“Cheers,” Alyssa says, raising her glass of prosecco toward me. “Here’s to surviving your first month at Mad Men Studios.”

I lift my glass and gently clink it against hers before taking a sip, the bubbles tickling my nose. I probably shouldn’t be drinking during my lunch hour but it seemed like a good enough occasion. Besides, it’s a Thursday and I’ve noticed most people have started treating Thursdays like Fridays at work. At least on the administrative side. Even though I’ve been working there a month now, I still don’t know what happens down the animation hall. What I do know is that those animators work long ass hours. Some even sleep there overnight. Considering the young age of our office, I wouldn’t be surprised if they all slept with each other.

“Cheers to that,” I tell her.

“And so how are things? What’s your one-month recap?” she asks. “Be honest with me. You know I won’t tell a soul.”

Yeah right. I give her a wry smile. “Things are fine.”

“Just fine?”

I shrug and start flipping through the menu again, even though I’d already placed my order for a goat cheese salad. “It’s great, actually. But I mean, I think any job would be great after where I used to work.”

“And where was that?”

She’s asking innocently, and it reminds me that over the last month the only person I’ve been open and forthcoming with has been Will. I’m starting to think my boss knows far more about me than he should. Definitely not everything, but the more I’m around him, the more I just find myself talking about everything, even the ugly things.

“Oh, well,” I say, trying to figure out the right way to phrase it. “You know, in Fort St. John, there’s not a lot of glamorous jobs. I never went to university or anything so I just did what I could. Worked as a cashier at Safeway during the day and a few nights a week I bartended.”

“Two jobs?”

I nod, taking another sip. “Jeff, my ex, he wasn’t around much.”

“Right,” she says slowly, getting it. “He was stepping out?”

“God, who knows. Who cares.” Thank god I had the presence of mind to never stop using condoms with him after Ty was born, who knows what I could have got. “Anyway,” I say, wanting to change the subject. “The job is going great. And Will is finally giving me enough work to keep me busy. I swear, it’s like pulling teeth with that man.”

She tilts her head slightly, eying me through her lashes.

“What?” I ask, not liking this sly gaze.

“I never noticed when you stopped calling him Mr. McAlister.”

“Huh. I guess I never noticed either. I do still sometimes, just to piss him off.”

“He likes you,” she says.

My heart jumps in my chest. I swallow, wondering, hoping, wishing . . . “It’s Will. He likes everyone.”

“That’s true,” she says. “I just mean, it’s good. You make a good team, that’s all. Like Patty and your father. You might just end up working for Will for another ten years.”

“Oh god, I hope not,” I blurt out.

“Why not?”

How do I explain to Alyssa that every single day I see Will, I find myself getting more wrapped up in his world and everything about him? It’s getting to the point where I can barely concentrate. Other than Science World, I haven’t seen him outside of work—he’s been flying a lot to Sydney, Australia, to a studio there that they want to take over—but even, so I’m unable to ignore the feeling that comes over me when I hear his voice, see his face, get a whiff of his woodsy smell, like moss and cedar on a spring day.

It’s a crush is what it is. A total overblown schoolgirl crush.

I’ve just never crushed this hard on anyone, even in high school when I had posters of Zac Ephron on my wall and drew doodle hearts in my diary. And maybe pornographic pictures of me and Zac together.

To be honest, it’s almost painful. Almost. As long as I just keep living in this fantasy bubble I’ll be all right. More than all right. My fantasy bubble keeps me happy.

In my fantasy bubble, I’m not his assistant. I’m just some woman he meets at a bar. A woman he ravages in the alley behind it after a few drinks. I imagine how it feels to kiss him, to have his large hands on my skin, what it’s like to have the weight of his sculpted body on top of me. He’s a big boy—I want to feel how big he is in every single way.

“Jackie?”

I blink. My cheeks burn. “Sorry, what?”

Alyssa narrows her eyes at me. “How come you can’t see yourself at Mad Men in ten years?”

“Oh,” I say, taking a large gulp of champagne, “that. I totally see myself staying there. The animation side is kind of fascinating, I just wish I knew more about it. Maybe even get into development? I know that’s not what we do right now, but down the line, something with scripts. I just don’t think I’d be Will’s assistant. Maybe I’ll have my own assistant.”

And I’m not lying either. I could totally see myself staying within the company. I just don’t want to tell her that the thought of working for Will for ten more years with this unrequited crush would be like the world’s longest case of blue balls (or the lady equivalent, in this case).

“I suppose you’re right. I just don’t know where to go up from office manager. My accounting skills are pretty weak, but at least in that department you can go somewhere.”

