And her stock skyrockets.

Intelligence and guts, with a side of crazy and planned maneuverings.

Fascinating. And terrifying if this is Daniel’s daughter.

She’s good, which means he’s even better.

“So assuming I believe you, tell me about this dare,” I prompt. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes as if she’s going to tell me a bedtime story, but truthfully, I want to focus on her voice. See if there are any wavers in the lies or falters in the tale.

“My friend, Tiffany, and I work downstairs. We dare each other to do silly things to keep life interesting. Silly stuff, nothing unprofessional on the clock, and weird stuff only in our free time. It’s just a thing we’ve always done. Well, she dared me to talk to you a few times because you’re . . . well, you.”

She pauses, and I crack one eye open to find her looking me up and down. Curious. I note the thick swallow and slight up tilt of her lips as I close my eyes again, waiting for her to resume.

When she stays quiet, I open both eyes.

“So instead of speaking to me, you wallpaper my office with . . .”

I pick up the paper again, and she snarls, “I did speak to you. ‘Good morning, sir,’ and I get a grunt. ‘Nice suit,’ and not so much as a thank you, and I dropped an entire file in front of you once and you virtually stepped over me on your way to the elevator.” It’s an accusation.

How could I have never noticed her? While I admit I’m not much of a morning person, have I really been so wrapped up in my own affairs that I’ve just walked by without seeing Elle? How could I never notice this stunningly beautiful creature?

I’m not unaware of my appeal and am no stranger to women chasing me for my looks or my money.

But the timing is suspect, so very underhandedly dubious.

“So with my unintentional ignorance of your interest, you and your friend decided the next logical step was . . . this?” I flash the image of her own ass her way before turning it back to my view.

“She dared me to ‘make my mark’ in a way of my choosing. Her ideas were crazy.” Her bottom lip disappears behind her teeth for a flash.

“Hers were crazy? Do tell,” I say, interested in what could be construed as crazier than this high-school antic.

With a sigh, Elle ticks off on her hands. “Leave my panties on your desk, leave an ass print on the wood, move everything one inch, and my favorite was drawing a mustache on the self-portrait she was sure you have, but since there wasn’t one, I had to improvise. It didn’t seem right to draw on that picture.”

She points at the picture of a frizzy-haired girl I keep on my desk, a reminder of why I do what I do. “It’s my sister, Elizabeth . . . Lizzie. She’s home in London with my family.”

Elle’s eyes brighten, and I wonder who she thought Lizzie was to me.

I’m starting to believe this crazy story she’s concocted, but I’m not stupid. Just because she might have one reason to do this doesn’t mean she doesn’t have more than one. Or maybe she’s a better liar than she seems to be.

I eye her thoughtfully and she meets my gaze unflinchingly.

I turn away first, forcing myself to think of something other than her sexiness in order to calm my thoughts. I decide to stalk her, like the Wolfe I am, and maybe see if I can use this situation to my advantage. I rise from my chair, pacing about the room and feeling her eyes track my every movement. She thinks she’s watching me, but I’m observing her just as closely.

“Your father is a powerful man,” I say, keeping my voice clipped and level, a schoolmaster at lecture. “So why are you working on the ground floor when I’m sure he could get you a job elsewhere?”

“He offered me one,” Elle answers immediately, more confident than before. “I turned him down. I don’t want any favors.”

There’s something to her tone, a distaste, perhaps, and I wonder if she is as unappreciative of her father’s nepotism as I am.

Perhaps we have that in common—a desire to set our own course and lead our own successes and failures.

“Why not work for another company then?”

Elle smiles serenely, as if she expected the question. “There’s earning my way and then there’s blind stupidity. Fox is the best, I’m the best, and here, I’ll learn to be even better. It worked for my father and it’ll work for me, and best of all, he’ll have a front-row seat to see me succeed.”

Good answer. And in that self-confident smile, I get the sense that there’s something more behind her than a mere mischievous little wood sprite. And something else . . . something more with her father.

I put pieces of the puzzle together. Daniel and his daughter have a good relationship, one where he wants her close by, but she still feels the need to prove herself to him and be independent of his reach. She’s a bit wild and crazy but smart and methodical.

I grin, circling her, and I can sense her anxiety. Her breath catches, and her breasts, which have been lifting up and down in hypnotic, wave-like motions, stop, pressing out even more against her white blouse.

I swear . . . bugger me, but I think her nipples are hard right now. At the thought, my cock twitches. Bloody hell, I need to get laid. And quit staring at the photocopies of her ass.

It’s time to stop this . . . for now. I need a bit of distance to decide how best to proceed here.

“You may leave, Miss Stryker. You’ll hear from me soon.”

Elle gets up to leave but pauses at the door, looking back at me with narrowed eyes. “What are you going to do?” Her suspicion is understandable, even admirable.

I lift an eyebrow. I’ve got so many options in front of me right now. I could fire her, but something is telling me not to. I could tell her father, but I don’t want to do that either.

I could use this to my advantage.

“I don’t know yet. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Sitting down behind my desk, I pick up the final remaining copy of Elle’s picture, looking at it but not truly seeing it even though it’s gorgeous.

Even though the plain paper shows the generous curvy roundness of her sexy ass split by a swatch of lace, I see her eyes flashing with anger. I see her lips, plumped as she bit them, her nipples, hard against the cotton of her dress shirt, and her cheeks flushed in anger even as she’s the one invading my private sanctuary.

I need to think strategically here, but every thought in my head is clouded. With a growl, I grab the paper and head to my private en suite. Locking the door behind me, I undo my belt and take my cock out. I’m rock hard, already resigned to the inevitability of what I’m about to do.

I grip myself firmly, angry at my own weakness. I grasp the photo, wrinkling the edges beneath my fingertips, and jack myself, up and down fast and hard as I picture her. Ass on my copier, bent over the same machine, sprawled out on the floor with her skirt shoved up around her waist, all tempting visions that tantalize me. I let my eyes trace the skinny strip of lace on the copy paper, wishing I could see just a bit more.

It doesn’t take me long, less than a half dozen strokes to spurt long, thick ropes into the toilet as I grunt my release. I’m careful not to let a single droplet touch Elle’s picture. I don’t want it ruined.