedier lower part of my anatomy.

She deserves that much. Neither of us asked for this abomination.

“How do I help you?” I ask again, pressing her.

“Honestly? I'd love to see you take a nice, long vacation from your own company until I'm done with this stupid internship.” Bekah's blush tells me she regrets her words as soon as they're out. She twists her head, flicking her chestnut hair over her shoulder. “But you were here first. You have business. I get it. It isn't fair to ask for special accommodations for me.”

“You're the bluntest new hire I've ever seen with her boss' boss, moscato.” My tongue slips, losing the pet name, and I watch the horror fill her eyes. She looks around quickly, as if there's anyone to overhear.

Shit. I couldn't resist, especially when I see the nasty little part of Jeremiah Corbin in her.

“Don't talk like that. We can't. Realistically, we have to move on. No, I don't know how, but we have to try.” Her little hands go up, rubbing her temples, easing her thoughts. “Maybe if we're not face-to-face like this every single day, it won't be so bad. I like Nina. If you'll keep me working with her and minimize our contact, I think we'll be fine. We'll survive. Is that an option, Mr. Shaw?”

“Yeah, but none of this Mr. Shaw bullshit. You're calling me Grant if we ever bump into each other in the halls. We've been too close to get so formal. I can't forget. Everyone will see through it if we start that stilted, glacial crap, just like they nearly did this morning. We stared so hard I thought at least one of us would become stone. I don't need an intern looking over my shoulder. You won't see me unless you need to. Don't fuck with my merger, and I'll be sure your old man gets a glowing report and my full endorsement for whatever you choose to do next.”

“Deal. Anything to stay out of your way. I'm sorry about this, again.” Her voice becomes a whisper, like just talking about this crap has deflated her.

I'm about to apologize, too, but she's already tapped the button for the ground floor. She turns to the glass, refusing to look at me, even as the elevator doors slam shut. I hear it drop, taking her down.

Just like that, my obsession is gone. My frustration isn't.

I'd put my fist through the heavy metal doors if I didn't know they dented so easily. A disgruntled employee who couldn't hack it here several years ago proved that on his way out, kicking and screaming as security had him in a chokehold.

Not everybody who runs through the Neolithic machine becomes gold. I've dealt with dirt and diamonds in the rough, but this...fuck, I don't know what to call it.

Office romance? How about office tease?

Except that makes me think of breaking every pathetic rule we just agreed to, dragging her to my desk, and hate fucking her on top of it at the first opportunity.

Distance, idiot. Don't break your word, I tell myself.

Right. When I told her she wouldn't see me again, I wasn't lying. Odds are, I'll be busy tomorrow, cooped up with legal all day, making sure every T is crossed before Corbin and I sign our names to the merger.

If only I didn't have that one way window overlooking the rest of the office. She doesn't know it's guaranteed to draw me like a suicidal moth to open flame. It's a magnet and a doorway to her. A conduit to what I want like mad, but can't have.

A secret torment because whatever else I've agreed to in my cooler head, I won't be able to resist it.

No distraction, no sedation, no vow will be enough to keep me from walking across my office, putting my eyes an inch from the glass, and watching her while she works, remembering how fucking good we had it when we were just casual, and I wasn't her boss.

Sure, I'll be as professional as can be to her face. I'll smile warmly, make sure she gets the coffee and pastries I always buy for my crew, and tell Corbin what an amazing job she's doing for me the next time I meet his pompous ass.

But when I'm alone, behind the glass, I'll be an animal.

I'll drink her in with my eyes however long I please, however long I need. I'll gawk until the ache in my balls stops. Whatever it takes to burn her into my brain so I can stroke off to her in the shower.

She's made me an unwilling liar, and I hate dishonesty. I'm left with the cold truth stampeding through my head.

No apology will make me sane when she's around.

No agreement will ever take away the delicious thrill of want, the danger we've both been served on a silver platter.

No fuckery will make me just move on as long as she's here.

Not unless it involves one last taste of this forbidden wine becoming my obsession.