“What about the communications department?” Which at this moment pretty much just consists of Casey Templeton, a bearded hipster in his early thirties who won’t stop hitting on me.

“Maybe,” she says. “You know Casey has a crush on you.”

“I was just thinking about how obvious that is.”

“You going to go for him?”

I give her a look. “Hell no.”

“He’s cute.”

“Cute? Maybe. But he’s smug beyond reproach. And I work with him. There are rules. You don’t sleep with the people you work with.”

“You know there aren’t any official rules at the office, don’t you?”

The way she’s saying it makes me pause. “I didn’t say there were . . . why, have you . . . you and Casey?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I’m pretty sure Casey hates me. He sure doesn’t give me the same treatment he gives you.”

“Meaning making lewd comments when I use the copy machine?”

“He’s harmless. Threaten him with a sexual harassment suit and he’ll stop.”

“I’m sure that will go over well.”

“So are you dating anyone?”

I’m thankful the waiter comes by with our food, interrupting that question for a moment.

“No,” I tell her in between mouthfuls of salad, trying in vain not to get the dressing all over my new shirt. Even though I’ve had two paychecks already, I’ve been saving up instead of spending my money. But my mother went and got me a $500 gift card to Banana Republic, practically forcing me to upgrade my wardrobe. Unfortunately, $500 at BR doesn’t get you very much, unless you have an eye for the sales rack like I do.

As for getting me a car, she’s still working on it.

“No one at all?” she presses.

“I’ve been in Vancouver for like, six weeks.”

“But you’re pretty.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“Then again, Vancouver is notorious for being a dating nightmare.”

“Luckily I don’t have any interest in dating anyone”

“Really?” she says this like I’ve personally insulted her.

I shrug. “I work and then I go home and be a mom and that’s my life and for now I’m totally cool with it. I don’t need a man coming in and messing all of that up.”

“Well, what if you just had a man to mess you up a few nights a week. Try a dating app.”

“Yeah, take him back to my parent’s place, that will be totally sexy. Besides, the moment most men find out I’m a mother, they look the other way. Something about being used goods.”

“Oh give me a break.”

“It’s true. Guys my age don’t want the baggage of a child. Believe me. Guys my age want to find that right girl to screw for a while and then maybe get married and then maybe have children with.”

“So you just sped up the process.”

I give her a wry look and point my fork at her. “No. I appreciate your concern but it just doesn’t work that way.”

“Concern for your vagina,” she says.

“My vagina can handle it. It’s a camel.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?”

“I don’t think we know each other well enough to have this conversation.”

She rolls her eyes. “Mine was last week.”

“Really?”

“Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I can’t have fun. Do you know how many of the dating apps I belong to?” She reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone, pushing it toward me and scrolling to a screen that’s all Tinder and Bumble and who else knows what. “Eventually you find a guy that knows what he’s doing, even if just for a night.”

“Well, no offense at all, but that’s just not my style . . .” I pause, feeling the fear rising up inside me. “I’m not ready.”

She frowns and then a wash of realization comes over her, softening her delicate features. “Oh. I see. You’re still hung up on your ex.”

Hung up is one way to put it. The truth is, I’m desperately trying to forget that Jeff ever existed. But even though the marks have faded, I still remember who he was and what he did. What could have happened if I didn’t call the police. It’s something I can’t talk about, to anyone really, let alone Alyssa. I’m not ready in so many ways.

“It was complicated,” I admit. “I am moving on but it’s going to take some time.”

“I get that,” she says, a wistful look on her face. “I think it’s probably the same for Will too.”

I straighten up. “Why Will?”

“Because of his divorce. That can’t be easy to get over. Have you seen his ex-wife? Holy moly. Legs up to her chin, I swear. At least he’s here so he can make a fresh start, but I have yet to hear of him dating anyone.”

I can’t ignore the hot coal of jealousy in my stomach. “Why would you hear about that anyway? Isn’t his private life private?”

She smirks at me. “Tiffany is pretty observant. And I’m pretty sure you would have said something.”

“Why would I have said anything?”

“Because you’re his assistant. The closest person in the office to him now, aside from your father. And he’s rarely here.”

“I don’t pay much attention to Will’s private life,” I tell her. “If he goes on dates or has a girlfriend, I wouldn’t know about it.”

“I think you would,” she says thoughtfully. “I think you’d be making reservations at fancy restaurants. God, can you imagine the girl who gets to date him?”

I would rather not.

“With that condo and his money and his looks and that dick . . . it would be a real Cinderella story. And he’s definitely Prince Charming. Prince Charming with a big fucking dick.”

