 
Infiltrate

Copyright 2020 K.C. Ale

Published by K.C. Ale at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Epilogue

Thank you

Other Titles by K.C. Ale

Sneak Peek at Maybe I Lied
CHAPTER ONE

Ashley

"You want me to infiltrate the executives, learn everything I can about what's going on, and bring the information back to you," I say incredulously, searching the breathtaking face for a clue as to why he would ask this of me. _Me_ of all people. Corporate espionage isn't exactly a proud bullet point on my resume. "Why in the world would you want me to do that?"

Calmly, as if he hadn't just asked me to commit professional suicide, Andrew sits back on the coffee colored couch, the leather squeaking as it adjusted to accommodate his muscled weight. An ankle is comfortably propped on the opposite knee as he stretches out his arms along the back, the poster boy for cool and collected. A sweet, charming smile fleets across his lips. "No, not the executives, Ashley, just Caden Martini."

"But Caden Martini is an executive. He's the COO and in line to be appointed CEO!"

Something flashes in his blue eyes to break the composed façade before it's quickly banked. "That doesn't mean he's the almighty at MOI. You know as well as everyone at the company he wouldn't be in that position if he hadn't been born into it." He tilts his head, his every perfectly groomed blonde hair staying in place. "I'm just looking out for MOI, making sure he's doing everything he's supposed to and nothing more. There's nothing wrong with that. After all, MOI signs both of our paychecks, and as the Director of Marketing, it is my right – no, my _duty_ to ensure that's the case."

Yes, but Andrew Dorskey's paycheck is much bigger than mine, and I've only been there for eight months.

Martini Oates, Inc. employs nearly a thousand people, over three hundred of them at corporate headquarters in Newport Beach, while the remaining population reports to the manufacturing and distribution center in the very northern tip of Nevada where the Las Vegas lights and excitement can't be bothered to reach. I'm one of about thirty administrative support staff, technically reporting to Corporate Compliance, but from how Andrew is constantly telling me what to do or how not to act, one would think he's my boss.

I study him for a minute, so relaxed in his own skin, lounging in his bachelor pad in Costa Mesa. Andrew is the very essence of SoCal. Drop dead gorgeous, successful, easygoing. Ocean blue eyes sparkling with mischief and daring you not to notice, a smile that makes every female heart at MOI - single or married - flutter and hiccup wildly. He has a way of looking at you that makes you feel like you're the only person in the room worth watching, and he's prepared to spend the next decade happily doing just that.

And he knows it. He uses it to his every advantage, including with me.

My mad crush on him had long revealed its ugly head. I mean, hello, when a girl at the office gawks at you nonstop and swallows your every word whole and savors it like fine wine, it's a pretty good indication she's willing to drop everything just to breathe the same privileged air around you. The first time he turned that full-wattage grin on me, his Hollywood-worthy straight white teeth flashing, I had a near epic out of body experience and didn't care if I ever recovered from it.

After what felt like forty years of openly admiring and gaping at him from afar, he finally approached me three months ago. He'd asked me out to lunch that very day, but when the meal was over, he'd dumped his company credit card on the table and basically gave me the kiss off.

That didn't deter me, though. Not that I think I'm good enough for him, but we can at least be friends, right? So I made it a point to bring him goodies whenever I baked, which turned out to be almost every week, stopped by his office to say hello if I happened to be in the area, laughed at his lame jokes, and all the while tried not let my drool drown his fancy Italian loafers.

Then last month he told me even that couldn't go on. He'd been gentle but firm, and essentially broke my heart.

So naturally, when he unexpectedly invited me over to his fancy high rise apartment for drinks, I didn't hesitate. I'd put on my favorite dress, a dove gray number my cousin gave me when I landed my first real job out of college, spritzed a light perfume on my neck and wrists, ironed-straight my wavy hair, and thank the good Lord my time has come.

Only to find myself sitting pole-up-my-behind stiff across from the man of my many and varied fantasies, sipping a Coke because me and alcohol mutually despise each other, being offered this outrageous predicament instead of a candlelit dinner.

I shake my head once in hopes I can follow his reasoning. "But why me? I'm an executive assistant assigned to another department. He doesn't even know I exist."

"That's what makes this opportunity so golden, sweetheart. His assistant, Erin, is going on maternity leave, and HR is scrambling to find her temporary replacement. Problem is Caden doesn't want a temp, the fastidious asshole that he is. He wants someone in-house. This means HR will be transferring an assistant from another department to make Caden happy." A bitter _because the world revolves around him_ is muttered under his breath, but I have no problem catching the sarcasm.

"And what makes you think I would be the one placed to support the COO, even temporarily?"

He only stares at me, his eyes brilliant with his own excellence, so infinitely pleased with himself.

So it's already a done deal. How he managed to pull those tricky personnel strings, I don't know and don't want to find out. I fiddle about, my sandal-clad foot toeing the plush rug. "I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with this, Andrew. It seems... I don't know..." I look away, my gaze landing on a framed picture that looks fairly recent - Andrew grinning widely with a German Shepard, except I've been here for over a half an hour and there's no dog hair or leash in sight. "Dishonest somehow."

"Ashley." Sighing before pushing himself off, he closes the gap between us and eases down next to me, taking the hand that isn't holding the can of now lukewarm soda and gently toying with it. With his free hand he brushes my hair back behind my shoulder. "It's not dishonest." His voice is low, close, as though we're having an intimate discussion about our nonexistent relationship. "You'd be doing the company – and Caden – a favor. Think of it this way, if he's doing anything he shouldn't, then we need to know and you'd be the hero. If all is as it should be?" He shrugs. "Then no one needs to know we had this discussion." The bluest of blue eyes look into mine, soft, beseeching. "Remember what we talked about the other day?" he continues when I don't say anything, clearly sensing my uneasiness and absolute reluctance. "About having to watch ourselves because we work together?"

I chew on my inner lip for a second before paraphrasing, "It would be a scandal for you to be involved with an admin staff."

He beams at me, patient teacher to clever student. "Exactly. I can't be with you the way I want, the way you deserve, and risk losing our jobs." My fingers are lifted and brought to his lips. "But if you worked for Caden, you would be among the elite. And maybe..." Another kiss. "We can then be together."

I want to believe him. I really do, but... "I would still be a support staff, so how would that change things?"

One corner of his luscious mouth hikes up. "Are you kidding? Executive Assistant to Caden Martini, Chief Operating Officer? You'd practically be management yourself."

I scrunch my eyebrows trying to follow that odd logic. Uncertainty is like a wet blanket suffocating me. "I don't know. I don't think I have it in me. I mean, what makes you think he would even confide in me?"

"I know you, sweetheart, that's how I know. You're smart." He presses his lips, soft and dry, gently against the tip of my finger. And have my heart tripping over itself. "Beautiful." The next finger. "Hard working." And the next. "Loyal." The pinky is last to get a smooch.

A groan slips out of my mouth. I suppose it can't hurt. A job is a job. Andrew has a point. If Caden is a wolf in sheep's clothing, someone ought to find evidence and stop him before he does any damage, and if he's clean, well, no harm, no foul.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do."

"Atta girl." Andrew drops my hand like it's radioactive waste and pushes to his feet. In a blink, he has me by the elbow and ushering me toward the front door so fast my feet can barely keep up without tripping. "Don't attempt to get in contact with me. I don't want anyone getting any ideas. I'll be in touch."

CHAPTER TWO

Caden

Automatically if not a tad irritably, my fingers flick loose the button on my suit as I scowl my way to my office. Normally I'd have a cup of coffee in hand, my carrycase in the other, while Erin recites a drone-like _good morning_ before getting up to fetch me a fresh cup. Then she'd bring it into my office so she can go over my calendar for the day and any special assignments I'd need her to complete.

But there's no paper cup in my hand. Though my bag is in tow, I'd neglected to snap the closure before dumping it in the trunk of my car this morning and documents spilled all over the rear of my Jag. Then I was stuck in some shitty traffic on the 405 \- not that that's anything unusual – and ended up taking an unforeseen detour because of some major collision that had all the rush hour cars being diverted. When I finally got to the building, thirty-five minutes late, it's to discover a couple of the elevators were down and there were a gazillion people waiting on the two working cars.

I fucking hate Mondays.

And the icing on the poison cake?

Erin started her maternity leave.

Which is why my long strides come to a screeching halt ten feet before I actually reach my sanctuary.

Ignoring the bustling of my staff scurrying away like startled ants to hide, I scowl at the offense. "What the hell is this?" I'm not sure who's supposed to sit at Erin's desk while she's gone, but this is unacceptable.

"Mr. Martini? Is something wrong?"

I don't bother to turn at the source of the new voice. Why put in the effort if I won't remember her anyway? She's just some nameless temp that would be gone in a few months. I tip my chin testily toward my office doors. My _closed_ office doors. "Has slothfulness finally contaminated my division? Is that why I'm expected to unlock my own office?" I ignore the irony in my own accusation and glare at the offending object.

"Um... no, sir. I'll have it opened right away."

Choking out vexed air, barely restraining myself from barking out a smartass comment at the panicked words, I wave her off. "Never mind. I'm already here."

Luckily, I'd ensured my keys were in the side pocket of my carrycase before stuffing all the strewed documents back in the main compartment. With no wasted motions, I unlock one of the doors and merge into the familiar and strangely soothing environment of my suite. Sunlight stream through the floor to ceiling windows that encase two sides of the airy space, making artificial overhead light redundant. Hefting the bag onto the sofa to be dealt with later, I immediately shrug out of my jacket and hang it in the small closet before situating myself behind my desk.

Only to have my eyes drawn to the doorway to the strange redhead with enough brown in it to not appear like an unfortunate carrot top, hovering timidly and practically wringing her hands. Pretty in an unassuming, innocent, easily-fucked-without-an-afterthought kind of way.

Until you see the eyes. Light brown – almost amber - the centers are huge and dominate her face, fringed with long lashes in a darker shade than her hair – not the fake crap that's the stupid rage right now – but more alluring than anything hands or machines can create.

And they're staring at me like I'm the notorious Big Bad Wolf and she Little Red Riding Hood, naïve and unsuspecting.

"Who the hell are you?" I can hear my own grouchiness but don't give a shit.

Her chest rises as though she's taking a deep breath and bracing herself, then, "My name is Ashley Evans. I'm Erin Jimenez's temporary replacement. I was transferred from Corporate Compliance to assist you."

Right. Erin's understudy. Erin, who's currently slacking off at home waiting for her unborn brat to rule her unsuspecting life. _Reminder to self: have HR require all female new hires to have their tubes tied_.

