Mia

Just as I'm throwing the last of things in my bag, I hear the doorbell ring. Probably the car that Sawyer has sent to pick me up. I look at my suitcase and definitely don't feel like I'm ready, and not just because the bag is still laying open on my bed with clothes haphazardly strewn around it. Though that's not helping.

It's just so hard to know what to bring, but I have two business outfits, and some fancier blouses in case we have to go to nice dinners. I brought my laciest set of lingerie that I bought at the mall but never wore, plus pajamas, shoes, makeup, and toiletries.

Never having been so far away from home, part of me is super excited and the other part of me is dreading this trip. I mean, Japan should be a blast, but I’m nervous about the work, and since Sawyer’s been grumpy lately I don’t want to get in trouble. Unless that means he might… spank me. I start imagining his strong hands pulling up my skirt.

“You’ve been a bad girl, Mia,” he says, in my imagination. But then I hear my dad again and I banish the thoughts from my head.

Mostly.

Maybe.

“Sawyer, it’s good to see you!” he booms, as I sit on the suitcase to bring the sides together to zip it shut. Oh Lord, I thought it would just be his driver, but I guess Sawyer wanted to come in and say hello to dad.

Shit. Awkward. More awkward than it’s ever been.

I take a last look in the mirror, brush my bangs to the side and swipe on some lip gloss before stuffing my laptop in my carry on. Bending at the knees, I pick up everything at once and start shuffling my way to the door.

“Mia!” shouts my dad. “You’re keeping Sawyer waiting! Get a move on!”

"I'm coming," I answer, irritated. I'm tempted just to start throwing bags down the stairs. "I'm trying to carry all my stuff!"

"We are a little pressed for time. Why don't I run up there and give her a hand," I hear Sawyer say, and before I know it, he's bounding up the stairs and just like that, he's standing in my bedroom.

It’s shocking to see him in here. Also kind of hot.

How many times have I imagined him coming up those stairs just like that? Finding me in my room and taking what he wants?

There usually isn’t luggage involved, though. And we’re almost always naked when I imagine it.

But this could work, too, even if he does look bigger than life and completely out of place against the pink pastels of my bedroom. He looks around, his eyes widening. It’s probably more girly than he’s used to. Nonetheless, he turns to me, and surprisingly kisses me hello, on the cheek. His lips feel soft, and I redden. I wish I could pull him down onto my bed.

"Okay, Mia. Is this all you're bringing?" He gestures to my suitcase as I take the last scan around the room for anything I need and to make sure I haven't left any Sawyer spank bank material around. I spy a photo I have tucked into the frame of the mirror of my vanity, a still from the yacht video. I press him by the arm to turn him away from the dresser and out the door.

His arm feels strong. And warm. And he’s breathing a little heavier than I would think someone who works out hard every morning should be just from running up the stairs.

Be professional. Stay under the radar. I let my hands fall back to my sides.

“Thanks so much, Mr. Mills,” I say, more formally than I intend to.

“Sawyer,” he says softly, a smile playing across his lips.

“Sawyer,” I echo. I open my mouth to apologize, charmed by his smile, but decide against it. He’s been on some kind of weird, moody rampage for days now, and I’ll play along while we’re at work, but he’s in my space at the moment, and I’m just… tired. “Yes, sir,” I say, finally, a little impressed that I’ve kept my tone emotionless. I sound just like a perfect little worker robot who never messes anything up, who never files anything in the wrong place and who knows exactly what to do on a conference call.

He narrows his eyes, looks at me for a second like he wants to say something, then picks up the suitcases in one smooth motion and brings them downstairs.

My dad is down there beaming, thankfully unaware of the sudden friction or any of the subtext, as usual. That’s okay, though. We don’t have time to explain or to make up excuses. I still have to fly across the world with a man I can’t touch but can’t stop thinking about.

No big deal.

“Love you, Dad,” I say as I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek.

“Love you too, kitten,” he answers. He turns his head and addresses Sawyer. “You’re gonna keep my baby safe,” he says to him. “She’s never been overseas.”

“Of course, it’ll be safe. Tokyo is beautiful! You should be jealous you’re not going!” Sawyer says with a wink. Sure seems he can turn the charm both off and on. At work, I get the snappish Sawyer and my dad gets the charismatic buddy.