I nearly choke on my food. “He is charming, I’ll give him that,” I say nonchalantly, trying to ignore the heat on my cheeks. God damn it, twice already I’m blushing during this lunch.

She studies me for a moment. I wonder if she buys the act.

“Well, if I do happen to run into anyone nice, you should really let me set you up.”

“I’ll think about it,” I tell her, even though I won’t.

When we get back to the office we’re running a bit late. Luckily no one notices except Tiffany, and that girl honestly doesn’t care about much except for books, BBC shows, and a weird fascination with WWE. The three of us have talked about starting a monthly book club, but with Tiffany’s attachment to YA fantasy, Alyssa’s love of all things smut, and my tendency to read either historical romances or biographies, we have yet to agree on anything.

Still, it’s a nice thought. I’m grateful to go out for lunch with them sometimes. So far they’re the only friends I have in this city. Everyone else I knew from high school has moved on to other things, and I burned a lot of bridges back in my wild-child days.

I’m a bit buzzed when I get back to my desk, which is nice. I’ve barely had time to sort through a few emails when I feel someone hovering above my desk. I look back to see Casey peering over my shoulder.

“Do you mind?” I ask him, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

Casey grins at me. As I admitted to Alyssa, he’s a cute guy. Beard is a little scruffier than I would like—bordering on hobo chic—and there’s something in his ice blue eyes that I don’t quite trust. But he’s funny. Most of the time. I try not to laugh though because it only eggs him on.

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asks me.

Oh, lord.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Thought maybe you wanted to get a drink.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Casey?”

“Me? Nah. Just as friends.”

I eye him suspiciously. “Earlier today you told me I had an ass made for belt marks.”

“I say that to all my friends.”

“Right. Well, I’m busy.”

I turn around and go back to my emails. There’s one from Will, sent while I was out, needing another flight to Sydney booked soon.

But then Casey is leaning right over me, his mouth far too close to my ear.

“Come on,” he says quietly. “You should get to know me outside of work. I’m not who you think I am.”

“Can I help you with something, Casey?” Will’s booming voice crackles behind us.

Casey straightens up and I twist in my chair to look at Will as he stands by his door. He’s staring right at Casey, and for the first time since I started working here he’s not smiling. All of Will’s usual charm and ease is gone. In his sleek black suit he’s absolutely formidable looking, his brow lowered, eyes focused and cold.

Jesus. I don’t know who this guy is but I can tell you don’t want to cross him.

“No, just talking to Jackie here,” Casey says and I swear I hear his voice waver. He’s afraid of him.

“Well Jackie is my assistant, not yours.”

“It was personal,” Casey explains, folding his arms. But against him, Will looks like a damn linebacker.

“Then it can wait until after business hours,” Will says then flicks his cold eyes over to me. “Jackie, can I speak to you for a second? In private?”

He turns and heads into his office.

I avoid Casey’s eyes as I get up and follow him, my heart starting to race. I feel like I just did something horrible and I don’t know what. Is it that Casey was asking me out? Is it the drinks at lunch? Oh my god, am I somehow being fired?

“Close the door,” he says to me in a clipped voice as he sits down at his desk.

I do so with shaking hands and slowly turn to face him.

“Mr. McAlister . . .” I say, prepared to grovel.

He gives me a sharp look. “Why are you calling me that?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m about to be fired?”

“Fired?” he says, his forehead creasing. “Ah, shit. Sorry. No, no I’m not firing you. Why would I do a thing like that? Come, sit down.”

I reluctantly take the seat across from him, hands folded in my lap.

“It’s been a month since you started working, I just wanted to do a bit of an evaluation with you. Your father’s idea, really.”

“Oh. Okay.”

My heart slows a bit.

“Was he hitting on you?”

“Who? Casey?”

Will just stares at me. “You looked uncomfortable.”

“I was uncomfortable,” I admit. “I mean, you know, I get that’s how he is.”

“No one here should make you uncomfortable.” His look and his voice are so hard, it makes me sit up a little straighter.

“It’s okay,” I say quickly, not wanting him to make a big deal out of nothing. “He was asking me on a date. I think.”

“I see.”

“I told him no, of course.”

“Good.”

Good?

“He’s not really my type,” I explain. “I know what guys to stay away from and he seems like one of them.” I swear Will looks impressed. “And I would never mix business with pleasure. Not that there would be any pleasure with him. I mean, I should probably just stop talking. But you know what I’m saying.”

“You don’t date within the company. That’s smart.”

“Right. I mean you would know from personal experience, right?”