"Good." I look at her expectantly. She's only standing there, all woe-is-me. "You can start by bringing me coffee," I snap. For fuck sake, don't they train these people? Isn't there a how-to dummy book out there in the office about supporting executive management, or am I doomed to have to spell out everything for the next four wretched months until Erin returns? "Black. And keep it coming every hour, on the hour, until I tell you otherwise."

Now she's blatantly gaping at me like I'm the Big Bad Wolf with horns.

Shit. Where's my gun? I might as well put this one out of her misery since she'll never last with me.

"But it's not even nine o'clock," she at last gets out. "So much coffee isn't good for you. It'll keep you up for days."

Huh, she's braver than she looks. Or dumber. "Ms. Evans, if—"

"Ashley," she quickly corrects. "Just Ashley."

" _Just_ _Ashley_ , if I want your opinion, you'll receive it via email. Until that frozen day in hell, I. Need. Coffee."

Something in my expression must've sent the not so subtle message because she goes scrambling away, presumably – hopefully - to do my bidding, because she can't be that stupid or MOI wouldn't have hired her or continue to employ a known idiot. I take a few moments to go through the emails that had come in during the last fifteen minutes, including one from Tricia in HR reminding me of our harassment and hostile work environment policies, as if the two snore-worthy hours of training she forces on us every two years isn't good enough, verbally slapping us with all the don'ts the company is liable for if a supervisor so much as sneezes and passes gas in an unfortunate staff's direction.

_You can't call an employee a_ testosterone wasting imbecile, _Caden, that's harassment and hostile behavior – men_ can _harass other men._

As if I'm responsible for the moron having penis envy. Whatever happened to free speech?

A glass mug filled to the brim with steaming java is plopped on my desk. I spare my new nightmare a glance before reaching out without a word and downing half the contents in one satisfying gulp. When I set it down, it's to discover the _work-tragedy_ loitering at the opposite side of my desk, watching me anxiously with round doe eyes. Being just a couple of feet from me, I can clearly see her lips, soft and puffy, tinted a shade somewhere between pink and red – spank me if I know anything about lipstick color - that she's busy worrying fretfully.

"Is the coffee okay?"

_Don't roll your eyes, Martini_. "It's black. It's fine."

Uncertain, she nods anyway. "You have a marketing meeting at nine-thirty. It was pushed back an hour due to the accident on the freeway causing a number of people to be late this morning," she rushes out like a top that finally popped under pressure. "And Mr. Oats wanted to know if you were available for lunch today, but since you already have something on your calendar with Brandon Reed and Al Yu, I scheduled it for next Wednesday instead." When I offer her no comment, she continues. "A Ms. Cindy Allegore called."

I've been mindlessly skimming through my emails throughout her spiel. At her tense hesitation, I dart my gaze to her, fully knowing why but wanting to see how she'd handle it. "And?"

"She asked me to relay a message to you." She shoots a troubled glance over her shoulder to ensure there's no one else around. When she's satisfied the coast is clear, she chews on her lip again before lowering her voice. "She said she hopes you get genital herpes and die, you piece of... well, you know."

I hike up a brow. "Was that it?" I gave Cindy more credit than that.

The woman shakes her head, sending strands of long auburn hair flying. Crimson creeps up her neck up to her cheeks. "She said... she..."

I know I shouldn't find this so comical, but watching this twitchy girl trying to come to grips with whatever Cindy said is more entertaining than actually spending time with Cindy. "Just spit it out. I haven't got all day."

Saucer amber eyes veer away while she delicately braces herself. "She said your dick might be good, but it's still not worth putting up with your arrogant disdain."

Not to mention my credit cards, but that's Cindy, as beautiful as she is greedy. Guess she won't be accompanying me to the annual MOI museum gala.

Finishing off the rest of the brew, observing her over the length of the cup, I use my fingers to motion for her to continue.

"Mrs. Martini also called this morning."

A curse runs through my head. The last thing I need is to deal with Marianne, particularly on a bad Monday morning. I'd left my cell in my carrycase in the trunk, which was why both Cindy and Marianne decided to call the office instead.

To her credit, Temporary Erin doesn't bat an eye at the mention of my wife only minutes after referencing another woman who clearly knew me intimately.

"What did she want?" I pose before I can stop myself.

"She just wanted me to remind you about the dinner engagement this Friday."

Of course. There's still an image to maintain, more for her than for me. Actually, _only_ for her and not for me. I agreed to go along with her crazed ideas when we separated, one of her stipulations so she'd give me the speedy divorce she's after herself, but this has dragged on for over a year with no end in sight. In the meantime, I'm to play the devoted husband in front of her family and anyone who cares to look – with a smile on my face even if I have to paint it on - because her family should avoid any types of scrutiny, given her father's budding political aspirations.

"Noted," I tell Erin's stand-in, not giving her a clue as to my unsettled thoughts or an explanation on why I'd have both a wife and a lover. _Ex_ -lover and soon to be _ex_ -wife. "Remind me again on Friday. Anything else?"

She spends the next few minutes updating me on my messages from this morning, all work-related, thank God. Her words are efficient, concise, more relaxed now that it's business rather than private matters being fielded through her. It's clear she knows her role in the office, but she's unsure where she is with me. Understandable, considering I just met her a half an hour ago. I can appreciate someone who values her position but still strives to improve it. Perhaps I judged her too hastily.

"...need to get going," she finishes telling me. "It's almost nine-thirty, and Andrew likes to start his meetings on time.

I can care less what Andrew Dorskey likes. Dorskey can shoot his load into the sunset as far as I'm concerned.

"Refresh my memory. What's the topic of discussion this week?" Yes, I might be obviously testing her, but I truly didn't read Dorskey's email with the agenda attached.

"Repackaging the exclusive line of products to work singularly with R Hotels & Resorts and integrating our trademark into their chain."

That's right. Working with R Hotels & Resorts, which is why I'm having lunch with Brandon Reed, Executive Vice President, and Al Yu, his director in charge of branding. At least my New Erin knows her job. Pushing to my feet, I snatch up my mobile phone and tell her, "You're coming with me."

If possible, those massive eyes widen even more as she peers at me like I'm the living dead. With only one cup of joe so far, it's not that far from the truth.

"You want me at the marketing meeting? With you?" Her voice lowers as though sharing a PMS secret. "And Andrew Dorskey?"

I give her a bland expression. "Problem?"

There goes those teeth again, nervously gnawing at that poor lip. She considers for a beat before shaking her head, sending long dark hair slapping against her cheeks. "No, sir. Whatever you need."

That's what I like to hear. "Good."

Without further ado I make my way out, fighting back a snort as her hurried clambering trails me. Without breaking stride, she makes a quick grab for something at her desk as we pass it, shuffling after me the whole time, her practical heels beating a muffled path on the carpet.

I might've only laid eyes on her for the first time a half an hour ago, but it's clear to me this little thing lives to please.

Perfect.

Finally, HR did something right.

CHAPTER THREE

Ashley

Trying darn hard not to fidget in my seat like a three-year-old on time-out, I dare a peek at Andrew from my post next to my new boss. Caden hadn't bothered with his jacket for the bi-weekly meeting. Instead, his blue shirtsleeves are rolled up, exposing strong, tanned forearms sprinkled with dark hair. In contrast, Andrew is dressed in a gray suit cut to the nines to emphasize his body's brawny flawlessness, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean hips, his yellow tie knotted precisely.

When Caden and I first appeared in the conference room, no one paid it much attention. Andrew had shot the COO a strange look that I couldn't decipher before landing on me with surprise. Since no one commented on it, I assumed Erin had regularly accompanied Caden to these meetings. In fact, Carly Desmond, CFO, even asked Caden how his regular assistant was faring while on leave. Caden had muttered something like _why the hell would I care_ _?_

In addition to Caden and Andrew, there are seven other people already seated at the long rectangular table. All I know by name but never in greeting up until this point. The CEO, Darren Oats, is a somber looking man in his early to mid-sixties. Completely bald except for a few white stragglers near his ears, he has on a pair of reading glasses as he looks over at some documents from the throne seat at the head of the spacious and sunny conference room. His assistant, Lisa Washington, is seated a few chairs over with a tablet. She sent a casual smile my way as soon as I walked in with Caden.

Caden sure is grumpy. If the rumors are true – and it's starting to scream that they are – Caden functions on caffeine. The minute I spotted the refreshment set up at the side table near the windows, I immediately got to work on preparing him another cup. Within seconds of it being in his greedy grasp half of the contents disappeared down his guzzling throat.

He's decent enough, I suppose. He hasn't kicked me out of his office yet, but the day's still young. Not traditionally handsome like Andrew, his hair is too thoughtlessly styled, his nose not entirely straight, but something about him sets off a few flutters. His eyes are blue, again not like Andrew's ocean shade, but more of a deep, intense cobalt. His lips are wide, the dip above his upper lip pronounced, but they haven't once lifted this morning.

The fact that he has a wife _and_ a girlfriend tells me I'm not the only one who thinks Caden Martini's worth a second look, I decide with a glimpse at his bare ring finger.

It also tells me he's a two-timing jerk.

"Excuse me, Caden, but I think I know what I'm talking about. R Hotels would want our brand to blend into the hotels' theme. A marriage of posh service and prestigious products, if you will." Andrew leans back in his chair, his expression patronizing as he glares at Caden. "If we want our exclusive line to be featured at the luxury resorts, we can't be tacky about promoting our logo."

"There's a difference between tacky promotion and tasteful staging," Caden counters smoothly, ignoring the barely restrained antagonism coming from down the long marble table. Flicking a lazy wrist, he turns to Andrew with a straight face. "As head of marketing, I would think you'd be the first to agree." Though his tone is casual, his face bland, the underlying disdain still seeps through.

Several people in the room shift awkwardly, gazes averting. Oscar Mejia, Vice President of Production, snickers before abruptly biting it back.

Sputtering, Andrew's nostrils flare, his usually calm demeanor morphing into irritation. Straightening in his perch as though getting ready to battle, he contends, "It's not what we agree with that's relevant. It's Jackson Reed's company. He has the final say in what goes." Visibly reigning in his temper, Andrew looks about the various serious faces in the room. With an obvious attempt to appeal and showoff to the other executives, he declares smugly. "The domineering old goat and I go back a long way. He's not going to want to share the limelight at his fine establishments."

Seven heads turn as one to Caden, awaiting his response.

_Oh man_. Is this the executives' norm for running a meeting? I should've grabbed towels to sop off the blood instead of the tablet.

