I heard someone whistling as I organized my portfolio, ready to head over to the boardroom for my 10:00 a.m. meeting. I stopped in my tracks when I realized the sounds were coming from me.

I didn’t whistle.

It had been the most unusual morning. Strangely uneventful after Chaz had left. I floated from one room to another, showering, getting dressed in the spare suit I kept here for late nights and possible wardrobe catastrophes. I never thought I’d need it for something like this—hot sex with no time to go home and change.

I reviewed the reports, haphazardly at best. My mind kept drifting off to other things. Chaz. His body. His hands. His mouth. Being bent over my desk as he spanked me. I checked the desk once more. No signs of anything we had done. Except maybe a nick or two from my nails as I grasped the edge of the wood. Why was I disappointed he’d been so thorough in cleaning up?

I wondered how often he’d done this sort of thing . . . with former employers, or anyone. I wished I’d asked him more questions about himself. I guess the way his eyes looked right through me, into me and my soul, I felt like he already knew me and I him. Was it crazy that it seemed like we had connected? Somehow bonded over spanking and kinky, passionate sex? I laughed at myself, already aroused with the constant thought of him.

I stopped in the bathroom, where our fateful meeting had occurred, and splashed cold water on my face. As I dried off, I steeled myself not to think of Chaz again for the rest of the day. Or at least until this meeting had ended. Because who was I kidding? The man obliterated the self-control I prided myself on.

I walked down the hall to the boardroom. Everyone was there already. I looked down at my phone and frowned. 10:03? How did that—?

“Three minutes late,” Alejandro said when I entered, flashing his pearly whites. “I think this might be a first!” He laughed, and the others chuckled.

“My apologies, Alejandro. Time must have slipped by somehow when I was finishing up the reports.”

He raised his dark brows. Alejandro Rios always gave me a hard time about my perfect punctuality. And just about everything else. He was only a year older than I, and I believed sore over having to work under a CEO who was externally sourced when he’d been at NetSmash from the beginning.

“Grow up, Dylan,” Naomi said from across the table, using Alejandro’s nickname. Her long brown hair was braided and set in a crown on top of her head. Alejandro could’ve been Luke Perry’s doppelganger from his days on 90210, if Luke Perry was Spanish.

Morgan Brant sat next to Alejandro silently, with that ever-present haughtiness on his face, directed at no one and yet everyone. He was the oldest at the table, probably in his mid-forties, and easily the most brilliant of us all. Despite his polite British accent, he was the least social person on my team.

Not that I was any better. Still, I made a point to try to be friendly. I knew people considered me uptight, and as Chaz pointed out, obsessed with control. I guess I was. I had a reputation to instill with my colleagues and employees. Lead by example. They didn’t have to be as severe as me, but they did have to trust that the CEO could handle anything thrown at him. And that came with someone consistent and by the book.

I sat down at the head of the table.

“Something’s different about you,” Morgan said.

I opened my portfolio and looked at him pointedly. “Oh?”

“You seem more relaxed. Your tie isn’t as tightly knotted, and your brow is less worrisome.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Morgan hadn’t said more than ten words to me about anything unrelated to NetSmash or business in general since the day we met. I self-consciously adjusted my tie.

But now Naomi and Alejandro were studying me.

“He has a point, boss,” Naomi said. “You’re glowing. Are you pregnant?” She chuckled.

“I bet I know why he’s glowing,” Alejandro said and waggled his eyebrows.

“Dylan,” Morgan warned, his voice stern. “Please keep it professional.”

“¡Dios! Lighten up. You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Did you go to the Halloween party last night, Trent?” Naomi asked, ignoring them.

I shook my head. “No, but I couldn’t help but hear it. I was here late.”

“You should have come down! Everyone had a great time. The DJs were spectacular.” Naomi said.

Alejandro rolled his eyes. “Mediocre, at best. You were drunk.”

“Next time, I’ll stop in.” Despite parties not being my thing, as the CEO, I should probably make an effort.

“Don’t bother,” Morgan chimed in. “Those parties are overrated. Everyone’s pissed and acting like bleeding idiots.”

