A steamy scene I gushed over involving an acronym, scuffed knees, and a particular boss I wish would take a hint.Don’t blush.“Nothing.”
“Nothingwouldn’t make your cheeks blaze. Spit it out.”
Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. There’s a reason I haven’t shared this social media profile with anyone in the office—it’s incriminating. If Mr. Carlson found out about all the posts I made comparing him to my favorite book boyfriends, I might die of embarrassment before I get on the plane.
But I only have two more days until my contract ends and I leave the country. Admitting my obsession to Taylor could be a good thing. She’s worked for Mr. Carlson longer. She could have some seduction tips. “Do you promise not to tell anyone?”
Taylor pinches her fingers in front of her mouth and twists, like she is locking away all future secrets, never to reveal them.
I roll my eyes at the childish gesture and smile. Opening up my profile, I show her the folder of incriminating evidence.
She scrolls through a few, her mouth dropping open. “You dirty girl.”
“Crazy, you mean,” I whisper, looking around the office to ensure no one is eavesdropping.
“Oh, believe me, you aren’t the first one to fantasize about taming the beast.” Taylor hands the phone back to me, her smile sympathetic. “But he’s never broken his no-fraternization policy.”
I stare at her dumbfounded. “The office has a policy? That wasn’t in my contract.”
Was it? I thought I’d read every paragraph, and I don’t recall seeing that.
“It’s his own personal policy.”
I slump into my chair. The tight dresses and accidental pencils dropped to the floor over the last three months, all for nothing.
I should have read monster romances. At least I would have accepted that every steamy scene would stay as fantasy. Instead, I wasted my time picturing myself as the naughty secretary to a boss I never stood a chance with.
Shit.
The elevator door catches our attention. I try to stop the desire knotting my insides, but after three months of conditioning, I’m like Pavlov’s dog, dripping at the first ding.
Taylor winks at me and strides toward her desk.
I watch as Parker Carlson, managing partner of Carlson, Peterson Attorneys at Law—and the fuel for all of my orgasms since we met— strides through the office, looking far too imposing and sexy this early in the morning.
The thirty seconds before his gaze intertwines with mine allow me a secret moment to savor every inch of him.
His suit is cut to accentuate the muscles he somehow keeps toned even though 90 percent of his time is spent in his office, with clients, or in court, making senior partners look like first-year associates.
He’s better than the fictional lawyers scripted to be smooth and charismatic on television, slaughtering the opposition with words. Would he be just as skilled with his hands and tongue?
My skin heats and my thighs clench. My nipples are too tight to go unnoticed—if he’d ever look.
My boss steers toward my desk, his gaze locking on mine instantly.
Butterflies escape my belly, scattering my nerves and wrecking my self-control. No man should have this much subliminal control over my body.
Ignoring the butterflies and dirty thoughts, I close the manila folder with today’s dossier and annoying sticky note, stand, and smooth the crinkles in my dress.
Mr. Carlson slows as he nears my desk until I fall into step beside him. That small act of consideration contradicts his detached public reputation.
To the world, he is Parker Carlson, a ruthless corporate litigator, but to his pro bono clients, he’s Parker, the guy who takes on cases no one else will because when his family needed it, there was no one like him willing to help. How is any woman supposed to resist a gooey center wrapped up in a grumpy shell?
I put on my best assistant smile. I may have a crush on my boss, but I’m also a damn good assistant who knows when to be on my knees or at the top of my game. “Good morning, Mr. Carlson.”
“How’s the?—”
“Johnson file?” I ask.
