I slept soundlessly.

After Dean left, I made it to the kitchen to scarf down a quick supper, take an even faster shower, and was still asleep within the hour.

The day had been exhausting. The pressure of the new job, the thrill and horror of seeing Dean at the office, not to even mention the night we had together—I woke up the next morning a good ten hour after falling asleep.

I could live a thousand years and never forget the body-spasming heat that flushed through me when I saw Dean storm through the door of that conference room, tall and sure as he introduced himself as my new boss. I had been so sure he’d have seen me, but there was no way that the stuttered, shocked reaction he had during my entrance interview was fake.

Everything felt simultaneously better and off-kilter. The night with Dean had been—this thing between us, the attraction, the appeal: it was a powder keg and last night, it exploded.

What would happen when we saw each other next? Would he say something—or would this be a secret we kept between us, to never mention again?

A small part of me thrilled at that. I didn’t necessary want to have a secret, and a career threatening one at that, but the idea of walking through the day, working through meetings, close but with everyone else assuming—

Last night was as vivid as our first encounter was lost. It was such a strong memory it felt nearly tangible, like a stone I would smooth by running my thumb across it all day. It would preoccupy me all week That didn’t bother me as much as it ought to have.

It took me far too long to dress, staring at my various suits with a frown. Being nervous about what Dean would think of my clothes was ridiculous. It was almost as preposterous as the situation itself.

I drove to work, and though it was likely just my imagination, the smell of Dean’s cologne—sharp, like mint, but smooth around the edges like fresh air—filled the car. It was as intoxicating the day after as it had been when he was pressed up against me, hands and mouth moving in frantic, abandoned movements.

The office was half-full when I got there. I nodded politely at Clark as I closed our office door behind me.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. I glanced at him while shrugging out of my coat. “How was your first day?”

My cheeks were flushed. I pretended it was the winter wind and hoped that he would, too. “Interesting.”

Clark laughed. “Yeah, Mr. Cannon can be a bit much. But he’s an alright guy.”

I fidgeted, sitting in my chair quickly and loading up the computer. “He’s certainly different from Marcus.” At Clark’s blank expression, I elaborated. “My old boss. He was more uptight, I suppose.”

Clark nodded. “Cannon’s good. He’s serious but he just really cares.”

I considered that. My phone made a sound from my desk drawer and I took it out, frowning. there were three missed calls and two voicemails. I pulled it up to my ear.

The first one was from Joey. Hey, little brother. Still haven’t heard from you. Should I assume you’re on a honeymoon with that guy and I’ll be receiving a thank you card soon? I hope you used protect—

I deleted the voicemail and went to the next one. It was from Marcus, my old boss.

Jimmy. Haven’t heard from you in a while. I have a few things to discuss with you. please call me back. Things are coming to a head.

Frowning, I made a mental note to call him back after work. Then, I started in with my day, logging into the account and checking my email first. Dean—Mr. Cannon, I was at work. Mr. Cannon had emailed me the listing for the new clients and I skimmed the names. It seemed fairly distributed between the two branches, though I noticed that I had a few more than anyone else.

I frowned. It could be that my record was a bit higher, in addition to my higher standing within the company hierarchy—but the idea that I was being unfairly given the clients felt like a bug digging into my skull. I had wanted my new allocations of clients, but to be given so many more than anyone else worried me.

Half of me knew that I was being too sensitive; the other half was terrified that my last decade of work was going to prove pointless.

I decided to wait a little while, just to get control over my worries. I went to work answering the emails, getting lost in the easy thrum of the work. I enjoyed my job—working to make others happy, to answer questions and create solutions to problems that were barely poised. I could see the algorithm in the problems before others, and it pleased me to smooth the bumps in the road for the clients.

“Hey, Swan. do you ever, like, breathe?”

My head snapped up. Mr. Cannon’s assistant was in the room, leaning against Clark’s desk. They had coffees in their hands and she was holding one out to me.

I cleared my throat. “I apologize. Did you say something?”

She shot him a look, smiling wryly. “Got you a coffee, new guy. It’s just black because I don’t know what you like.”

Oh. I blinked in surprise. “Thank you.”

She crossed and handed me the drink. “I’m Cheryl, by the way. In case you forgot.”

“Of course not,” I lied. “Thank you, Cheryl.”

She waved me off and went back to her spot, leaning against the table. She and Clark had their bodies angled to each other. I wondered if they thought they were subtle. “I was in here for like five minutes. You’re a real worker bee.”

I sipped the coffee. It was still warm and a nice break—a glance at the clock told me it was nearly one and that I had worked through lunch again. “I tend to get a bit absorbed in work.”