Nonchalant, Caden runs a palm along his jaw as if checking to see if he hadn't forgotten to shave this morning. "You got some of that right, except you neglected to factor in that old man Reed isn't at the helms anymore. He's handed the run of the corporation to his oldest, Jake. In fact, rumor has it the senior retired to who knows where and hasn't been bothered with since. And before you argue that like father, like son, let me remind you the hotels underwent a major overhaul a couple of years ago, headed up by Madison Volt-Reed, Jake's wife, who also happens to be a sought-after interior architect known for her refined chic, cutting edge designs."

Now Andrew's scowling. "What does that have to do wit—"

"It means that instead of the stodgy image you want us to believe is still associated with Jackson Reed, R Hotels & Resorts would be more open to new, innovative ideas," Caden cut in ruthlessly. "If that weren't the case, we wouldn't be presented with the opportunity to work with them. Do your homework first, Dorskey, before you start spewing crap you can't conceive."

"Gentlemen." Darren Oates pushes to his feet just before angry fur starts flying, standing at the head of the table at an (not) intimidating five feet five. Looking directly at Caden, the CEO says, "Let's not have a replay of what happened last month. I think we all need to rethink the angle of this proposal and come back when we're all prepared to consider the options."

That last part was meant for the whole group, but I have a feeling it was more for Andrew, whose red face and stiff shoulders say it all.

With a nod, Mr. Oats strides out of the conference room, followed by his assistant, Lisa Washington, who catches my eye and gives me a crooked stretch of her lips when she passes. One by one all the other executives file out after the CEO with hardly a glance at the two stalwart men left at the near empty table.

I'm glued to my chair. Though my gaze is downcast, I can practically grab the tension with both hands and snap it in two. Gingerly I dart a glimpse at Andrew through my lashes, not sure what I should do, only he's too busy murdering the COO with his eyes right there in the large conference room.

To his credit, Caden seems more amused than alarmed by Andrew's unreserved show of animosity. "Thanks for organizing the meeting, Dorskey. I must say, I always find you and your brand of work... entertaining. Now if you'll excuse me."

Andrew is oddly mute as Caden pushes off and heads to the door. It's when Caden leaves the room that Andrew finally turns my way.

My lips part at the quiet loathing radiating from him. Jaw tight, his fingers digging into his palms on the table, he bobs his head once, ordering me without words to stay put.

Alone with Andrew, the air deflates out of my lungs and I slump in my seat. "What was that about?"

" _That_ was the ultimate asshole at his finest. I hope you can work fast, Ashley, because I can't guarantee I won't do something drastic the next time that cocky asshole infringes into my area."

I shiver at the cold determination in his tone.

CHAPTER FOUR

Caden

The day might've started off dreadful, but by the time I'm back in the office in the afternoon it's looking more and more promising. Lunch with Brandon Reed and Al Yu was an absolute success. Not only are the Reeds onboard to my tentative proposal, but the younger Reed assured me his brother is more than enthusiastic to hear our pitch.

Andrew Dorskey might _go way back_ with Jackson Reed, but what he doesn't know is Brandon and I have known each other since grade school. Not only am I acquainted with Jake Reed, CEO of R Corp, Inc., Marianne and I were also guests at his very private and exclusive wedding. And let's not mention that his wife, Maddy, had become a close family friend, going on spa days and organizing charitable events with my mother... never mind that I can barely stand the woman who gave birth to me for an hour. That's just a technicality.

As I zoom back into my sanctuary, snubbing the group of lazy asses loitering around gossiping about their pathetic lives seconds before they spot me, lowering their heads and scampering back to their desks. I see Temporary Erin frantically typing away, her face inches from the monitor. Her steady gaze lands on me at my approach. A welcoming smile blooms, instantly brightening her features and turning her from pretty to eye-catching.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Martini." She hops out of the chair. "I'll get you a cup of coffee."

Resisting the urge to pat her over the head, I toss out as I breeze by, "Before I forget, send a congratulatory gift to Jake and Maddy Reed on behalf of MOI."

"Oh." She swerves back to face her desk, giving me a surprisingly enjoyable view of her ass as she leans over for a pen and notepad. "What's the occasion?"

"Mrs. Reed is expecting, so make sure wine or anything with an alcohol content is not a part of the gift. I'm thinking a large basket of fruit."

She pauses in her jotting and makes a face at me. "A fruit basket?"

It's the genuine expression of aversion that has me pausing in curiosity rather than barking at her. "What? Too edible? Too cliché?"

"Well... just a little." She chews on the end of her pen thoughtfully. "When my neighbor was pregnant a few years ago, she couldn't stand anything that was scented. It didn't matter what it was, and what she enjoyed before she was pregnant soon became unbearable."

I let out an audible breath. "Is there a point to this soliloquy?"

Peering at me with her large, brown eyes, she continues, "If the gift is from the company, it should contain MOI products. How about a bassinette filled with our certified organic, unscented personal beauty line? I know Ray Sin in Product Development is a little hesitant when it comes to releasing goods before Marketing finalizes the launching, but I know personally from Compliance that everything on the new line has been given the green light and is ready to go. It's already generated enough gossip in the industry that media inquiries are pouring in. Mrs. Reed would probably love to be the first to receive our elite stuff before it's even advertised."

"We're talking soap, shampoo, conditioner, that kind of stuff?"

The look she gives me clearly says _men!_ "Yeah, that kind of stuff. And moisturizers, facial cleansers. For him and for her. After all, Mr. Reed needs to make sure he doesn't repulse the mother of his child. And when the time gets closer, we'll send the organic baby products."

"Personal hygiene products for expectant parents?" Unconventional, but I'm liking the idea more and more. I incline my head once. "Good. Make it happen."

She squeals in excited delight as though she's the one receiving the gift. "I'll get right on it, Mr. Martini."

I shake my head, a little perplexed at her innocence. She can't be that young, can she? "You might as well call me Caden."

Gleaming at me, she clasps her hands in front of her and bounds off – hopefully to get that coffee she promised me.

I head into my space and plop into my chair with a tired sigh. It's close to four already, and between long and demanding meetings, both in-house and offsite, I hardly got much done today. Waking my computer, I find thirty-nine emails had come in since I last checked it not ten minutes ago while waiting for the elevator downstairs. I frown at my screen as Temporary Erin returns with a steaming mug.

"You," I call after she sets the coffee down on my desk. "How long have you been with MOI?"

If my question surprises her, she doesn't show it. She only smiles at me, eyes bright with eager. "Eight months."

"And in that eight months, no one ever trained you on how to adequately provide support to an executive?"

Instantly her face falls, the once glowing gaze dimming. "I don't understand. Did I do something wrong?"

"It's my assistant's job to filter my emails and flag the ones that require my attention and take care of those that can be managed without me. This..." I nod at my monitor with the now forty-four unread emails mocking me, "is unacceptable."

I can see the lump go down her neck as she swallows. "I'm sorry, Caden. I wasn't sure that was what you expected. It won't happen again."

"Good." I'm rather proud of myself for the way I handled this mishap. After all, she's still standing with not a tear in sight. "I've no patience for stupidity, Temp, so try to do things right the first time."

She blinks at me, all huge, pure doe eyes engulfing her ridiculously naive face.

_Fuck, I'm going to ruin her_.

When she doesn't offer anything, doesn't attempt to shift, doesn't even look like she's alive except for that massive gaze trying to make me out, I snap harsher than I intended, "Are you lost? Get back to work."

She flinches. I watch her dainty shoulders sag a little, the upbeat energy obliterated, before she swivels around and leaves my office. For some fuckforsaken reason her obvious dejection as she slinks out makes me feel like a complete bent-over asshole.

This won't do. Hell no, this won't do. My own mother has long since lost the power to make me feel like a callous jerk. No assistant of mine, especially an interim stand-in, would be allowed to play me for some chump with _emotions_. Fuck that.

I divested myself of those nuisances years ago.

Without giving myself time to think about it, I pick up the phone. Through the glass wall I can see Temporary Erin frantically skimming the screen on her desk, her nose practically pressed against it. A glance at my own computer reveals she's going through my messages now, the number of unread emails quickly reducing even as more pops in.

The other end clicks on. "Mr. Martini, what a surprise."

Ignoring Tricia's sarcastic greeting – a dig at all the times I've called HR on what the loony loser would call trivial gripes – I tear into her without preamble. "What the fuck were you thinking, Trish? Sending me Little Red Riding Hood? Did you get some bad crack or something? Do your job and get me someone who knows what the living hell she's doing, for fuck sake. Or am I doom to have to do everyone else's job too?"

There's an aggravated grinding noise. It's a wonder she has any teeth left after all these years. Or maybe she doesn't and that's why she never smiles. "Though I appreciate your input, Caden, I can't say this was unexpected. Unfortunately, there's no one else here who wants the job, and since you refused to work with any new hires, I'm afraid you're stuck."

Did that batty witch just tell me _no_?

A nasty chuckle escapes my throat. "Trisha, Trisha, Trisha. When are you going to learn you do what I say and not what your tiny brain _bah bah bah_ at you? You get me someone who knows what she's doing by the end of the week or we'll be doing that for _your_ position." I grin over her indignant sputtering, knowing she can hear it in my voice. "Have a great day."

I fight the urge to slam the phone down. Since Erin is on leave, I'm not sure she stocked replacement phones around like she used to do. Besides, my ominous threat to the head of HR actually made me feel marginally better.

"Mr. Martini?"

Eyeing the intercom, I roll my eyes at the sweet, tentative voice. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt. Mrs. Martini is on the line for you."

"Which one?"

"Your wife, sir."

Shit. My mother would've been faintly preferable, but that'd be splitting hair. "Tell her I'm busy."

"Umm... well, she insists she needs to speak to you. She said it was urgent but wouldn't tell me what it was regarding."

I guess ignoring her stalker calls on my cell wasn't a clue to her that I didn't want to talk to her. Frustrated air shoots out of my mouth, and I rub my forehead wearily. "Fine. Put her through."

"Yes, sir."

"What is it, Marianne?" I start as soon as our lines connect. "The clinic ran out of Botox?"

"Do you remember a time when you worshipped the ground I walked on?" comes the feminine voice that once enthralled me. "When you couldn't keep your hands off me?"

"That was a long time ago." Before I caught her on her knees in front of my stepbrother Daniel, before she paraded around her string of endless young boyfriends with anyone who cared to pay attention even as we were desperately struggling to fix the crumpling marriage. "What do you want?"

"You used to hold my hand, Cade, and told me you'd never let go," she goes on as if I hadn't spoken. "Brought me flowers every week. Danced with me in the living room." Her voice lowers, seductively, expertly. "Made love to me by the fire. Spent hours tasting every inch of my skin and still couldn't get enough."

"Is there a point to this?"

"Don't you miss us?" she purrs. "The way we used to be? I know I miss you."

"Why? You got a ten-minute break between boyfriends?"