“Yes, I do,” he says, looking down at something at his desk. The he shakes his head. “Frankly, I think Casey is a slime-ball. I’ve wanted to fire him a few times since I’ve been here, but your father thinks he does great work, so for now he’s not going anywhere. But if he says anything else to you, does anything to make you feel uncomfortable, he’s out of here. Got it?”

“Got it,” I tell him with a nod, my heart feeling all warm and gooey at his protectiveness.

“You’re very valuable to me, kid,” he says gravely, his voice going low as he glances over at me. “You’re a great asset to me. To the team. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” He takes in a deep breath through his nose and seems to relax before my eyes. The smile returns. God, he is so fucking pretty, it’s not fair. “So, now that that’s out of the way, how have you been enjoying it here?”

“I love it,” I tell him, a standard response.

“It hasn’t been strange working for your father?”

“You’re my boss. That’s how I see it. Besides, Dad is hardly here.”

“That’s true. So, do you have any complaints? Or suggestions? Anything I can improve on?”

I smirk at him. “You’re asking if I have any complaints against you, my boss?”

He nods, earnest. “Yeah.”

“I’m not sure you get how this works,” I tell him. “You’re supposed to have complaints and suggestions for me. It’s not the other way around.”

“We’re a team, kid.”

“Not when you call me kid.”

“We’re a team, Just Jackie.”

“Marginally better,” I mutter under my breath.

“Look, I want you to be happy. I’m happy. Well . . . happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

“I am happy,” I tell him, but the words feel ghostly. Transparent. And I know from the way that Will is staring at me, intensity flaring in his lagoon blue eyes, that he can see right through it.

I have to look away, concentrating on a water ring that’s formed on the cherry wood desk.

“Jackie,” he says softly, and lets my name dance in the room. He clears his throat, taps his fingers against the desk. I can’t help but let my eyes be drawn to his ring finger, where any sign of a wedding ring has faded away.

He doesn’t finish his sentence though. Finally I look up at him expectantly.

“Never mind,” he says. “I just want you to be happy here, at the very least.”

“I am happy here,” I tell him. “Honestly.”

He nods again, rubbing his lips together. A strange silence settles over us. I’m not sure if I should leave or not, but I know I’d rather be in here with him.

“I have a present for you,” he says suddenly, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out an envelope. “A thank you for a good first month.”

“What? Really?” Part of me wants to bashfully wave the present away but the other part is both flattered and curious.

He holds it out for me, but when I reach for it he snatches it away. “There’s a catch though.”

“What’s the catch?”

“I’m the catch.”

My eyes widen. He gives me back the envelope.

I have no idea what he’s talking about, but he is a fucking catch so there’s no argument there. I open it and take out three tickets to a Canucks game, Vancouver’s NHL team.

“Hockey?”

“Playoffs start tomorrow night against San Jose,” he says. “You can’t get better seats than those. Right up against the glass. I was thinking you could bring Tyson. If he wants to. Shit, I don’t know if he likes hockey. Or if you do. Fuck. Don’t feel you have to use them.”

He starts to take them away, his hand closing over mine and holding it there tight. Something so simple as the heat of his palm pressing into my skin ignites something inside me, a tiny flame I’ve tried so hard to put out.

I stare into his eyes, lost in them, and the whole office disappears. There are no framed movie posters on the walls, no desk, no computer, no bookshelves full of binders and DVDs, no couch, no houseplants I suspect are fake. There’s nothing except his eyes and my eyes, his hand and my hand.

God help me.

I’m done for with this man.

Stop this right now, I tell myself.

It kills me to pull my hand back, to edge back in my chair, to move away. To break it all and bring reality back.

Somehow I find my voice. “I would love to go. And I would love it if you came too. And I know Ty would feel the same way.”

He holds my eyes for a few more beats and I’m captive and I’m scared because he’s looking at me in a way that I’ve only dreamed of and I don’t dare fall for it, fall for him, fall for anything.

And then he nods, looks down at the envelope. “Well great.” He gives it back to me. “It should be a fun experience at any rate, even if they lose. Which they probably will because we’re going.” He shoots me a grin.

“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” I say dumbly.

“Game starts at seven, but I like to go early. I’ll call Diane and see if she’ll bring Tyson here right after school.”

It’s so bizarre—and yet so right—how Will has access to my family like this, that he can handle all the plans, even those that involve my son, and I don’t have to do it all alone.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “we can play hooky together.”

In that whiskey-rich voice of his, playing hooky sounds kinky as hell.

“Get off together at four,” he adds.

Oh, lord. He’s making it worse. A dull ache throbs between my legs.

I swallow. “Sounds good.”

If he only knew how damn good it sounds.