Page 96 of My Favorite Boss

“Nothing. Being with you helps.”

“Good. I prefer you smiling.”

She propped up her chin on her palm. “Make me smile, then.”

“The last business trip—” I paused, trying to figure out how to say the words. “When I called you to change my flights. I have never missed anyone before, Magnolia. Never been anxious to come home.” I traced her lips. “Because of you, this place now feels like home. Knowing you were here, waiting for me, meant more than I can express.”

Her eyes glistened.

“And I have never cared about anyone enough to want to take care of their problems. Of them. This is all new to me. You are new to me. How you make me react is new to me.”

“Do you hate it?”

“No. It’s disconcerting. Bewildering at times, yet somehow exhilarating.”

“You say the nicest things when I least expect it, Alex.”

“Did it make you smile?”

“Yes.”

“Then my work is done.”

“Not quite.”

“Oh?” I asked. “What else do you want?”

“Take me to bed. Ravish me.”

It was my turn to smile. I laughed, picking her up. “Your wish, my command.”

A few days later, I walked into the office, glancing at the empty desk. Where was Myers? I wanted to fill her in on how the meeting went with the maze client. I had finally convinced him it was a pipe dream and to look over my designs. After a lot of talking, he agreed what he wanted was impossible, and we were able to find a starting point. Still, the bickering had tired me.

Frowning, I went to my private office, stopping at the sight of a rounded ass sticking up in the air and squirming underneath my desk. It was Myers.

Again.

I approached the desk, kneeling, one hand on the wood, the other twitching to touch that round ass. Stroke it. But we had agreed to keep things professional at work.

Not that wiggling under my desk was professional.

“This again, Myers? What are you doing?” I asked impatiently.

There was a muffled gasp and the sound of her head hitting the wood.

“Ouch.”

I shut my eyes, shaking my head. She tripped everywhere. Fell off her chair. Rolled out of the car once when I opened the door for her, trying to be a gentleman. She’d even missed the bed, trying to jump and not succeeding. It was a wonder she managed to still be alive.

“Myers?” I asked again. “Come out of there.”

“I can’t,” she responded, sounding morose.

“Why the hell not?”

“I’m stuck.”

“Stuck,” I repeated.