The sex on decibel hardens. "You won't give an inch, will you? You never could."

_I gave you my life_. "Marianne, I don't have my passport on me, so forgive me if I can't travel down memory lane with you. What. Do. You. Want?"

She huffs, a familiar noise that tells me her infinite impatience is rearing. "Friday. I need you to pick me up earlier than expected. And wear that blue tie I got you a couple of years ago."

I knew she was after something from me. "How early?"

She hesitates. "Three."

"Three?" I roar, outraged I'd have to spend even more miserable time with the lying, conniving... "What the hell for? Dinner's not until seven."

"Margaret wants to spend time with me. You know her and Dennison are having problems. My sister needs me, Cade. Is that so much to ask?"

I rub at my forehead harder. At this rate I'd be hitting skull soon. "Can't I just meet you there?"

"Sweetie, we agreed we'd do this the way I believe is best. We need to show my family we're a team, even with the divorce, and that means showing up together."

"I'm not your sweetie," I reproach automatically though with little heat. Fuck on a stick. Why the hell did I agree to play this ludicrous charade in the first place? "I can't do this for much longer, Marianne. You're going to have to do something about your family because I'm done playing devoted husband to this sham marriage. We've been separated for nearly two years. They know this. You've filed for divorce. There's no reason why we can't move on with our lives the way normal people do."

"What are you saying, Cade? You're done with me? That what I need doesn't matter because we don't sleep under the same roof? How can you just shut off your feelings for me like that?"

"Don't start with me," I warn. "I wasn't the one—"

My head bobs up at the cautious knock on my door. Little Red Riding Hood is hovering just inside it, anxiously eyeballing my death grip on the phone.

"Excuse me, Caden, but Mr. Oates would like a few minutes of your time."

"Who's that?" Marianne demands in my ear.

"I'll be there in a few," I instruct Temporary Erin. She nods and quietly leaves.

"Who was that?" Marianne repeats once I'm alone again.

"My new assistant. Erin's on maternity leave."

"Oh?" She sniffs sulkily. "Is she pretty?"

For some reason that gets my back up. "You've lost the right to ask me that the minute you fucked Daniel and who knows who else before him."

Marianne groans as though in pain. "Seriously, Caden? Must you throw that in my face at every opportunity?"

Unbelievable. "Whatever. Do whatever you want Friday. I can't guarantee I'd be available at three. I'll be in touch to let you know."

At some point in the last two years I'd lost the will and the inclination to fight with my impending ex-wife. No amount of combative discussions, couples therapy, or determined intervention saved what I'd thought we had. Nothing would erase all the lies and skimming Marianne piled into our marriage from day one. And nothing will make me believe any woman is worth this kind of trouble again, no matter how burning hot or sweet she is at the beginning. They all change.

Pushing to my feet, I don't bother sparing Little Red Riding Hood a glance as I breeze by her desk. "I'll be with Darren," I tell her on my way out.

"Caden?"

My name doesn't deter my strides. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

That stops me. Stops everything. I can feel my brows furrowing, my heart rate holding, my muscles bracing as I swivel back to her concerned expression. "Excuse me?"

She searches me, her gaze darting about my features as though trying to read me. "You sounded agitated on the phone. I didn't hear your conversation," she quickly adds to my relief. "But your tone carried out enough for me to make that out." Whereas a second ago she was troubled on my behalf, suddenly she appears nervy, not sure of herself, and lowers her gaze to some blank point over my shoulder. "I just wanted to see if everything was all right."

I can't remember the last time someone asked me if I was okay. When I was ten, maybe, and my mother still had some lingering nurturing instincts? No one gives a monkey shit about how I'm doing. No one. Not my family, not Marianne, and certainly no one at the office besides Darren.

"Why do you ask? You after a raise?"

Dead silence. No frantic clacking of keyboards, no paper rolling out of printers, no inane office chatters. The entire space seems to be holding its breath, waiting for the ceiling to come crashing down without warning.

Her face is swallowed up by those shocked, doe eyes. "No, sir. I just... I just thought there's something I can do to help. That's all."

"Really?" I take the necessary steps until I'm inches from where she's cowering behind her desk. As if that would keep her safe from me. "You like to help? Are you my little helper then? Well, fanfuckingtastic! Call up my bloodsucking lawyer and tell him I want the divorce finalized by tomorrow morning and let my life-sucking ex-wife know she can play happy-married-us all by her lonesome fucking self and leave me the hell alone." I lean menacingly over her desk, ensuring she sees and hears only me and no one but her hears my next words. "And while you're at it, let Cindy Allegore know I'm sorry to disappoint her, but I'm still herpes-free. Looks like double-wrapping my dick when I was with her worked."

She's speechless. I'm not sure if she's stunned or auditioning for the role of a mime. Perhaps both.

Straightening, I snap my fingers in front of her catatonic face. "I'm not paying you to sleep, Red. Get back to work."

CHAPTER FIVE

Ashley

Baking has always soothed me like nothing else. Whether it's cupcakes, cookies, or assorted confections like the ones I'm carefully laying on the small platter at my desk, it never fails to settle me. Watching others enjoy the fruits of my creative efforts makes laboring over the hot oven worth it.

Having been in earlier than usual, I sent a quick email to Andrew first thing this morning, letting him know there are homemade goodies on my desk, just in case he wants to pop by for a treat. I'd considered and discarded the idea of leaving them in the main kitchen for my colleagues to help themselves, but I feared Andrew might not make it in before they're all gone. After all, who can resist these decadent bitesize temptations?

The teasing scent of bright and sugary lemon bars, gooey pecan pie pieces, and moist, chocolatey brownies saturate the office as I set the lively tray and some napkins on the corner of my desk, keeping my fingers crossed Andrew comes over soon before Caden marches in and yells at me for having food near his important files. Quietly humming to myself, I boot up my computer and get to work.

Andrew wants me to find dirt on Caden to make sure he's doing what he claims he's doing, but I don't even know what exactly I'm supposed to look for. Andrew hasn't made contact since last week, which is why I thought bringing in the treats might bring _him_ around for a visit.

And as far as imbedding myself into Caden's life so he trusts and relies on me? I think it's safe to say that's not likely going to happen. The guy doesn't see me half the time even when I'm right in front of him, and when he has no choice but to acknowledgement me, he refuses to remember my name!

If he calls me _Temp_ or _Red_ , or _You_ one more time I just might clout him over the head with a stapler... the industrial kind made of old and heavy metal.

Sighing, I move yet another email to an appropriate folder in Caden's inbox. He gets more emails than anyone I know. I can spend the whole day just going through it. I've been telling myself that if I have free time I would review the items to see if I find anything remotely incriminating in there, but so far there's nothing but legitimate messages. Well, except those sent by Cindy Allegore. I'm not sure whether I should feel sorry for Caden's former girlfriend or grimace at her audacious but sad attempts to ensnare him. Though I never met her, it's obvious to anyone who reads the emails she was using Caden's name and links to further her unremarkable acting career.

I mean, who includes a professional headshot as an electronic signature?

And that was the G-rated one. The ones reserved strictly for adults I quickly deleted, not that I wasn't impressed with her double-D investment.

I smile in welcome every time a hungry coworker is lured my way, beaming at their generous praises on my skills with a mixer. I find myself glancing up towards the hallway every five minutes, waiting for the fetching head of marketing to make an appearance.

At half after eight, I hear familiar, purposeful footsteps approach. Disappointment assails me even as I instinctively straighten in my seat.

The master of the underworld sails in, clutching his fancy leather case in one hand while pitching an empty paper cup into the wastebasket by my area.

"Good morning, Caden."

He grunts a response, not sparing me a glance.

"I'll get your coffee." Mentally bracing myself, I push away from my desk to go about making my boss the second dose of his daily fuel.

And nearly collides with him as he abruptly swings back around.

Frowning, cobalt blue eyes narrow dubiously at the three remaining morsels left on the tray amidst the scattered crumbs. "What's this?"

Guess there are no desserts in hell. "I made sweets, sir. For everyone," I add, just in case he's skeptical about my intentions. "Would... would you like one?"

If possible, his gaze lasers in on the treats with even more wariness. "You _made_ these?"

Wasn't that what I said? Why does he seem so taken aback?

I only nod. "I'm told they go great with coffee."

The blue eyes light up at that. "Which one?"

I'm left blinking at the instant transformation. Huh. I never noticed how piercing and brilliant his eyes are...

"Any." I shrug and mentally shove my wayward observation aside. "All of them."

He's just standing there, lightly salivating while admiring the baked goods but not making a move for one.

Is he strategizing?

Suppressing the urge to smile at the usually defiant man's hesitation, I reach for a napkin to swoop up a lemon bar. "Try this."

Eager eyes dart back and forth from the offered pastry to me as if calculating his next step, reminding me of a little boy who's been offered a lollipop from a stranger, not sure if he should snag it and run or dutifully turn it down.

"It's not laced with laxatives, is it?"

I can't help it. The ridiculous question was so unexpected and asked with such sternness that I burst into laughter. "No, Caden. I promise. It's just a run of the mill lemon bar. Here." Snatching his free hand, I set the little piece of indulgence in his palm. "Enjoy." It's the surprised and incredulous look on his face that has the realization slam into me. With a start, I snatch my hand back as though it's been burned. "I'll get you that coffee," I mumble and practically race off.

By the time I have a mug brimming with the fresh brew, Caden is reigning in his office. He's in a pale blue shirt, his jacket gone, and the laptop that was stored in his leather case is opened on his desk.

I don't say anything as I set down the aromatic blend, trying not to dwell over that awkward faux pas at my desk. No one dares touch Caden, even casually, and I should have known better. He doesn't appear to be upset, but then again, it might be the calm before the Martini storm.

Just as I'm hastily turning to vacate off his premises, I hear, "Ashley."

Not sure what to do with my hands now that I'm no longer hefting a mug, I pluck at my linen skirt. "Yes, Caden?"

"What you just did?"

I gulp down the acid lump in my throat. "Wha...what I just did?"

His face is solemn. "You lied to me."

Unnerved, my teeth begin gnawing at my lip. "Lied?"

"That was no run of the mill lemon bar."

The nibbling halts. "Excuse me?"

"That was the best lemon bar I ever tasted."

My eyes widen at the sudden admission. "Really?"

"When have you known me to sugarcoat things?" He sighs when I only stare at him blankly. "Yes, the pun was intended."

"Oh."

He shakes his head and turns to the laptop. "Never mind. Let's just get to work."

Right. "Let me get the tablet."

At my desk, my gaze lands on the two sweets left on the tray as I retrieve the handy device. Clearly, Andrew didn't stop by. Disappointment is a tough pill stuck in my throat. I spent painstaking hours preparing the goodies with him singularly in mind, hoping to treat him with something he'd enjoy.

