Chapter 3 #2
Tess Ramirez doesn’t fit into any part of the life I keep carefully separated from everything else, and from what Jeremy’s told me, she won’t fit neatly into the rules I live by. A sharp knock cuts through the quiet.
“Come in.”
Tess steps into my office, quietly shutting the door behind her before walking toward my desk.
She moves with deliberate restraint, every inch of her focused on professionalism instead of attention.
Heat pulls low through me as I shift in the chair, the space behind my zipper tightening with unwelcome interest while my gaze tracks her.
I take her in the way I always do, starting at the ground and working my way up, letting the details settle into place before I decide what they mean.
Her shoes are low-heeled and practical, the kind you wear when you expect to be moving all day instead of sitting behind a desk.
The suit fits her without drawing the eye, structured but unremarkable, the lines clean in a way that blends in rather than stands out.
Her blouse is buttoned to the collar, professional to the point of severity, and her hair is pulled back into a bun so precise it doesn’t shift when she moves.
She’s stripped it all down.
There’s no ounce of softness or invitation.
She’s not here to be looked at.
She’s here to work.
The message lands without effort, clear as if she’d said it out loud. She knows exactly where she is and who she’s dealing with, yet nothing about her posture shifts beneath the pressure of it.
A faint sense of approval settles through me. Good. That’s exactly what I need. Someone who understands boundaries without forcing me to spell them out. Someone who isn’t going to blur lines that work better left alone.
For the first time since Jeremy brought up her name, I start to think this arrangement might actually work.
She steps further into the office with her shoulders straight and her attention fixed steadily on me, calm beneath the pressure of being called into the office of a man with a reputation she’s clearly already heard enough about.
Most people compensate somewhere in situations like this.
Nervous smiles. Too much talking. Too much eagerness wrapped around discomfort they can’t quite hide.
Tess does none of it.
The problem is that the more control she exerts over herself, the harder it becomes not to notice the woman beneath it.
Something catches.
I've seen her before.
The woman walking toward my desk looks nothing like the one I met at the animal sanctuary fundraiser.
Gone are the unruly curls the wind kept stealing from whatever passed for a hairstyle that afternoon.
Today they're twisted into a severe knot, every strand in place, giving her an almost severe professionalism that makes her look older than she is.
The leggy brunette with the clipboard. The one who somehow managed to keep an entire fundraiser moving without ever looking flustered.
We'd exchanged a few words, that’s all but my gaze kept straying all afternoon to find her.
Her eyes meet mine, and for the briefest moment it feels like there's something else tugging at the edge of that memory. Something just out of reach.
It vanishes before I can catch it.
My attention drops before I can stop it.
Her mouth isn’t painted to stand out. If anything, she’s gone out of her way to make herself look restrained, professional, and untouchable.
It doesn’t matter.
The soft fullness of her lips pulls at my attention anyway.
Jesus.
I didn’t know I could get any harder.
My mind keeps trying to shove her into the professional, all-business category where she belongs, but my body wants her with the fierce desperation of a teenage boy sneaking his first copy of Playboy and chasing a climax he barely understands.
I drag my gaze up again, lock onto her eyes, anchor myself there.
Get a grip.
A breath leaves me slower than it went in, tension settling into something I can manage if I keep a tight hold on it. This is what she wanted.
“Mr. Shaw.” She inclines her head. The gesture is polite but not with deference.
Distance. Clarity. Equals. No room for anything else.
I was on board with that.
I am on board with that.
So why the hell does my body refuse to cooperate?
I drag my attention back where it belongs.
Miss Ramirez is here to interview for a job, nothing more.
Jeremy trusts me enough to send Clara's assistant my way.
Repaying that trust by getting her into my bed would be one hell of a way to lose a friend.
Besides, I've seen Jeremy throw a punch a couple of times.
The bastard has a right hook that makes even sensible men reconsider their life choices.
I sit a little straighter, forcing my shoulders back, every inch of me snapping back into the structure I rely on. The desk between us feels like a barrier I can use if I need it.
This is simple.
It should be simple.
But right now, the one woman who has gone out of her way to make sure I see her as nothing but an employee… is the one detail my body refuses to ignore.
I clear my throat, the sound quiet but enough to reset the moment, to push us back onto the track we’re supposed to be on.
“Good morning,” I say, my voice steady again.
Her expression doesn’t change, but there’s a subtle shift in her eyes, like she’s caught the edge of something before it disappeared.
“Good morning, sir.”