ABIGAIL

Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. What the hell did I just do?

Despite what I just said to Elijah Armstrong, I am so not sure about this. Not to mention the fact that I just was just challenging my boss on almost everything he said. Could I have been any more disrespectful? God, Abby!

My knees feel weak and my heart is beating and it’s all I can do not to lean my head against the back of his door and feel the cool wood against my forehead.

I’m hot and flushed.

And it’s not just because we were butting heads in there.

It’s because Elijah Armstrong is seriously sexy. Seeing him in pictures and from afar hadn’t prepared me for how it was to be in his presence.

His eyes were piercing, and the way he’d been looking at me…

I hate him, hate the things he was saying, hate the arrogant look that had been on his face, and yet the pulse between my legs won’t stop.

I walk back down that ridiculous white carpet, thank the receptionist, and head right for the break room, where I brew myself another cup of coffee.

I tap my fingers against the counter and think about what just transpired.

Had I made a mistake?

Getting my own line would have been amazing.

But the Ravish line will just be temporary -- I really do believe that.

Elijah is wrong.

Sex might sell, but what women really want is love.

And I’m going to prove it to him.

I go back to my desk, coffee in hand, happy to see that I have an email waiting for me from one of my favorite agents. There’s a manuscript attached from a new author.

It’s enough to brighten up my day.

Until Lucy Carlisle appears at the side of my desk.

“Oh,” she says, looking startled. “You’re still here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Lucy is one of my assistant editors. Which means that I’m her boss. The only problem is that she’s a year older than me and went to Brown -- therefore her respect for me is acceptable at best, non-existent at worst.

“No reason.” She widens her blue eyes and tries to look innocent, but if there’s one thing Lucy isn’t, it’s innocent. Which means everyone knows I’d been called up to Elijah’s office, and Lucy had been expecting me to be fired.

She probably thought she was going to get my job.

“Mr. Armstrong is concerned that our sales numbers are down,” I say. “He’s interested any ideas we can come up with to help fix them.” It isn’t a total lie. Mr. Armstrong is concerned about our sales numbers being down, and he’s probably very interested in things we could do to get them back on track.

Or at least he would have been if he weren’t so excited to just shut the entire line down.

“Okay.” Lucy looks bored. “I’ll come up with some ideas tonight.” She sounds totally blasé, and I try my best not to hate her. Because the thing is, Lucy is good at her job. If she says that she’s going to look into something and get some ideas, she is and she will.

“Good,” I say. “We’ll go over them in the morning.”

“This came for you.” She drops a manila envelope on my desk and leaves in a wave of perfume.

Nice to see you, too, I think.

I sigh and glance at the envelope.

No return address, which probably means it’s an unsolicited manuscript from an unknown writer. That happens a lot – we only accept manuscripts from agented authors, but my contact info is freely available on the internet, so lots of times authors send their manuscripts to me anyway.

But it doesn’t feel like a manuscript.

In fact, it doesn’t feel like anything.

The envelope is so light it feels empty.

Maybe the writer sent a jump drive or something?

I slip my finger under the flap, loosen it, and peek inside.

Something at the bottom of the envelope glints under the light.

I frown and turn the envelope over.

Something small and metal falls onto my desk with a clang.

I gasp, my heart beating fast as my eyes take in what it is.

The room spins.

I pick up the object and quickly shove it back into the envelope. Then I grab the sides of my chair, trying to keep myself from screaming.