Only he didn't even show.

I know that if I just leave them on my desk, someone would grab them up, but I don't want them to go to just anyone.

They should be devoured by someone who truly appreciates them.

Bringing my trusty tablet and the practically empty plate to Caden's office, I park the latter on his desk. "To go with your coffee," I announce with a smile.

Distracted, Caden spares it a glance before doing a double take. His eyes brighten again, the kid who got away with the lollipop and is now drooling over more.

Then, as if forgetting himself, his gaze swings up and he grins widely, nearly sending me into shock.

Surely that's why I'm suddenly breathless, my stomach flipflopping in delight and chasing away the lingering disappointment from Andrew.

*****

"Hey, Ash, where's the boss?"

I glance up from Caden's infinite email inbox, automatically smiling at Marsha Cannon as she meanders over with a printout in hand. She's around my age, only she dresses a lot more... indecent than me. Today she's in a snug, black V-neck sweater with more than hints of her cleavage flashing. With her blonde hair up in a ponytail, there's a lot of artificially tanned skin on display.

Marsha is the operations coordinator and has been with MOI for a year and a half. Like everyone else in this division, she pretty much steers clear of this corner when Caden is around. When he's not, she would occasional stop by and chat with me. My desk is just a few feet from Caden's office and set apart from the others, affording me some privacy as I sit guard outside of the COO.

"Lunch meeting," I tell her in response to her question.

She smirks, ruby red lips stretching. "Lucky us." With a quick, surreptitious peek over her shoulder, she takes the one guest chair facing my desk. "Did you see what Dreamy Andrew is wearing today?" She mock fans herself. "I think he's hitting the gym even more, because those biceps? Gurrrl, I can't even stand it." She leans over, top half of her breasts on display. "So when I was talking to him in the kitchen this morning, I just had to put my hand on them. They felt as good as they looked."

Was that why he ignored my invitation? He was too busy with Marsha?

"He takes care of himself very well," I put in, agitated she no doubt molested the poor man. "He always has."

"No arguments here." She flicks back her ponytail before smirking with pure feminine pride. "We're going out tomorrow night."

I can only blink at her in astonishment.

"This club he likes," she goes on when all I can do is gape at her. "Not too far from his condo, he told me." At this she winked. "I read between the lines and almost hurled myself at him then and there." She laughs as though there's humor in my heart cracking. "So we'll see. I'll make sure to—"

Sure, brisk footsteps from the hallway give me a second of warning before my new boss bursts in. He glares at Marsha, who bolts out of the chair and races back to her desk in four-inch stilettos, before breezing past me and right into his inner office, looking like he owns the world and a third of the one under it.

Not that it's my place to care. After Marsha's boast, I'm not in the mood for it. Propelling to my feet, I scramble to get Caden his usual poison.

I find him staring at his monitor, his brows scrunched up in either irritation or constipation. The appreciative, boyish Caden from this morning is gone.

"Hello, Caden. Here's your coffee," I greet politely as I set the steaming mug down. Still he doesn't pay me any attention, but I continue anyway, determined to shove the thought of Andrew and Marsha out of my mind and do my job. "You asked me to remind you about your engagement with Mrs. Martini this evening."

The dark brows are so knitted they can join forces to form a unified team of testiness. "Is it Friday already?"

I'm getting quite used to that growl now, so I barely even flinch this time. "Yes, sir. Three o'clock today. That means you should be leaving soon if you want to be prompt."

"What I want is to be left alone."

_Then you should crawl back into that hole_. "Got it," I respond instead, sighing over the missing boyish Caden. Perhaps I should bake for him every day so he'd have a better disposition. "Let me know if you need anything."

I'm nearly to the door when the abrupt bark of his voice halts me.

"Do you always do everything everyone tells you?"

I half turn, hiding the resentment threatening to bubble to the surface. The pleasant moment shared this morning seem like an apparition now. I have to contain my temper, I remind myself. It's not like me to be easily angered, but after first Marsha and now having to deal with Caden's cantankerousness, my patience is running thin, though I absolutely refuse to let his petulance get to me.

"It's my job to do your bidding while I'm on the clock. To make your life easier. If part of that is leaving you alone when you require it, then yes."

Sitting back, steel blue eyes study me for a beat with an expression I haven't been schooled to read. "Are you married, Red?" The gaze dips to my bare fingers before returning. "I don't see a ring, but I've learned that doesn't mean shit."

_Perhaps not to you_.

My eyes scan his desk for a sturdy stapler.

I don't point out that's a personal question, and I'm sure the last thing he wants is to get personal. If he wants to play this game though, that's fine with me. "I am not, nor have I ever been, married."

"Boyfriend?"

"No."

"Girlfriend?"

I shake my head. "Sorry to disappoint you."

He falls quiet for a heartbeat. "It appears you're the smarter one."

The usual Martini hostility, the familiar cynical derision is missing from this unexpected shift in topic. In its place is a slow melancholy that grips me by surprise. Taking a chance, I face him fully.

"I guess some might say that. People say marriage is work. My hands are full with just me and a job that actually pays me, so I don't have time for that kind of work yet, but I'd like to think that when the timing is right, I would make sure my husband comes first. And if I made the decision to marry him, he would be someone who would be as devoted to me."

The look he shoots me isn't an agreeable one by any stretch of the imagination. "Don't be naïve. Love doesn't conquer all. If love even exists, that is," he adds with a sneer.

Something about his dejected tone tugs at my heart. He may be a vile human being most of the time, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have any feelings. Clearly, they've been stomped on.

I know firsthand what that's like.

"I'm sorry if you're having problems with Mrs. Martini."

To my amazement he laughs. A horrible, contemptuous release of frustration.

"That's an understatement." He shakes his head, his jaw tightening just before he averts his gaze away from me and back to his computer. "Marianne and I are over. Have been over for some time. Infidelity tends to do that to a marriage."

I nod, not so much in understanding but in sympathy – even if he was the one who ruined his marriage by messing around. I'm not sure who this dimmer Caden is or if he visits often. Whatever the case is, I can't help but ache for the lost sadness he's trying not to show. Can it be possible he habitually suppresses this side behind a mask of intimidation?

"This farce tonight is what I have to put up with so she doesn't fight me over every little thing that wasn't written in blood on the pre-nup," he continues, chuckling to himself without a hint of amusement. "The real winners are the fucking lawyers. That's what a commitment between two people comes down to, Temp, a commitment to have legal representation. So yeah, you are the smarter one."

Words escape me. I'm not sure if there's anything I can say that would make him less pessimistic about his situation or his outlook. And why is he sharing this very intimate detail with me?

I'm not sure if Andrew knew about Caden's divorce. If he did, he didn't mention it to me. Maybe he wanted me to find out on my own? That seems unlikely.

Without giving it much thought, I approach his desk. Leaning back on his seat, he peers at me warily but doesn't object.

"I'm sorry about you and Mrs. Martini. I'm sure it's not easy. There's someone out there for you. It might not seem like it now, but she's out there just waiting for you to find her, I promise." Optimist? Definitely. Naïve? I'm sure he thinks so, but that's something I truly believe in. There's someone out there for everyone. "And whoever she is, she's going to be worthy of you and you of her."

Again I don't stop to consider what I'm doing. I just go with it because it's what I feel is right at the moment, because he needs it. His eyes widen when I tilt down and casually wrap an arm around his shoulder, giving him a brief side hug while he lounges back in his fancy ergonomic chair.

"It's okay, Caden. Everything's going to be okay." Through this simple embrace I try to convey my compassion and support. It might not be much, but it's the least I can do for someone who's hurting. "You'll get through this."

Darn but he smells good.

And feels absolutely... strong. Sturdy. Underneath the crisp white shirt where my fingers have landed the muscles on his upper arm are stiff as a two by four and just as unforgiving.

A whirlwind of senses pummel me suddenly, making me lightheaded. An odd mantle of consciousness – safety, strength, familiarity assails like I just dove into a comforting bed. I mentally jerk back from the bewildering assault.

When I straighten it's to find him gaping at me in utter disbelief.

"What?" I ask in puzzlement, blinking at him and the weird look he's giving me. I'm not that transparent, am I? "Was that against company policy?"

His mouth – quite the mouth now that I'm looking at him up close – opens and closes like a struggling fish gulping for air. Then he's standing, towering above me so that I have to tilt my head back to accommodate the high vantage point.

"Have you lost your mind?"

My foot automatically retreats a step at the repulsive tone. "What do you mean?"

I can only grimace at the fish thing again.

"What do I mean? _What do I mean?_ " Clearly exasperated, he shakes his head as though he's trying to have a serious adult conversation with a small child and just decided it's not worth the headache. "Never mind. Just get back to work."

Not quite able to meet his accusing gaze, my eyes lower and I nod, quietly leaving him to roast in his own misery.

That's what I get. Granted, I should've known better. I mean, I hugged Callous Caden. Of course he wouldn't take kindly to a perfectly human gesture. He thoroughly obliterated that word from his dictionary and thesaurus, probably from his crib.

Back at my desk, I pick up where I left off and continue with the never-ending task of going through his emails. During that regretful but brief interlude in Caden's office, twenty more messages have arrived, and most of the desks on this side have cleared out.

When the phone rings I snatch it up instantly, grateful to give my weary eyes a much needed break. "Caden Martini's office. Ashley speaking."

There's a pause. "Ashley. This is Mrs. Martini."

I groan inwardly but inject courteousness into my response. "Hello, Mrs. Martini."

"Tell me Caden has left the office already."

Glancing at the imposing office doors behind me, I chew on my lip. "No, ma'am. He's still here."

She sucks in a dramatic breath. "But it's three o'clock!"

"He's been reminded of tonight's arrangement, but I'll let him know you're waiting for him."

An annoyed huff prattles in my ear. "Like he cares if I'm waiting for him. He doesn't even bother answering his cell when I call. He does this intentionally, you know, because he can. And because he hates me."

"I'm sure he doesn't hate you," I reason gently. "He just gets so busy sometimes that he loses track of time."

A complete lie. Even I know that. Caden is organized, meticulous, and on top of everything he deems important.

Naturally his wife would be aware of that and doesn't hesitate to call me on it.

"You know nothing!" she counters, affronted at my defense of her husband. "He's a selfish prick who has no regard for other people's feelings, especially mine. Now put me through to him."

Caden might not be the gentlest, most thoughtful man, but considering Marianne Martini doesn't appear as though she'd be sainted anytime soon, I can't blame him for spurning her.

"One moment, please."

I might only have been with Caden a week, but I'm pretty sure the last thing he wants is to talk to his soon to be ex-wife. Given her obvious foul mood right now, I'd probably be the same.

