I mean, I would. Because Colton Wolfe is the kind of man you get down and worship appreciatively. God knew what he was doing when he molded this particular clay. But I don’t need every Tom, Dick, and Henrietta knowing that.

Do we even have a Henrietta? Probably, but so not the point here, Elle!

He’s going to ruin me, I realize.

I may be intelligent, adept, and willing to earn my way into the responsibilities I desire. But after this, I’ll always have a shadow on my record, the question not whether I deserve my accolades, but rather how I earned them.

“It’ll make it easier for us to work closely on the HQ2 project,” he answers as if it’s no big deal. But then he winks, and that’s the real truth. He knows and he’s doing it on purpose.

Before I can growl or argue or claw his eyes out for being so good looking and having me by my lady balls, he calls out, “Helen?”

Helen comes in, formally introducing herself. Of course, I’ve seen her around the company before, and she’s professionally friendly. Still, she’s kind of stiff, making me wonder if she’s pissed about the whole situation.

Colton nods as if he’s successfully set us up on a blind date from hell, though, and says he’ll ‘leave us to it’ before disappearing.

To her credit, Helen helps me. I call down to facilities management, but they want her authorization before delivering furniture to Colton’s office. I guess my new role hasn’t made news down there yet, at least.

Not that that luxury will hold because I’m sure I don’t imagine the knowing looks the two guys give me after they set me up by Colton’s window.

I’m literally sitting there twiddling my thumbs and staring at the pretty view when Colton returns an hour later. Helen hadn’t wanted my help without knowing what my role would be, and the desk was my only assignment from Colton.

Mission accomplished. Not nearly the buzz of a dare, but at least I got one thing done.

Colton returns with a grim smile. Actually, on second glance from my spot in his office, it’s more of a predatory, feral teeth baring.

“Helen, Tom Givens won’t be giving you any more trouble. But let me know if there’s anything else.”

Helen looks at Colton like he hung the moon and stars and every planetary mass in the universe. It’d be sickening, except I get the feeling he just did something major for her. And I’d be a bit jealous if she wasn’t old enough to be his grandmother. I mean, Tiffany talks about DILFs, and I know MILFs are a thing, but surely, nobody’s going for GMILFs. Least of all, Colton.

I shake my head, not wanting that image anywhere near my eyeballs. Real or imagined.

Colton enters his office, eyes flicking to the left immediately as if he’s looking for me. I can’t help but sit up straighter.

“Tom Givens is a douche canoe who wouldn’t know his ass from his elbow if his assistant didn’t do all his work. Whatever he did to Helen was shitty, and whatever you did to him was well-deserved.”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the most professional start to my day with Colton, but it’s the truth and every clerical person in the building knows that Tom Givens can barely turn on his computer. He’s a dinosaur in a post-meteorite world.

Colton’s lips twitch, but his tone is ice cold with zero honey. “Tell me what you really think.” It’s barely an invitation, and strictly about Tom, unfortunately.

I shrug. “I did.”

I don’t bother fighting my smile when I see Helen lean back in her chair to gauge Colton’s response to my outburst. She offers me a thumbs-up that I value like the rare approval it likely is. At least she’s warming up.

But he closes the door to that one lifeline, shutting us in together. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

So formal. I don’t know why it makes me want to pull out every ain’t, gonna, and slang vocabulary I can just to fuck with him, but I swallow down that urge. I’m already pushing it this morning, and I do want to succeed with this new role. Especially since I’ll likely be on my ass looking for a new job after the HQ2 project ends. Even Miranda’s not going to touch me with a ten-foot pole after this.

The morning gets into swing, and I see the gossip about Colton come to life before my eyes. He’s not the Big Bad Wolfe. He’s the Terminator. I watch in barely suppressed awe while he handles two video calls, always turning the conversation to some advantage for the company regardless of the situation.

He clicks away on his computer, seemingly multi-tasking, but on what, I have no idea. He hasn’t given me any assignments so I sit, prim and proper as a fucking lady, doing jack shit but watching him. It’s almost like he’s forgotten about me.

In everything, it’s fascinating to observe him work. No wasted motion, no wasted words. It’s a stark contrast to his opulent office, and I’m nearly startled out of my chair when my phone buzzes just before lunch.

Tiffany: How’s it going with Sir HotsALot?

Me: I don’t know yet. Boring, if I’m honest. How bad’s the gossip?

Tiffany: Bebop came sniffing around. Told him you were upstairs somewhere and he took off to hunt you down. Not sure he bought it, though. You need to tell Daddy before he finds out on his own.

She’s right. He doesn’t deserve to be blindsided with this news by someone else. I owe him some brutal honesty, even if it kills me.

Me: TY for covering me.

I add a heart emoji and prayer hands before hitting Send.

Tiffany: Of course. Oh, and boredom is not allowed. I dare you . . .

I see those three dots pop up and my breath comes faster, waiting to see what she types. I don’t even know what the dare is yet, but the anticipation and excitement are brewing.

Tiffany: I dare you . . . to tell him to put your skills to better use. I can’t wait to see if he takes the safe route and gives you some copies to make or if tells you get on your knees and suck him off. Proof’s in the pudding what kind of man he is, and don’t we all want to know? Wonder if he eats pineapples?

I gasp as I read it and then glance up at Colton’s throat clearing sharply.

“Miss Stryker, may I?”

He holds his hand out, and I get up, walking toward him. Uncertainly, I lay my hand on his, not sure at all that holding his hand is appropriate or why he wants to, but I do it anyway. His hand feels soft, strong against mine, an unexpected intimacy.

A smile blooms so slowly that I watch it grow . . . lips pressed firmly together, relaxing, tilting up, lips parting, and then the flash of white teeth. Oh, fuck, is that a dimple?

Colton squeezes my hand but reaches with his other. “I meant the phone, Miss Stryker.”

I grasp it my chest, out of his reach, but he uses the hand he’s still holding to pull me toward him.

“Company phone, company time, and I’m your boss. I believe I’m entitled to confirm that you’re upholding the rules and not divulging team secrets already.” There’s not a doubt in my mind that he doesn’t think that. He just wants to know what made me gasp, and instead of asking like a regular human being, he’s making a power play.

Pisses me off. But under the anger is embarrassment.

I push through the blush I can feel on my face and shove my phone his way. Fine, if this is how he wants it, he can damn well see.