Sliding his gaze to mine for another moment, he turned on his heel toward his new office and I watched in horror as the first of his infamous door slams took place.

“What a bastard!” Sara mumbled between tight lips.

“A beautiful bastard,” I replied.

Hoping to smooth things over, I went down to the café to get him a cup of coffee. I’d even asked Henry how he took it—black. When I nervously made it back to his office door, my knock was followed by an abrupt “come in,” and I willed my hands to stop shaking. I curved my lips into a friendly smile, intent on making a better impression this time, and opened the door to him talking on the phone and writing furiously on the notepad in front of him. My breath caught when I heard his smooth, deep voice speaking in flawless French.

“Ce sera parfait. Non. Non, ce n’est pas nécessaire. Seulement quatre. Oui. Quatre. Merci, Ivan.”

He ended the call but never lifted his eyes from his papers to greet me. Once I was standing in front of his desk, he addressed me in the same stern tone as before. “In the future, Miss Mills, you will keep all non-workplace-related conversations outside of the office. We’re paying you to work, not gossip. Do I make myself clear?”

I stood speechless for a moment until he lifted his eyes to meet mine, raising an eyebrow. I shook myself out of my trance, all at once realizing the truth about Bennett Ryan: although he was even more breathtakingly gorgeous in person than in photos, he was not at all like I had imagined. And he was absolutely nothing like his parents and brother.

“Very clear, sir,” I said as I walked around his desk to set his coffee in front of him.

But just as I was about to reach his desk, my heel caught on the rug and I lunged forward. I heard a loud “Shit!” escape his lips—the coffee now nothing more than a scorching stain on his expensive suit.

“Oh my God, Mr. Ryan, I am so sorry!”

I rushed over to the sink in his bathroom to grab a towel and ran back, falling to my knees in front of him and attempting to wipe off the stain. In my haste, and in the midst of humiliation I didn’t think could get any worse, it suddenly occurred to me that I was furiously rubbing the towel against his crotch. I averted my eyes and hand, feeling a heated blush spread from my face down my neck as I caught a glimpse of the noticeable bulge in the front of his pants.

“You may go now, Miss Mills.”

I nodded, rushing out of the office, mortified that I’d made such a horrible first impression.

Thankfully, I proved myself pretty quickly after that. There were times when he even seemed impressed with me, although he was always short and on edge. I chalked it up to his being a giant asshat, but I had always wondered if there was something specific about me that rubbed him the wrong way.

Besides that towel, of course.

When I arrived at work, I bumped into Sara on my way to the elevator. We made plans to have lunch next week and said good-bye as she reached her floor. Arriving at the eighteenth floor, I noticed Mr. Ryan’s office door was closed as usual, so I couldn’t tell if he was here yet. I turned on the computer and tried to mentally prepare myself for the day. Lately, anxiety hit every time I sat in this chair.

I knew I would see him this morning; we went over the schedule for the coming week every Friday. But I never knew what kind of mood he would be in.

Although his temper had been even worse lately, his last words to me yesterday had been, “Get the garter belt too.” And I had. In fact, I was wearing it now. Why? I had no idea. What in the hell had he meant by that? Did he think he was going to see it? No fucking way. Then why had I worn it? I swear to God, if he rips it . . . I stopped myself before I could finish.

Of course he wouldn’t rip it. I was never going to give him the chance.

Keep telling yourself that, Mills.

Answering some e-mails, editing the Papadakis contract for intellectual property issues, and making a few hotel inquiries took my mind off the situation for a bit, and about an hour later his office door opened. Looking up, I was met with a very businesslike Mr. Ryan. His dark, two-button suit was impeccable, complemented perfectly by the pop of color in his red silk tie. He looked calm and completely at ease. No trace remained of the wild man who had fucked me in the La Perla dressing room approximately eighteen hours and thirty-six minutes ago. Not that I was counting.

“Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded once and turned back to his office.

Okay, so that’s how this was going to play out. Fine by me. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting but was somewhat relieved that things weren’t different. Things between us were getting more and more intense, and it would mean a harder crash when it all stopped and I was left to pick up the pieces of my career. I hoped we could limp through this without further disaster until I finished my degree.

I followed him into his office and took a seat. I began going over the list of tasks and appointments that needed his attention. He listened without comment, jotting things down or entering them into his computer when needed.

“There’s a meeting with Red Hawk Publishing scheduled for three this afternoon. Your father and brother are also planning to attend. It will probably take up the rest of the afternoon, so your calendar has been cleared . . .” And so it went, until eventually we got to the part I’d been dreading.

“Lastly, the JT Miller Marketing Insight Conference is in San Diego next month,” I said, suddenly becoming interested in what I was doodling in my calendar. The pause that followed seemed to drag forever, and I glanced up to see what was taking so long. He was staring at me, tapping a gold pen on the desk, his face completely void of any expression.

“Will you be accompanying me?” he asked.

“Yes.” My one word created a suffocating silence in the room. I had no idea what he was thinking as we looked at each other. “It’s in the terms of the scholarship that I attend. I, uh, also think it’d be good to have me there to, um, help manage your affairs.”

“Make all the necessary arrangements,” he said with an air of finality as he resumed typing on his computer. Assuming I had been dismissed, I stood and began walking toward the door.

“Miss Mills.”

I turned to look at him, and even though he didn’t meet my gaze, he almost seemed nervous. Well, that was different.

“My mother has asked me to extend an invitation to you for dinner next week.”

“Oh.” I felt heat bloom across my cheeks. “Well, please tell her I’ll look at my schedule.” I turned to leave again.

“I was told I must . . . strongly encourage you to attend.”

Turning back slowly, I saw he was now staring at me, and he definitely looked uncomfortable. “And why exactly should you do that?”

“Well,” he said before clearing his throat, “apparently she has someone she would like you to meet.”

This was new. I’d known the Ryans for years, and although Susan might have mentioned a name in passing, she’d never actively tried to fix me up with anyone.

“Your mother is trying to set me up?” I asked walking back toward his desk and folding my arms over my chest.

“So it seems.” Something in his face didn’t quite fit his nonchalant answer.

“Why?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

His brow furrowed in obvious annoyance. “How the hell would I know? It’s not like we sit around discussing you,” he growled. “Maybe she’s worried that with that sparkling personality of yours you’ll end up an old spinster wearing muumuus and living in a house full of cats.”

Leaning forward with my palms on his desk I glared at him. “Well, maybe she should be more worried that her son will turn into a dirty old man who spends his time hoarding panties and stalking girls in lingerie stores.”