Placing her on hold, I depress the appropriate button. "Caden? Mrs. Martini is on the line for you. Should I put her through?"

"Hell no. Tell her I left."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Well, I kind of already told her you were here."

He curses under his breath. "Then tell her..." There's mumbling, then, "On second thought, I'll talk to her."

Relief surges through me. I don't know what suddenly changed his mind, but I'm glad I'm not awkwardly placed in the middle of the feuding spouses. "Yes, sir."

Within seconds I have the Martinis connected on the same line. With Caden occupied for a bit, I puff out a drained breath and decide to get a cup of tea for myself. Mrs. Martini doesn't sound like the type to give up very easily. Curiously, I wonder what she looks like, I muse as I make my way past the quiet desks. There are no pictures of her in Caden's office, and given the status of their marriage, now I know why. Is she as beautiful as Cindy Allegore, glorious blonde hair and busting out of her top like Marsha? As unapologetically provocative?

Rolling my eyes at my own useless thoughts, I turn a corner into the operations side, only to find my nose smashed up against a chest.

"Oh!" Hastily I leap back. "Pardon me. I wasn't wa... Andrew!"

Gleaming white smile flashes down at me, just this side of too bright and impersonal. "Ms. Evans. I was hoping I'd find you. I trust all is well."

Nodding, I glance about me, noting the other office drones brushing by and not paying us any heed. It's not uncommon to find the office half empty on a Friday, particularly this late in the day.

"How are you?" Great, social niceties. Maybe I should molest him like Marsha instead of baking for him, then he might finally take some notice.

"Can't complain. I'm glad I caught you before you left. Hey, listen, thanks for the cookies this morning, but I was in a meeting so I couldn't make it. I was hoping you can squeeze me in to see Caden next Friday. Preferably in the morning."

The nonchalant apology rolled right into his other thoughts. I didn't know time dallying with a colleague is considered a meeting. I might remind him they weren't cookies, but does it matter at this point?

"Sure." Setting the mug on my desk, I reclaim my spot behind the computer to pull up Caden's calendar. "What should I put down as the topic of discussion?"

He's glancing about my desk, seemingly searching for something. "That's between me and Caden," he says carelessly and picks up a file, absently flipping it open before returning it to its spot.

"Umm... Caden likes to be prepared for every meeting, so I need to at least indicate the subject matter."

Ever sure of himself, he beams and presses, "I'm sure that won't be necessary this one time."

"Well..." I glance at the monitor as he guardedly peers over his shoulder at the department at large, not sure how to tell him without sounding like I'm putting a director in his place. "Actually, it really is."

Glancing back, a haughty brow arches as the friendly smile alters into a goaded sneer. "Not everything is about what Caden wants, now is it, Ms. Evans?"

Clearly, I've somehow hit a hot button.

Lowering my voice in hopes of not offending him further, I try my most appeasing tone. "I'm just doing my job, Andrew. It's not personal."

He huffs out indignant air but relents. "Fine. Just put down R Resorts."

Somehow, I have a feeling that's not why he wants to see Caden, but there's nothing I can do other than to call him a liar. Since I'm not about to do that, I simply type the info into a slot in Caden's calendar.

"Okay. I put you down for Friday at ten o'clock."

"Great."

Again his eyes are everywhere but on me. Shelves. Caden's partially closed office door and darkened glass wall separating my desk from his office. Behind him as the last of the operations staff tosses a casual _goodnight_ and leaves for the weekend.

Is he looking for something?

"Is there something else you need, Andrew?"

He switches his attention back, suddenly urgent and steadfast. "Listen, is Caden still here?"

It was the terse bite of his voice and the nervous restlessness rather than the question that has me suddenly aware we're the only ones around. "I'm not sure. He was supposed to leave a while ago."

His head snaps around and a long finger aims at the two doors behind me. "Well, why don't you get up and take a look?" he orders acidly.

For a few heartbeats I can't move. Not only has he become insistent as soon as we're alone, but the vibe he's sending is almost ominous.

Uncertain, I bite my lip. There are only two people in the entire company with a key to those doors: Caden and his assistant. No one other than me is supposed to be in the COO's office when he's not in there. If Caden should leave for the day before me, which is rare, he relies on his assistant to lock up. Not that Andrew is shoving his way in, but I have a feeling that's his next move if I tell him the office is empty.

"Why do you want to know?" I ask of the glaring man standing across my desk.

He gapes at me as though he can't believe I would dare question him.

Is that smoke coming out of his ears?

With an outraged grunt he rounds my desk and goes for the doors.

"You can't go in there!" Shocking even myself, I leap in front of him, my arms flying out to block his dogged path.

Straight white teeth flashes in a snarl. "Why not? What are you two hiding?"

I've never seen Andrew ugly. Didn't think that was possible. I was wrong. His face now is nothing but ugly loathing.

"Please, Andrew," I plea without shame even though I can see I have zero effect on him. "You're going to get me in trouble."

"Get out of the way, Ashley, or I'll physically remove you from here."

Ignoring his threat, I try to firm my stance. "You have no business here, Andrew. Please just go."

The ugly face is a frightening inch from mine. "Step aside."

Please, don't let me lose my job...

"What the _fuck_ is going on?"

I whirl around to find Caden at his office doorway, gawping crossly at the unexpected scene before him.

All I can think is, _thank God!_ The obvious words spill out of my mouth as my arms drop down to my sides. "You're still here."

Slowly, pointedly, Caden's guarded gaze cuts from me to Andrew. Live hostility vibrates from one stiff man to the other.

"I know there must be a reason why you're trying to bully my assistant, Dorskey, but for the life of me, I can't come up with even half of one."

Andrew's fists clench, but he's smart enough to visibly ease off, smoothing a hand down his tie as he steals a second to compose. "I was hoping for a few minutes with you," he offers crisply.

"I don't have a few minutes for you, so either make an appointment or get the fuck out. This office is closed."

Andrew levels his shoulders as though he wasn't caught making a spectacle of himself. Jaw tight, neck and cheeks fused with red anger with nowhere to go, he tosses a dark look my way before turning to leave.

"And Dorskey," Caden pitches out. Andrew's steps falter just as he's about to disappear. "If I _ever_ get wind of you trying to intimidate Ashley again, you'll be packing up your belongings."

"Thank you," I tell my boss quietly as he cautiously surveys me, seemingly looking for injuries. Does he think I'm so fragile I'd crack like an egg under pressure? "I wasn't expecting Andrew to be so persistent."

"There's nothing I loathe more than a bully," he observes almost to himself. His lips tighten as he studies me, though I don't think it's me that's irritating him this time. "You okay?"

Surprised and touched by his concern, I gingerly nod.

"Stay away from him, Ashley." His gaze softens. "If he gives you trouble again, you come to me immediately. I don't care where I am. You tell me. Got it?"

"Yes, sir, but I'm okay. Really," I try to reassure him as much as possible. "He's like a chihuahua – all obnoxious bark and little bite."

The frown pulls at his dark brows. "Did you just compare the Marketing Director to a yappy dog?"

Realizing too late that an employee shouldn't say things like that about management _to_ management, I chew on my inner lip with chagrin. "Yeah." My mortified gaze drops. "Sorry."

When there's nothing but silence, I chance a glimpse up.

Cobalt blue eyes dance with mirth and approval, though his mouth is in its usual stern line. My shoulders sag in relief that Caden isn't upset with me for my thoughtless comment, but to my dismay, a giggle erupts out of me even as I'm weighing his reaction. Perhaps it's the depleted adrenaline or the unexpected turn of events, but I don't want to hold back the show of amusement.

The firm line of his mouth twitches.

CHAPTER SIX

Caden

My foot drums restlessly on the hardwood, barely keeping it from making a hasty beeline for the door. Marianne is there-there-ing her sister on the spotless white sofa, her ash blonde hair and overpriced war paint flawless. Her eye-catching tits look exceptionally large and barely encased in that tiny yellow dress she slithered into, accentuating her slim waist and the hourglass flare of her hips. She's beautiful, there's no doubt about that. Beautiful and ruthless. Which is why I feel nothing south of the border, not even a twitch. I barely resist the urge to adjust myself to make sure all the parts are still there.

Once upon a time I would be counting the minutes before I could get her alone to rip that farce dress off her centerfold body and plow into what I happily, foolishly thought was all mine. Now I just wish for a beer instead of this lousy foo-foo wine, a week of no soul-snatching emails, and Ashley Evans to bring me a steaming cup of coffee with her cute, dainty hands every hour.

"Why would he do that, Marianne? He has me, so why does he want other women?"

_Maybe he was normal_.

"Am I not enough?" Margaret chokes back a sob. "I'm good to him. I cook every night, go out if he wants to, clean up after him. Why am I not enough?"

He married his mother, that's why.

"Honey, he's the idiot here, not you. Don't you ever blame yourself for what's happening."

There's a surprise. Marianne doesn't believe in owning it.

Ignoring her sister's empty platitudes, Margaret wails on, "I make sure I look good. I haven't gained more than a couple pounds since we married. I wouldn't be caught dead in sweats or jeans, but it's still not enough. It's never enough!" She dabs at her eyes with an already crumbled tissue. "Why are men like that?" As if just realizing there's a man in the room, they both turn to me in unison. "Why, Caden?"

Not one bit fazed, I shrug. "Dunno, Mar. How many times a week did you blow him?"

My sister-in-law gasps in revulsion while my leftover wife scowls indignantly.

"Caden," Marianne snaps in admonishment. "Seriously. This is no time for jokes. Can't you see Margaret is upset? If you can't be helpful, why don't you just amuse yourself elsewhere until dinner?"

Thank God.

More than eager to get out of this estrogen hell, I set down the half-empty glass on the coffee table and push to my feet. "I'll be outside."

"Do you see how he is?" I hear Marianne gripe as I zigzag around the gaudy antique furniture and out of the room. "I can't believe I slum..."

Whatever. Bitch and whine all you want, it means jack-shit to me. Her words have long since lost their meaning, her oaths and pleas as hollow as her heart – and her wedding vows. That's what happens when you cry wolf too many times.

I make my way through the mostly silent house, snatching my mobile out of my pocket as I brush past all the ludicrous and pretentious vintage chairs and Louis-the-Loser recycled side tables, not paying the housekeeper any mind when she glances up in surprise. It's nearly six-thirty, so the miserable evening is just that much closer to being terminated. Wearily, I settle on a wooden chair underneath the shielding pergola just outside the rear door. A dim light hardly illuminates the darkened garden, but I can make out the finely trimmed lawn and forceful, climbing vines. For once in a very long time, I just sit there and breathe the cooled air, taking in the eerie chirps of crickets and wavering moonlight peeking between sparse gray clouds.

