Olivia Hayle

The man was a walking neon sign of sexiness. It wasn't fair of him to flirt with me. He'd recover, but I'd come out permanently blind from the light.

“How do you manage to walk with all that weight?”

“I don’t follow.”

“With an ego that big?”

ulian: I’m flying in from out of state and we’re thirty minutes delayed. I have to push our dinner back to 7:15. I’ll make it up to you.

A million different responses flashed through my mind before I finally settled on what I thought was the right amount of teasing and fun.

Emily: That’s fine, I guess… Though, if you truly valued punctuality, you’d just step up and fly the plane yourself.

Julian: It crossed my mind, but I don’t feel like getting arrested today

"So you want to quit," he says.

"No,” I say. “I mean, I might in the future. This has been a terrific job, truly. But I think I've learned all I can in this position. So I’m thinking of finding another job, one more challenging, so I can continue to grow. But that’s in the future.”

“Right. Well, that’s excellent."

I stare at him for a long moment, my heart pounding like I’ve run a marathon. His words don’t make sense. "It's… excellent, sir?"

"Yes. I have a new job proposal for you."

"You do?" He has never expressed anything but disdain or a complete lack of interest in me. Had I managed to impress him? I do everything he asks of me and a lot more he doesn’t.

"Yes. It's unorthodox."

“Unorthodox?”

“It’s ridiculous," he says. "But as it so happens, I've decided to do it."

"To get married, sir? To whom?”

“I’m glad you asked, Miss Myers," he says. There’s a hint of humor in the ice blue of his eyes. "To you."

“You want me to marry you?”

Victor meets my gaze. I've never looked at him for this long before. It's terrifying. "You want a new job.”

"Not as your wife."

“Marrying me would get you out of this office."

"Yes, but not away from you."

St. Clair blinks once and then his usual scowl breaks, lips curving. Something glitters in his eyes and damned if it doesn't make me more afraid. "I always knew you wouldn't last a year.”

“You’re really doing this. You’re buying a wife.”

He snorts. “If I was trying to buy a wife, I’d go online. Plenty of people in the market for a green card. No, I want a contract. I want someone I know, someone I can trust to follow orders, who is organized and reliable. Someone who understands exactly what this is.”

“So you thought of me.”

“Where do I live?”

“From the fifteenth onward, you’ll be living on 5th Avenue. With me.”

I’m halfway through my second gin and tonic when she shows up, weaving her way through the tables with flushed cheeks.

Her hair is down.

For an entire year, I don’t think it ever has been. It falls in curly sheets of mahogany around her face, framing pink cheeks and a soft mouth. She’s wearing makeup, too. Has to be. Because she hadn’t looked like this in the office.

I would have noticed.

She’d worn leggings. They’d clung to shapely legs, ending just above bare ankles and sneaker socks.

I don’t know why the image is burned into my mind. Miss Myers with her hair in a messy ponytail, her skin makeup free and cheeks flushed from her exercise. But it is.

And I can’t seem to get it out.