Chapter 1
Chapter One
The office emptied out by four on summer Fridays.
I stayed late on purpose because Wes Calloway always did too.
I told myself it was the quarterly report due Monday, but I had finished that on the Wednesday before.
My laptop glowed in the dark bullpen while the AC ticked through its cycle.
I had spent three months deciding what to do about my boss, and tonight I planned to tell him.
It started in March. He leaned over my shoulder to point out a line I needed to fix in our next pitch.
His arm brushed mine, and I was a goner.
I pictured his hand sliding off the keyboard and onto my thigh while he leaned in close.
After that, every little thing about him rankled me.
It was the way he rolled his sleeves to the elbow by noon, the way he said my name when he handed me a project.
He had an air about him that told me he could keep me up all night if he wanted to.
My best friend called it my hot girl summer and told me to either do something about the man or stop texting her about him at midnight. She had a point. I had worn out my excuses. It was time to take action.
He sat in his glass office with the door open, focusing on his computer screen. I had watched him with that look of focused concentration all spring. I shut my laptop, stood, and smoothed the front of the yellow sundress.
The bullpen was empty, the cleaning crew long gone, and the only light came from his office and the exit signs. I could feel my heart pounding, my pulse climbing, as I was about to make my move.
I picked up the report I’d been working on and crossed the floor toward the glass, my heels clicking loudly on the concrete. He looked up before I could knock.
“You’re still here?” he said, leaning back. “You know it’s Friday, right?”
“So are you. And you know what day it is too, apparently.”
“Touché.” He nodded at the pages in my hand. “Tell me that’s not more problems that I have to magically find solutions for.”
“Nope, just a finished report showing more profit than expected.” I stepped inside, set the report on his desk, and stood close enough to catch the smell of his aftershave. “Come on, tell me I’m a good girl for bringing you the news.”
He went still, and his eyes moved over my face, then lower, then back up. He didn’t bother hiding his appraising glance. “Oh, you are a good girl.”
I had rehearsed this moment a dozen times in my head, all the lines I wanted to say to him. Every single one of them left my brain at that exact moment. I was left with the truth, and it felt naked and embarrassing compared to the fantasies I’d built up in my mind.
“I want you,” I said. “I’ve wanted you since March, and I’m tired of pretending the profits report is why I stay late on random Friday nights. So there, now you know.”
Wes slowly set down his pen, and the small click of it hitting the desk was the loudest thing in the room.
“Sloane.”
The careful, rough way he said it told me I had not misread a single look all spring.
He dragged a hand down his face, let out a slow breath, and looked at me with an expression I could only describe as abject desire. The quiet stretched long enough that I almost ruined it by running away.
“You don’t have to say anything tonight,” I went on, even as my face went red. “I’m not asking you to risk your job or mine. I just couldn’t carry it one more week without you knowing.”
He stood. At his full height, I had to tip my chin upward to keep my eyes locked on his. He was standing right next to me now.
“You think I didn’t know?” he asked quietly. “You think I don’t lose my train of thought every time you cross that floor in those heels?”
My breath caught. “I hoped, but I wasn’t sure.”
“Well, now you can be sure. And I’ll show you exactly what I mean.” He reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, his knuckles grazing my jaw. That small touch sent a wave straight down my spine. “But not here. Not with your reputation on the line in a building full of cameras.”
His thumb dragged slowly along my bottom lip, and I felt myself sway toward him. He smiled, the bastard, and stepped back half an inch to leave me wanting. “When I finally kiss you,” he said, lower now, “I’m not stopping at one, and I refuse to do it under fluorescent lights and security cameras.”
“Then where?” I asked.
“My place.” His hand fell, though his eyes stayed on my mouth. “If you want it.”
“I want it. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
That earned me his real smile–not the fake one he used most of the time around the office. It was the rare one, the real one, and it was worth every week I had waited to see it.
He reached past me, shut his laptop, and grabbed his keys off the desk.
“Get your bag,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “and follow me out. And Sloane?” He leaned in, his mouth near my ear, close enough that his breath stirred my hair. “Make sure your lipstick is perfect for the elevator ride down.”
I walked back to my desk and grabbed my bag, certain without looking that his eyes were following me the whole way.
We rode the elevator down, careful to maintain exactly four inches of space between us.
Somehow, I kept my hands to myself, which felt like a minor miracle.
He had asked me to wait, so I did. I was a good girl after all.
I caught him looking at me, licking his lips as if he were gazing upon the juiciest steak he’d ever seen. My core grew hot in an instant. I was full of excitement at what tonight would hold.
At the lobby, he held the door and placed his hand on the small of my back for one second, just long enough to feel it through the cotton of my blouse.
Tonight was going to be everything I had ever imagined.