That is how it goes, though, right? I wonder if Sawyer and my dad would still be such great friends if they had to work together. I'm guessing probably not.

“Who says I’m not jealous?” Dad tosses back. “You guys have a great trip! Best of luck!”

He opens the door for us and I look out to see a limousine waiting. Why didn’t he just send the driver to get me? We could have saved that awkward moment in my room, where I wanted to push him down on my frilly pink bed and pull his pants off. Or spank him for being such an ass to me lately. Or have him spank me.

Both thoughts have me suddenly more than a little turned on, and I can't help but look over at Sawyer. Of course, he picks that exact moment to look back at me with those golden eyes. It's almost like he has the uncanny ability to know when I'm thinking dirty, sexy thoughts and can look right into my head to see them too.

I give a little self-conscious half-grin and turn back to my dad. Thank God neither one of them can actually see my thoughts right now.

“I’ll call you when we land, Daddy,” I say, giving a little wave. “We should probably go now.”

With another quick kiss on the cheek and a hug for good measure, we’re off.

I’m excited and nervous and more than a little apprehensive—and those are only my feelings about sharing a car with Sawyer. I can’t imagine what a few days in another country are going to be like with him.

Challenging, most likely. And probably frustrating, too.

The story of my life.

Once we're in the limo, I squeeze across the leather seats to the farthest away spot I can. It seems really far away with just the two of us in the car but damned if I'll adjust. Unless he gets a heck of a lot nicer, I've at least made my point.

Ignoring him, I open up my laptop and pick up where I left off earlier, reading the etiquette for Japan. It's kind of fascinating. As the woman and the subordinate, I'll have to be very unassuming, polite and in the background. I'm supposed to take a lot of notes—also perfect for me right now.

It looks like I have to be dressed modestly and pin my hair back. I mentally calculate my outfits' modesty quotient. That could be a little problematic, but I'll just have to remember to keep all buttons buttoned and all zippers fully zipped.

No sneaky bra straps, no deep cleavage. No wardrobe malfunctions.

I’ll also have to remember not to shake people’s hands. I wonder if I can bow well?

I’m just switching to another article about Japanese business etiquette when I’m interrupted by a heavy sigh from the other side of the limo. I look up, wary. Am I in trouble again? I’m just trying to do my job. These are articles about Japan, for God’s sake. I’d think he’d be happy that I care enough to look this stuff up. But happy might be too far of a stretch for him these days.

“How long are you going to give me the silent treatment?” Sawyer demands, looking somehow like a child in the shell of a very hot man. His jaw is set and his lower lip is protruding a little. I almost want to laugh, or maybe pinch his cute cheek, but I don’t want him to get even grumpier.

“I’m not giving you the silent treatment,” I say a bit archly. “I’m doing my job. Isn’t that why you wanted me here?” I take a deep breath to calm down, but the words tumble out nonetheless. “Besides, I don't even know if it’s safe to talk to you, you’ve been so irritable and cranky lately.”

“Yeah,” he answers, looking out the window for a moment. “I am sorry about that.”

I'm not sure if I'm more surprised that he admitted to being a cranky ass or that he apologized for it. Tate has been in the doghouse for days, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t heard anything close to an apology. Then again, he did make Sawyer pretty angry. I, on the other hand, aside from a few files, haven’t done anything wrong—at least, not as far as I can tell. Which brings up a good question.

“You could tell me what it is that I’ve been doing wrong,” I say a little more softly. “What have I done to deserve that kind of treatment?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but sweeps a hand through his hair and furrows his brow.

“It’s nothing. You’re doing fine. Better than fine.” He gestures dismissively and turns to look out the window. “I said sorry, Mia. Can we please not make it a thing?”

"Okay," I shrug, shaking my head as I draw out the word. "It's not a thing."

Fine with me.

I’m just going to stay out of his way. I go back to my computer screen and try to memorize more etiquette rules. He’s better off working out his own stuff while I make sure I’m as prepared as can be.

I hear another heavy sigh, but I resist giving him any kind of reaction. I don’t care how sexy he looks when he pouts.