After an hour of sitting in a meeting where our budget manager preached to everyone about cutting marketing costs, Zane—remember my gay friend—calls me, laughing, “Hey, come over to my office.”

Zane is Madsen Construction’s computer programmer, and there’s a good chance this call is another instance where he’s installed spyware on someone’s computer and wants to show me their search history.

The shit people google is just bizarre, and often creepy. If someone comes up missing at this place, there are a few suspects I’ll be pointing my finger to when the police ask questions based on their browser search history is all I’m saying.

“Sorry, dude. I don’t have time for website creeping today.” As I set the receiver down, my eyes catch sight of a tall figure standing in front of me. Glancing up, I find a man standing in front of my desk.

He’s tall, handsome, with dark hair and gorgeous brown eyes, and he’s waiting for me to either acknowledge him, or say something. Only I can’t. My response seems frozen between my lips as I stare into his eyes. They remind me of gold wrapped in chocolate. Like a caramel-filled truffle and they are absolutely beautiful.

After what seems like hours—and in reality is only seconds—I find my words. “Can I help you, sir?”

Or you could help me out. Maybe bend me over my desk and tell me what a naughty girl I’ve been?

Clearly, it’s been a while since I’ve had any action.

Cautiously, I eye the man, praying he can’t read my mind. If he can, I’m totally screwed and will probably lose my job.

“I’m not sure if you can.” Leaning against the partition to my cubicle that’s right at leaning height, he smiles. His long fingers drum against the partition, and I admire his hands. He has nice manly hands. “Are you my new administrative assistant?”

Well, shit.

Remember when I said I hadn’t met my boss yet?

Nope? Well, I haven’t. My bad, must have left that important detail out. Up until now, I hadn’t actually met my boss, only talked to him on the phone. He’s been out of the country working in Japan. And wouldn’t you know it, here the man is, right in front of me looking like something out of a GQ magazine or Muscle and Fitness.

“Paul Madsen?” I ask in a voice that’s more of a timid whisper.

How the fuck was I going to work with him as a boss? Look at him. He’s beautiful. No way he’s my boss. I know. I’ll buy contacts in the wrong prescription so my vision is impaired, and it’ll make him look like a shitty version of Chris Hemsworth.

Excellent idea.

Mentally, I make myself a note to call my optometrist to see if he would help my sorry ass out. Surely someone has thought of this before. This can’t be a new request.

Standing, I reach my hand out to him. “I’m Amalie Davis,” I manage to say after he stares at me as if something is mentally haywire with me. I can’t blame him at for looking at me like this. I was just thinking of obtaining new contacts to impair my vision. Kind of screams crazy, doesn’t it?

“Well.” Paul smiles softly, tipping his head casually. “Zane didn’t tell me you were so pretty, sweetie.”

Aw, that’s sweet.

“Zane likes men, so my beauty wouldn’t be at the forefront of his mind, but thank you.”

Speak of the devil, Zane comes around the corner, upset I hung up on him. “Hey, get your ass in my office. I wasn’t joking. You need to—”

His words fall short when Paul turns toward Zane, amused, and raises an eyebrow. “She needs to do what?”

Zane has no social civility at all, and I sense he feels comfortable around Paul with what he says next. “She just needs to get her ass in there.”

Paul doesn’t seem fazed by his rudeness at all. If anything, he seems entertained by it.

I’m not sure what provokes me to do what I do next. I’m really not. “Zane!” I fling my tape dispenser right at his head, smacking him in the cheek.

Zane’s hand rubs the bull’s-eye I’d just made out of his face, glaring in my direction. “Was that necessary?”

“Yes.”

Paul chuckles and twists toward the door, but then glances back over his shoulder. “Welcome to Madsen Construction—” He pauses, smirking. “Amalie.”

This is where my nicely shaded creamy complexion turns a color similar to puce. A color that clashes with every item of clothing I’m wearing. It’s like a neon sign pointing in my direction letting everyone know, “Hey, I just made a complete ass of myself and am secretly crushing on my boss!”

“I hate you,” I whisper to Zane when I immediately sit back down, trying to calm every nerve in my body down after meeting Mr. Hottie McHot Madsen.

That certainly didn’t go anything like I planned, or hoped.