Clark laughed. He was blowing on his coffee. “I’d say! Two days in and this guy’s got more work done than I do in a week. I’m gonna be out of a job.”

My stomach flipped uncomfortably. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t think–”

“He’s joking,” Cheryl said, rolling his eyes. “He’s real bad at it, too.”

He shot her a glare with no real heat. It was—nice, seeing them interact. The Chicago team had been very nice and accommodating, but, from no real fault of their own, it was a bit awkward and stilted. Seeing how easily they interacted with each other, more so than anyone had back home, was nice. It was promising and made me fonder of Dean to see he fostered such a welcoming environment.

“I’ll take some of the blame for the joke not landing,” I said. “If only because I’m thankful for the distraction.”

She gave me a considering look and then nodded. “Fair. Well, I’m off. Mr. Cannon is probably back from lunch now. Don’t work yourself to death,” she directed the last bit to me.

I offered her a smile. “Of course.”

She turned to Clark, hesitating. He grinned at her. She gave him a little wave before leaving the room, closing the office door behind her. I watched her go. Clark turned to me, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t even think about it.”

I frowned, confused. “What?”

He nodded his head toward the door. His cheeks were red but he was going for casual. “Cheryl. Don’t even think about it—girl’s as off limits as the boss himself!”

I cocked my head, still frowning. He wiggled his eyebrows. My face flushed immediately when I realized what he meant. “Oh. Um. No, I wasn’t—”

Clark interrupted. “It’s not your fault. But the new policy is pretty intense. No relationships.”

That made my stomach drop and it must have shown on my face. His eyes narrowed before he nodded at me. “See? Crush.”

“Clark,” I said patiently, rolling my head up to look the ceiling and steeling myself. “I do not have a crush on Cheryl. I am very gay.”

There was a pause. And then, “Oh! Right, yeah, okay! I mean, shit. Sorry? I mean—”

He continued to splutter on until I offered, “I might go grab a quick snack for lunch.”

I grabbed my suit jacket and slid it on, holding the coffee and leaving before Clark managed to make the tension in the room any more uncomfortable.

I finished my coffee outside of the office, strolling through the cubicles. I smiled politely at the Chicago people, and quietly checked in with those from my branch. I wasn’t their boss—wasn’t here and hadn’t been there, but I had worked closely with White. I wanted to make sure they weren’t feeling the difference too gratingly.

I recycled the paper cup and then hesitated just outside the hallway that led to Cannon’s office. I did need to speak with him, but the idea of going down the office and being in that closed space with him again—

Dean in the bar, in my bed, was someone I could handle; or, at the very least, appreciate him handling me. The anticipation of what we were was still new and exciting enough that I felt deliciously out of my depth.

But Dean here—Dean as Mr. Cannon, as my boss—if the few interactions we had yesterday were anything to go by, I was in absolutely no position to be alone with him.

Still. If there was going to be anything between us outside of work—and, please Lord, did I want there to be—I was going to have to learn how to compartmentalize him. And, most importantly, explain to him that I was not to be treated differently than any other employee. I was going to be an executive in this company one day—I would not let Dean or anyone jeopardize that.

Confident now, I walked the short distance to Dean’s office. Cheryl stopped me from passing her with a raised finger, her other hand still typing. After a minute, she glanced up at me.

“Ah, Jimmy. What can I do for you?”

Her look was discerning. I distinctly remembered passing her in a flee at least twice yesterday. My face colored and my collar felt a bit tight. “Hello, Cheryl. I need to speak with Mr. Cannon about the client assignments he sent out.”

She relaxed. “He’s with someone right now.”

I nodded, gesturing to the chairs outside of his office. “Shall I wait?”

She hesitated. “I—I’m not sure how long he’ll be.”

I frowned, glancing down at my watch. “Well, I can’t continue working until I speak with him. I can’t move on to the new clients and I’m caught up on my others. I suppose I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

She frowned back at me. We stared at each other, frowning, for a full minute before she sighed and nodded. “Okay, then. Take a seat.”

I smiled my thanks, settling into the middle seat. I could hear the hushed, vibrating lull of voices against the wall, but they were too quiet to make out. Cheryl went back to typing and the two sounds together created a nice background of white noise.

I leaned my head against the wall, trying to go over what I would say to him. I would express my appreciation, first, I supposed—it would do no good to not acknowledge that I understood the nepotism came from a place of kindness.

I didn’t realize I had dozed off a little, spacing out far more than was appropriate for a workplace environment, until the door to Dean’s office flew open and a tall man came out. He was a big man, with wide set shoulders and a thick presence. He grinned huge and walked with the confidence of someone who owned the entire building—I was positive he did not work for Singer-Paulson. Even if I hadn’t studiously poured over the employee web portal, the casual clothes he wore would have given him away.

