Page 9 of The Boss

But his face gives away nothing. No recognition, no awkwardness, no heat. Nothing.

Fine. Two can play this game.

By five o'clock, I've matched his professionalism perfectly. I've anticipated his needs, solved three minor crises before they reached his desk, and delivered everything he's asked for with ruthless efficiency.

The man at the bar called me brilliant. Well, I'll take that. Not that I'm self-absorbed, but that sounds fair. The man in this office barely seems to notice I exist.

Which is exactly what needs to happen. This is temporary. Two weeks. I can survive two weeks of pretending Friday never happened. I press a sharpened pencil tip into my thumb. And then bite down hard.

Even if pretending is going to kill me.

On Tuesday, I'm picking at a salad in the dining hall when Jaden drops into the chair across from me. And just like everything he does, it's dramatic.

"Okay," he says, wagging his eyebrows. "I need details."

"About what?"

"Don't play dumb. The new boss. What's he like up close?"

Lea slides into the seat next to him, sandwich in hand.

"He's..." I pause, trying to find words that aren't lies but aren't the whole truth either. "Professional."

"That's not what I'm asking." Jaden leans forward. "Is he actually hot? Because Lea here saw him in the elevator and she said he looks like he could throw a woman over his shoulder and carry her off into the sunset."

Lea nods and bites into her sandwich. "He really could."

The coffee I was sipping goes down wrong, and I cough until my eyes water.

"You okay?" Lea asks.

"Fine. Wrong pipe."

"So?" Jaden prompts. "Hot or not?"

I think about Matthew in his navy suit this morning. And the simple crisp white shirt last Friday.

"He's not really that hot," I tell them, even as warmth creeps to the tips of my ears.

Jaden's face falls. "Really?"

Lea just shrugs. "He looks like a perfect ten to me, though."

I focus on spearing the lone tomato on my plate. "He doesn't really do it for me."

I stand to grab water and nearly slam into Matthew himself.

He's standing right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to have heard every word we just said.

My heart stops, blood rushing to my head.

If the earth could swallow me whole right now, I would be very grateful.

His face is unreadable, but there's something in his eyes that might be amusement. Or it might be annoyance. Or it might be nothing, and I'm projecting because I want to die.

"Vivian," he says with a slight nod.

He called me Vivian, not Ms. Olivers. Oh God.