I don't know how much more of this ridiculous ruse I can put up with. Marianne seems determined to drag this out as much as she can, if only to spite me for not begging her to take me back.

Fuck chance of that happening. No amount of pricey therapy is ever going to erase the image of her with Daniel.

I shoot a quick email to my attorney, reminding him I'm still alive and he's still supposed to be working on my case instead of merely sending me creative invoices. I'd pay the inadequate guy a million bucks if he can get me out of it tomorrow. Since it's afterhours on a Friday and I'm not expecting a response until Monday, I have nothing better to do then brood. I decide to go through the work emails. That should occupy me for the next decade.

My brows furrow in momentary confusion after I tap on the app.

How can this be? I have less than twenty unread emails since I left the office at five? That's unheard of. My inbox doesn't take breaks, not even on weekends and holidays. Is the system down again? Those overpaid, useless I.T. folks are going to hear it from me. This is absolutely unaccept... wait. Twenty just changed to nineteen. As I watch for a few beats, nineteen goes down to eighteen.

What the hell? My account has been hacked!

I'm frantically scrolling through my phone for the head of I.T.'s number when it occurs to me out of nowhere.

Little Red Riding Hood.

My finger switches gear and I select my office.

It rings once before it's efficiently answered. "Caden Martini's office. This is Ashley."

"You're still there."

There's a pause. "Caden?"

"Of course it's me," I retort. "Who else would be calling on a Friday night? Why are you in the office?"

"I'm working, sir, but I'm almost done."

"It's Friday, Temp. Don't you have a life?"

"Actually, Lisa Washington came by right after you left and asked for the budget projection for Mr. Oats. Carly and her assistant had already left for the day, and she was hoping I could help her locate a copy. I had to spend some time looking for it since I'm not familiar with Erin's methods, and then there was Mr. Dorskey's visit... and I kind of fell behind with other things." There's shuffling, then a lowered, contrite voice. "It won't happen again."

The reminder of what Dorskey did has me grinding my teeth. That piece of shit needs to be taught a lesson for throwing his weight around my assistant. When I think about what I saw after wrenching open my door... it was a good thing I was still in my office, or who knows what might have happened to Ashley. My fists curl remembering how I craved to plant them in Dorskey's fucking face. I could've killed him with my bare hands

My already sour mood takes a nosedive.

"If you think I'm paying you overtime—"

"No, sir," she quickly reassures. "I clocked out two hours ago."

That shut me up. For about a second. "This better not be some inane plot you're scheming so you can go complaining to HR. Tricia knows she can't do shit about how I run my company, so don't even bother."

A delicate, drained sigh. "Mr. Martini, are you always this mistrustful?"

I blink at the shadows in the backyard. For some odd reason I'm fighting back a smirk. Shit, this girl is guileless... and apparently has the peculiar talent to subdue my igniting temper. "I know that was a rhetorical question, so I won't dignify that with an obvious answer."

A noise has me swiveling to find the housekeeper stepping out. "Dinner is ready." Then she dips her head once and goes back in as unobtrusively as a ghost.

"Is your evening going well so far?" Temp asks uncertainly in her demure but sweetly feminine voice.

Her question reminds me that I unloaded on her this afternoon. What possessed me to share that much with the girl, I don't know. Her little everything-will-be-rainbows-and-tits hug utterly took me by surprise. No woman hugs me unless she's after something. Money, recognition, dick, prestige, favor, whatever. Even my own mother just carelessly pats me on the shoulder when she's in a good mood. Nothing more.

But this girl. This very unsullied, big-eye girl with her honey smile and luscious ass, dared to embrace me, all because I lost my mind for a second and grumbled about my rotted marriage.

Guess losing one's mind is contagious.

"That's my personal life. You don't need to concern yourself with it." If that sounds harsh, then she needs to toughen up anyway if she plans to stay working for me. "You just do your job and do it well, and we won't have a problem."

"Okay, Caden." She puts in a good effort to sound agreeable and effectively makes me feel like I just kicked an adorable puppy. I can clearly picture her pretty doe eyes shimmering up at me. "It's just that I like to feel useful, and I don't mind going the extra mile, even if it's not in my job description. If you need anything, even if it's just someone to vent to, I'm tougher than I look. I promise I won't complain to HR."

She not only lost her mind, she lost her will to survive.

Was that why she stood up to Dorskey the way she did?

I latch on to her last sentence, knowing, like all the others before her, that they all go to HR. Or worse, a labor attorney. "I call bullshit, Red. You all talk a good talk, but you're all alike. The minute I start firing orders at you, the grumbles about Callous Caden striking again would be all over the company. None of you has the game to back up the boast." Including Erin. When I slapped extra work on her desk a few times, she went crying to anyone who would listen, including Tricia. The only reason I kept her on for more than four months was because she was pregnant and threatened to sue the company if I so much as exhaled too loudly in her general direction. Well, that and she made a mean cup of coffee.

"You know they call you _Callous_ _Caden_?"

Does she think I'm obtuse? "I know a lot of things."

"I'm sorry about that, Caden. I know what it's like to be misunderstood."

Incredulous, I gape at the phone _. Is this girl for real?_ I was berating her and her intentions mercilessly and she thinks I'm _misunderstood_?

"I can only say that I can handle a lot," she goes on. "And I like to work. You already know I don't have any kids, so MOI is my focus."

"Don't you have a life?"

"Work is a part of my life." If the brusque question offended her, she's not showing it. "I think you understand that, more than anyone at the office. And probably hate being judge for it as much as I do."

I grunt in agreement. "If one more person tells me I work too hard, I just might lose my shit."

"More so than normal?" There's a teasing lilt to her quip.

It's an effort to hold back the chuckle. "You haven't seen anything yet," I respond in the same taunting tone. "If you're not careful, I might make you work Friday nights."

"Ooh..." she mock groans. "As my cousin would say, all work and no play make for a cranky day. Well, I modified that just a little, but you get the gist of it."

"What's the original saying?"

I can practically see her shaking her head. "That's not important."

"You brought it up. So finish it."

There's a beat of hesitation, then. "My cousin likes to say, all work and no play make for a cranky gay."

This time I do laugh. "You're something else, Red," I reveal without meaning to after a minute. "Certainly not anything I'm used to."

"Is that good or bad?"

I consider the question, admitting that, after being on the phone with Ashley, the evening isn't as bad as I first thought.

Just then Marianne breezes out, wrinkling her nose job when she sees I'm on the phone and interrupts without a second thought. "Caden, we're all waiting for you. Dinner is getting cold."

"Start without me," I direct dismissively. "I'm working."

"You're always working," she huffs. "Who are you talking to this time?"

She asks as if anything I do is any of her business anymore. "Go back inside, Marianne. I'll be there in a minute."

"You mean you're _working_ your sluts." The accusation is biting and just loud enough to carry. "You think I'm stupid? I know all about them. That doesn't mean I'll put my dinner on hold so you can jerk off to them on the phone."

I spring out of my seat so fast she instinctively takes a step back. Within seconds she realizes that as much as I wanted to strangle her in the last few years, I've never laid a violent finger on her. Immediately she firms her stance, arms folded across her jutting chest.

"Don't test me, Marianne, or you just might find out how far I'd go to _not_ give you what you want.

We eye each other scornfully for a full minute. No doubt she's waiting for me to back down, to once again acquiesce to her demands without much of a fight.

Something in my tone must've penetrated her silicone brain because she straightens, not bothering to hide her sulk, before her bright red lips sneer contemptuously at me. "You can stop for a burger on the way home because we're not holding for you."

Fanfuckingtastic. I give her a derisive smirk. "Sounds better by the second. Enjoy your meal, sweetheart," I call out in the sickest saccharine voice I can manage as she tramps back inside.

Finally! A reprieve.

My chest expands as I take in a giant breath. That bloodsucking Francisco better get me out of this sham of a marriage real soon or I'll sue _his_ ass.

"Caden?"

The faint feminine call seems to come from my hand. I glance down at the forgotten device clutched in my brutal grip. _Shit_. Pollyanna is still on the phone.

Rather than a frivolous apology or some mindless excuse for the debacle my assistant just had the misfortune to overhear, I jab at the screen to end the call. I refuse to be mortified by it. With not so much as a backward glance, I leave by way of the gardens to my car.

I have a burger waiting for me.

And Marianne can call one of her many boy toys for a ride.

*****

Gentle laps of the Pacific lulls me, sooths me like nothing else. The veranda doors are wide open, letting in the cool ocean breeze and wrapping me in its salty scent. The words on the tablet begin to waver and blur, running into an illegible black mass before scurrying back. My head falls back against the headboard, but I know from experience I only need to rest my eyes for a few minutes before my brain inevitably snaps to attention to mock me throughout the long night.

I'm not like most people. I don't get eight hours of sleep. Not that I have anything against it. In fact, I'd rather knock out for an entire night than spend it in bed with some girl trying her skankiest to please me. Right now getting some decent shuteye sounds like absolute heaven to me.

I haven't slept for over three years.

Not really. Not since I found out about Marianne. Not since the marriage went to shit with a giant red bow. Not since I made my life revolve around MOI and everything it touches.

Grumbling out loud at the line of useless thoughts, I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms and try to focus on the report in front of me. The digital numbers at the corner of the screen tell me it's passed two in the morning, a jeering reminder I've been slouched in my bed for over three hours and still wide a-fucking-wake.

_So much coffee isn't good for you. It'll keep you up for days_.

Great. Now I have Temporary Erin's chaste voice in my head.

No, not Temporary Erin.

Ashley Evans.

Pretty Ashley with her huge innocent eyes, full, eager-to-curve lips, and sweet, attentive disposition. Shiny hair that changes color depending on the lighting. And an ass that can stop traffic.

It's been a week since she started with me, and in that short period of time I've discovered something interesting about zealous Ms. Evans.

Underneath the ugly, prissy blouses and proper-length skirts, she's smoking hot.

I mean singe your cornea hot.

It's not deliberate. In fact, I suspect she has no clue how fuckable she is. Unlike a lot of women I know, her every move isn't calculated with the sole purpose of stealing a man's notice. She doesn't walk into a room with her tits first. That delectable ass doesn't hang back without the rest of her. Just the opposite. She seems to dress every morning with a mind to conceal her curves instead of honing them like a weapon.

It might not have jumped out at me at first, but after working with her, she doesn't have to sashay around for me to stop and notice.

I groan, remembering this morning when I walked in to find her leaning over a low file drawer, prim black skirt riding up the back of smooth thighs, fabric stretching over that shapely ass.

_Shit_.