“How would you know?” Alejandro asked. “Someone as miserable as yourself wouldn’t dream of doing anything that might actually be fun.”

“I’m smart enough to know what goes on at those parties without making an appearance. It’s not complicated.” Morgan leaned back in his chair. He crossed a leg and a bit of neon orange sock peeked out.

“Can we get started with the agenda, please?” I didn’t want this to devolve into something hostile.

We chatted about last week and any issues that arose, then attempted to load some project notes onto our screen. But something wasn’t connecting properly with our laptops.

“De nada. I’ll have Ellison come over,” Alejandro said, tapping away on his phone.

“He hates when you do that,” Naomi said.

“Next time, please contact his team, Alejandro,” I added. “The Director of IT does not need to be assisting us with minor connection issues.”

He crossed his arms over his chest after he put his phone down. “Yes, sir.”

We continued our discussions until Ellison arrived, pushing up his black thick-rimmed glasses.

“Good morning, El.” Alejandro waved from his seat, resting an ankle on the opposite knee.

“Morning, Al,” Ellison replied and smirked. “Connection issues again?”

“Sorry for the interruption,” I apologized.

Ellison walked over to the big screen monitor and felt around the edges, fumbling with controls. “I’m happy to help.” He shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it on the conference table before reaching around the back and underneath, checking wires and sockets.

I offered my laptop for him to run some tests with it.

After a few moments, the agenda popped up on the screen. “Bingo.” Ellison smiled and grabbed his jacket, draping it over his arm.

Naomi and Alejandro cheered while Morgan fiddled with his tablet.

“Thank you, Ellison. Again, sorry to bother you.” I said.

“No bother at all,” he replied, then gave a quick glance to Alejandro before taking his leave.

We got back to business discussing the infamous reports, reviewing pertinent items I had questions on and then moved forward.

“I have a meeting at eleven I can’t be late for,” Morgan spoke up, packing his things.

“That’s fine,” I said. “We’re done here.”

“Before you go, Morgan,” Naomi interrupted, “I wanted to let you know who we chose for the CyGen project.”

Morgan stood and looked at her impatiently. “Please don’t say—”

“Parker Greenhill as our lead.”

“Dammit. Why?”

“He’s our best analyst, and you know that.” Alejandro threw out.

“But he’s a bloody wanker.” Morgan shook his head.

“You don’t have to like him, just oversee the project.”

“Fine,” Morgan grumbled. “Who else?”

“Stephanie Vincent, Miranda Frank, Greg Hunt, Adam Iverson . . .” She paused, searching her laptop screen. “Oh, and our newest analyst, Charlie Reynolds.”

Morgan exhaled. “Where’s he from?”

“Interned at SixSense with excellent recommendations. He’s a little older than our typical junior analyst, but I want to get him some experience and see what he can do.”

“Maturity is a good thing. I hope some of it rubs off on Parker.” He grabbed his briefcase and waved. “See you.”

I waved back, as did the others.

“Is this Parker Greenhill a problem?” I knew my colleagues could handle their own, but if I could help, I would.

Alejandro chimed in. “Only if he and Morgan were locked in a small room together.”

“They’re exactly alike is the problem,” Naomi added. “Parker’s still young. He’s a hotshot with an ego, just like Morgan used to be.”

I nodded my comprehension.

“See ya later, boss,” Naomi said, grabbing her purse.

“Have a good day,” I said, as Alejandro came up behind her and followed her out with a wave.

I turned back to the big screen. Numbers and graphs stared back at me, but all I could think about was Chaz. I checked the time. Right, eleven. That’s it? I looked at my phone. I didn’t expect him to call or text now, but who knew? It was possible. I shook my head at myself for the umpteenth time today.

I didn’t know how I was going to make it until tonight.

* * *

My last meeting had gone long and I sprinted to my car. I patted my chest to make sure my phone was secure within the inner pocket of my jacket before I pulled away. I’d wanted to be home by six. It was already seven.

When I arrived at my condo, I dumped my portfolio and keys onto the kitchen counter in a dash down the hallway, shrugging out of my coat and loosening my tie.

