The phone on my desk rings—just one time—and I snatch it from its cradle as fast and effortlessly as I can without it looking like I’m simply trying to stop it from ringing a second time.

“Hello?”

“He's on his way up.” It's Kristen from the main lobby, and those five words send a shiver streaking down my spine. 

“Thank you,” I say, focusing on keeping my voice smooth and low.

It's not my job to be frazzled when my boss comes into the office. It's my job to be presentable, professional, cool.

So even though my heart is racing and I can feel the pink rising to my cheeks, I do what I always do whenever Mr. Hunter is on his way up. I have exactly forty-five seconds before he steps off the elevator at the other end of the hallway, and another fifteen before he arrives at the door to his office suite.

That's enough time to take a compact mirror out of one of the drawers of my desk and make sure I'm as flawless as can be. Lipstick? Check. Hair? I squint into the mirror. There are some stray flyaways, and I tuck each one into place. Now, check. Teeth? All good. I even spritz a little mouthwash from the travel-size bottle I keep stashed in the desk onto my tongue. 

He demands perfection, and I've been rising to the occasion every day for the last month.

I only wish this job had solved all of my problems, like I thought it would.

But I don't have time to dwell on that now. He's almost here.

I stash the mirror and the mouthwash back in their places and close the desk drawer with as much grace as I can muster, even though there's no one here to see me. Mr. Hunter only uses one secretary to man the desk in his main office, so when he's out, I'm on my own. But when he's here—

When he's here, I'd better be on. 

I tug at the hem of my blazer, making sure it’s snugged right down into the right place, and then I sit up straight, hands posed at the keyboard, as if I’m running through the afternoon’s appointments. I don’t have to run through them again because I can recite them from the top of my head. My dad always said that paying attention to detail would get me the job of my dreams.

Maybe it will.

But in the meantime...

His footsteps are muted on the high-end industrial carpet, but I hear every one. Three, two, one...

He appears in the doorway, and my face goes hot.

Damn it. 

I thought I'd be over him by now. The first time I met him, thirty-one days ago, I felt the same heat overtake my cheeks by storm. I still don't know why he gave me the job—I stammered through the entire final interview—and he makes me feel exactly the same way: like I’m flubbing and falling all over myself.. It makes no difference that I've seen him five days a week for the last four weeks. My stomach still does a flip when he walks in the door...and more than that, it causes my panties to become soaked between my legs, every time. 

And I haven't even been fantasizing. I save that for late at night in the privacy of my own apartment.

Can you really blame me? The sight of him would be enough to make any woman weak in the knees. Tall, handsome, and rock-hard abs built solid like a wall from his days in the Army...

I snap myself out of it just in time. “Hello, Mr. Hunter. Do you need a rundown of the afternoon's meetings?”

He fixes his steely blue gaze on me, and another shiver, this one like the softest fingertips, trails its way down my spine. “No, Ms. Dawson.” The words he speaks are clipped—more clipped than usual. He doesn't let much show on his face, but I spend so much time staring at him that I can tell. Something is pissing him off. I'd better not add to it if I want to keep this job.

I need this job. Actually, I need more than this job, if I’m ever going to dig myself out of the hole I’m in. It’s a hole that keeps me up at night. I should buy stock in under-eye concealer.

I smile at him. Hopefully, he considers my smile as strictly professional, but I can still sense the tension rolling off him in waves. His muscles look so tightly coiled under his perfectly tailored suit that he could be on the battlefield, ready to attack the enemy at a moment’s notice. 

It's really not fair that my boss is this attractive. I can't touch him, ever. I can't jeopardize my chances at being promoted to a better job at his company, or any other one for that matter, by becoming the woman who sleeps her way to the top.

I wish knowing that would make me want him less. There's only so much work my vibrator can handle, and last night I think I almost pushed it to its limit, thinking of Mr. Hunter's eyes on mine, his strong and powerful hands touching me, his lips caressing every inch of my curves.

He's never touched me. Not once. But it still feels like jolts of electricity when he looks at me like he is now, a glancing gaze, like he's waiting for something.

Oh, shit. He is waiting—for me to say something. “No problem, Mr. Hunter. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“You can connect me with my father on any available line. I'll take the call in my office.”

I swallow hard. He's been having hushed conversations lately behind his closed office door, and maybe all the energy crackling through the room right now is because things—whatever things are—have reached a boiling point.

“Yes, sir,” I say, as coolly as I can, and then reach for the phone.

He steps quickly around my desk, heading for his inner office, and I pick up the phone and dial. I know this number by heart, along with most of the others he needs on a daily basis. That has to count for something.

The call connects. “Mr. Hunter?”

The senior Mr. Hunter's voice is gruff. “Hello?”

“This is Skye Dawson. I have Mr. Hunter on the line for you.” Before he can say anything else, I connect the two lines and place the phone into its cradle.

Fifteen seconds later, the sound of my boss's voice explodes from behind his closed office door. It scares the shit out of me to hear him raising his voice like that…

It also turns me on.