I frowned as he spoke lowly to Cheryl before waving back toward me. I almost waved back until I realized that the door remained open. Dean stood in the doorway. I watched him watch the other man leave.

When the stranger walked around the corner, Dean went to go back into his office.

Frowning, I cleared my throat. “D—Mr. Cannon.”

Dean’s gaze snapped down to mine. His expression was frozen in something that was a half-mask of surprise, his eyes widened. Then the corners of his lips twitched up, just a little, a small smile that was only for me.

I couldn’t help the smile I offered back. It was a bit too big, but Dean was looking at me so brightly, and it was an impossible task to not give him anything he wanted at that moment. It made the most sense to start with a smile.

“Jimmy.” Dean’s lips wrapped around my name was an inspiring thing. I sat straighter in my chair. “Are you here for me?”

I wondered if Cheryl could hear the flirtation in his voice, if it was dripping saccharine to her as much as it was to me. My ears burned. “Yes.”

His eyes narrowed, face focusing, before he smoothed it in one quick go. My smile curved up a little sharper.

Dean took a step back and nodded his head toward his office. “Please,” he said, smile still wide. “Come in.”

I felt his gaze hard on the back of my neck when he trailed behind me into his office. The door had barely closed before I turned around. He was a half breath away.

His eyes flicked across my face, down to my lips, a quick glance down my front and back up again. I waited, nearly breathless, until he had drunk his fill. He took a half step backward, ran his hand through his hair, and gave a tight smile. “What can I do for you?”

My fingers itched. I wanted to grab him by the tie, and lick my way into his mouth. I wanted to not care about the work, about the day, about who might come into the room—I wanted to kiss him until he forgot about all the things I didn’t want to care about, too.

He seemed to know the way my thoughts were going. With a smirk, he took another step away from me, looking far more amused than I was at that moment.

“Don’t look at me like that, Jimmy,” he said, clicking his tongue as he tsk-ed me. “You’ll have me locking that door in no time.”

I couldn’t help it—my head whipped to the door and, sure enough, there was a lock. I swallowed hard and he let out a small laugh.

Hold yourself together, Swan, I told myself. I straightened my tie and tried to channel my professionalism. “I’m here to talk about the client list you sent out—”

Dean interrupted me, nodding. “Yes, about that. I hope that it’s not too much on your plate—your record is just much better than anyone else’s here. I meant to ask if you would be okay with the workload yesterday but I was—distracted.”

I frowned. “It’s fairly significant. I have five more than any other employee. I had requested to get my fair share of the new list, but this seems like an extreme difference to the others.”

Dean snorted. “If I thought you could handle it, I’d have given you at least six. I’m worried about the others adapting, and my team doesn’t have your record, either.”

I considered this, looking at him for any trace of lies. My record was spotless—there was a reason I was close to taking White’s job, if he hadn’t had such seniority. If Dean truly hadn’t let our personal experiences with each other tint the client listing, then there was nothing to be angry about.

And if there was nothing to be angry about—

“Have dinner with me,” I blurted out.

Dean’s mouth fell into a little ‘O’, his eyes widening. Then he grinned, wide and happy, the skin around his eyes crinkling. He rubbed his chin, and then hooked his thumbs into his belt hoops, taking a step toward me. “Dinner, huh?”

I cleared my throat, ignoring the fluttering butterflies in my stomach. This nervousness was new. I couldn’t remember someone shaking me the way that Dean did, his mere happiness enough to throw my entire body into overdrive. “Dinner,” I repeated, closing the remaining space between us.

This close, we were nearly chest to chest. He was grinning; I was, too.

There were reasons why this was a bad idea. For one, it was against the rules. If anyone found out, I could be fired. Dean could be fired. Was it really worth the risk? Was the potential between us worth risking a career I had worked my whole life for?

“I get off work at five,” he said.

It was worth it. I felt lighter.

I laughed. “Funny. Me, too.”

His eyes dropped and he tilted his head, just a little. The single window was closed, the curtain drawn tightly. I was acutely aware that no one could see into the office.

My hands were shaking when I pulled away. Kissing him at work was a bad idea—and if I stayed in this office for a half minute more, I’d have tugged him to the floor with me.

“See you tonight, Jimmy,” he said, laughing when I fled the room.

I couldn’t wipe the grin off of my face, even when I passed Cheryl and made my way back into my and Clark’s office. If they saw it, they saw it. I had a date with Dean tonight.