I grabbed my phone and looked at the screen, hoping I might’ve missed an alert from Chaz. I wasn’t sure how I would have with my hypersensitivity to any vibration or ding my phone made today.

But still nothing.

After I ripped off my suit and threw on a pair of flannel pants and a T-shirt, I reheated some leftover Chinese and poured a glass of Chardonnay. I was too anxious to eat, really, but I felt I should have something to sustain me if Chaz and I talked all night. It had happened before.

My phone beeped as I sat down on the couch and I snatched it up so fast you’d think it planned on running. I held my breath as I viewed the screen. An email from Naomi. I exhaled. That could wait until tomorrow. Then I checked my instant messages and call log—just in case I’d missed anything. Again nothing. I laid the phone on the armrest of my sofa and got comfortable.

Flipping through the channels, I ate my dinner and dutifully attempted to pay attention to whatever senseless programming I landed on. It wasn’t easy. Like it wasn’t easy throughout the entire day. Chaz had taken up residence in my head, whispering in my ear and holding me close as he kissed me until I couldn’t breathe. How was I supposed to concentrate with all of that reeling through my brain?

Once dinner was gone, the TV couldn’t stop my eyelids from drooping. Coffee might help, but I didn’t feel like taking the time to make it. And all it did was remind me of Chaz. Again.

I picked up the phone. No messages. I went through my apps, checked that the battery was full. Just as full as it was five minutes ago.

I’m completely obsessed!

I moved the phone away and forced myself to watch some home show. An entitled young couple wanted everything on their wish list for an outrageously low price. I rolled my eyes so many times that, by the end, I’d dozed off out of sheer exhaustion.

My phone buzzed and I bolted upright. As it played the generic ringtone I’d never bothered to change, I scrambled to answer. I tapped without looking at the screen and put it to my ear.

“Hello? . . . Hello? This is Trent.”

There was a pause. “Hello, Sir! This is Bryan from Custom Blinds. How are you this evening?”

I blinked, still half-asleep. And now thoroughly annoyed.

“Not good, Bryan,” I replied in my grouchiest voice, and hung up.

The phone read 10:15 p.m.

I flipped through the channels once more, unable to take another clueless couple, this time looking to buy an island in the Pacific to open a margarita bar slash yoga retreat or something equally ridiculous. I finally stopped on a dubbed foreign film with two hot men rolling around in a barn. The men were incredibly sexy, and I found myself reaching down to stroke my dick through my lounge pants. One of the guys reminded me of Chaz, rugged and blonde with a bunch of colorful tattoos. I imagined Chaz and I rolling around kissing on the barn floor, hay in our hair and on our clothes. Chaz would push me onto my stomach and drag my pants and boxers down. He’d say something dirty and sweet like “your ass is so fucking beautiful.” Then he’d ask me to talk, to tell him what I wanted.

“Spank me,” I’d beg, and he’d grin behind me, his dick as hard as mine.

He’d smack each cheek until it was red and hot and I craved his caresses.

I groaned as I pulled my pajamas down to stroke myself.

Chaz would then run his tongue over my butt cheeks, nipping and kissing, as his finger slid into my hole. He’d piston me slow and deep with that finger, tapping and teasing my prostate with each measured thrust.

My hips drove into my hand and I pumped faster as my orgasm climaxed without much warning.

“Chaz!” I shouted into the living room as come flew over my stomach. My muscles clenched and jerked.

“Shit, Trent. I can’t get enough of you,” he’d say, then stroke his dick, staring at my red bottom until his come striped the flushed skin.

My breaths heavy, I lay back against the couch. I meant to wait to do that with Chaz on the phone. But what did it matter? He wasn’t calling anyway.

I cleaned up and downed the last of my wine before returning to the sofa, suddenly in a foul mood. I watched two cooking shows and an infomercial about a gadget that spiralized food. God knows why.

I checked my phone one last time. It was after midnight.

Chaz didn’t call. I guess he didn’t feel the connection I had. It was just sex, a hook-up.

I turned everything off and padded to my bedroom, the hopeful light of of my heart now as dark as the room.