HR would skin me alive if it knew the lascivious thoughts dancing in my head every time I look at my assistant. I hope to God she hasn't noticed. The last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable working in my office.

Never mind my already hectic day was consumed with vivid images of bending her over my desk, shoving that polite skirt up to her waist, shunting the thong – yes, in my fantasy she's wearing a red lacy thong – and letting my dick lead me home. She'd moan oh so good, her pretty lips forming o's of ecstasy as she watches me over her shoulder, those huge, magnificent brown eyes glazed with exquisite pleasure...

_Fuck_.

It's not harassment if it's only in my head, right?

I'm in deep trouble.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ashley

Andrew is going to be really upset that I haven't found anything. Honestly, I don't know what he wants me to keep an eye out for. He wasn't exactly open about what he wants me to do as Caden's assistant other than to let him know if I notice anything dubious. Granted, it's only been a few weeks, but time flies, and before you know it, my four months will be up and Erin will be back from maternity leave, and there wouldn't be anything anyone can do.

I never asked Marsha what happened during her date with Andrew, and she didn't volunteer anything. Which is just as well, since I don't really want to know.

Andrew is an attractive, single male, of course he's going to play the field, I remind myself. Never mind the field he's playing on is full of ripe manure. Besides, I'm beginning to think those two belong together. After what happened last week, my respect for Andrew plummeted to the negative.

I have to admit, not to Andrew but to myself, that I haven't really been trying all that hard to do his bidding. As much as I wanted to make Andrew happy before last week, I'm just not comfortable with it. And as much as he tried to convince me otherwise, I feel like I'm spying on my boss, and that doesn't sit well with me. It's a good thing Andrew showed his true face, because there is no way in God's green earth I'd help him now. In fact, he's lucky I don't tell Caden of his manipulative machinations. Caden can be an absolute jerk a lot of the times, and I think he's deliberately putting me through the wringer by piling work on me morning, noon, and evening. It's as if he's determined to prove that I'll go running to HR despite my earlier claim, and the sooner I do it the better so we can both move on with life.

That's just outrageous. I have no intentions of filing a complaint against him. I can't believe anyone would just because of a little work. Isn't that why we collect a paycheck?

As grumpy as his disposition is, Caden isn't half bad. He did threaten to fire that grade-A jerk Andrew when he got pushy with me. I would have never expected that would be something he'd do in a million years. In fact, there were a few times in the last couple of weeks when I thought he was downright... decent. Funny. And endearing.

Like when Madison Volt-Reed personally called Caden's cell to thank him for the gift basket. He was about to walk out of his office when it rang, so I caught the look on his face. A glimpse at the caller ID had the corners of his usually strict mouth truly lifting in a genuine smile before he answered. It was magnificent smile, boyish and full of mischief. I nearly rubbed my eyes at the miraculous, unbelievable sight. Aware that MOI is bending over backwards chasing after R Hotels & Resorts, I figured he was after making a gracious impression. After all, he couldn't very well bark at the cherished wife of the CEO like he does with everyone else.

To my stunned shock, Caden actually joked with Mrs. Volt-Reed, blue eyes lighting up as he teased her about possibly having a second set of twins to match her boys. _Jake must be beside himself with joy. I can't be happier for the both of you_. From all appearances, he'd forgotten he was in the office, not a few feet from his speechless assistant, speaking without reserve and without any hint of his standard grouchiness as he proceeded to eagerly remind _Maddy_ to let him know as soon as they found out the sex of the baby or babies. He ended the chat by fervently accepting the invitation to a casual birthday celebration for the twins at the Reeds' estate, then asked me to put it in his calendar. For the life of me I can't imagine him at a children's party, running around playing with a bunch of rowdy kids.

Then on Monday, when he was especially brutal with all the reports he wanted me to type up and the data he wanted me to collect before his meeting with Mr. Oats that afternoon, I thought that was it. I was never going to make Caden happy with my performance. I slaved through lunch, hardly leaving my desk the entire morning to try to get a hold of all the pending work. He managed to astonish me again when he came back from his lunch meeting. With a mumble about the restaurant he went to being famous for its carrot cake, he plopped a bag down on my desk and disappeared to his inner office so fast that, if I hadn't known any better, I would had believed he was somehow embarrassed by the thoughtful gesture. As I pulled out the pretty white box topped with a silver bow from the bag, my chin nearly hit the floor. My prickly new boss actually considered me while he was at a lunch meeting. Not only was there a piece of decadent dessert but an entire boxed lunch complete with wrapped utensils. He must have realized that with all the work he dumped on me, I didn't have time to eat. It was unexpected. And utterly sweet.

The halibut was perfectly seasoned, and the big slice of cake was out of this world. The musing now somehow makes my lips pull into a pleased grin, my stomach tap-dancing to some unnamed thrill. My belly is definitely getting a few internal workouts lately.

Weird...

That was four days ago. Now, while I unlock his private office doors, I wonder how I'm going to tell him he has a meeting with Andrew Dorskey at ten today, the very person he told to pack his bags if he ever bullied me again.

At fifteen minutes after eight Caden strolls in. By now I'm familiar with his schedule and already have a fresh cup of coffee waiting on his desk that I placed not a few beats earlier.

"Good morning, Caden," I greet cheerfully, completely ignoring the strange little flutters in my stomach at seeing him. I nod down at his desk. "The coffee's fresh. I just made it a few minutes ago."

"Red," he mumbles.

That's better than his customary _bahumbugs_. To be honest, his grumpiness doesn't bother me one bit anymore. His deliberate grouchiness is entertaining and... well, kind of cute. I much prefer authentic reactions than polite pretext. There's never a dull moment with Caden, and I'm beginning to relish and rely on his candidness.

Tablet in hand, my steps follow his, knowing he'd want to get to work right away. "You have a conference call with Kechuwa Benson in fifteen minutes," I begin as he shrugs out of his fancy jacket and hangs it in the closet. The next item in his calendar has me biting my lip. "At ten you're meeting with Andrew Dorskey. Mr. Oats is requesting a p—"

His raised hand stops my spiel. "Andrew Dorskey?" At my hesitant nod, he snaps, "What does that fucker want?"

I wince at the familiar irate tone. "He said something about R Resorts."

"Cancel it."

_But but but_.

With effort, I school my expression to reflect casual professionalism rather than the Apocalyptic panic gushing through my veins. "Cancel or reschedule?"

"Reschedule to never."

Andrew's going to throw a tantrum. "Are you sure you want to... right," I amend quickly at his sharp look. "I'll cancel it." I clear my throat, diligently reminding myself not to push the issue, and refer back to the tablet in my hand while fighting back dread at Andrew's reaction. "Mr. Oats would like the Reed Hotels and Resorts proposal by this afternoon. Mrs. Martini – your wife – called. She wants me to relay to you to answer your cell when she calls it." Actually, her exact words were _tell my motherfucking husband to pick up his fucking phone_ , but I'm not going to share those explicit details with him. "Reservation has been made for your lunch meeting with Chris Lowenstein today at noon."

There's a tired huff. "Cancel that too."

My gaze meets his over the tablet. That's when I see his eyelids drooping over his eyes like he's about to nod off sitting up, his nose is red and abused, and his ashen complexion dull. A quick glance at the still full mug on his desk reveals he hasn't even taken a single sip.

Something is definitely off.

"Are you okay?"

He waves off my question with a negligent hand. "What else?"

I frown, continuing to eye him with concern. "Maybe you should go home. You don't look very well."

"I'll look better once my assistant remembers how to do her job."

"Caden..."

A long-suffering sigh. "I'm fine. Just a bit of a temperature. I downed some meds and should be fine. It's just a cold," he tells me in exasperation when I can't shake my trepidation. "It isn't anything I can't handle."

"That's not good for you. Your health is the most important thing. Everything else can wait."

He's gaping at me with flaccid, weary eyes. "Are you serious right now?"

Knowing how unyielding he is, it's my turn to sigh. If he says he'd rather work than take care of himself, than that's what he's going to do no matter what anyone says. As his assistant, it's my job to tend to him while he's here, and that's exactly what I'm planning to do.

"Sit still and let me check your forehead." Even before I finished declaring my intention, I lay the back of my hand gently against his forehead. His lids drift lower, dark lashes a protective shield against the world. It's a testimony to his state that he doesn't say anything but allow me to tend to him. His skin is warm to the touch but not burning. Grateful I wouldn't have to roll up my sleeves and go into combat with him to get him to the doctor, I let my hand drop and pat his shoulder soothingly. "I'll cancel with Andrew and reschedule everything else to next week. You shouldn't be out and about anyway," I tsk. "Let me get you some tea."

God, he's got the strongest shoulder I ever felt.

" _Tea?_ " He says that like it's the foulest word in the dictionary.

"Tea," I repeat firmly. Though he doesn't know it yet, I'm in charge now. At least, until he's feeling better. "And you're going to drink it."

He looks ready to pass out, the blue eyes are so dilated.

"Have you been snorting the toner waste?"

Okay, maybe he isn't in as bad a shape as he looks. My snicker escapes before I can swallow it back. I know I shouldn't encourage him, but his derision is quite comical. In fact, I think I have more witty diversion with Caden as my boss than with any previous superiors.

Instead I roll my eyes at him so he won't see just how much I'm beginning to appreciate his blunt eccentricity. "Just sit tight. I'll be right back."

There's an assortment of goodies in the main kitchen, so I head that way. It takes me a few minutes to prepare the tea. Some kind soul brought in homegrown lemons and left them in the kitchen for any interested parties. Another bag filled with tangerines with the stubby twigs still attached looks like it's been picked and rummaged through a few times already. I slice up a yellow citrus and give the dark drink healthy doses of natural vitamin-c.

With care, I veer out and retrace my steps, gingerly balancing the steaming mug filled nearly to the brim, greeting casual colleagues with a smile and "good morning" on the way.

"Ms. Evans? Is that you in such a rush?"

I glance at the call of my name and fight back a groan.

_Great, Andrew_.

Long legs stroll toward me in confident strides, all sociable disposition as though last week never happened. Dressed in sharp gray trousers, white shirt, and pinstriped tie, his flaxen hair flawlessly styled, he flashes his pearly-whites at me that almost has me blinking my eyes in defense at the glare.

Jerk.

I don't have time to reflect on my gut-irritation at seeing him. All I can think about is Caden slouched helplessly in his office, running a temperature and dying of thirst.

Manners have me briefly flashing him a, "Hi, Andrew," before resuming my measured dash back. I can feel him gawking at my back in utter surprise, probably not used to any females giving him the brush off.

That's not exactly what I'm doing, but oh well.

"Ashley."

I'm down the hall from the operations division and have no choice but to stop at the firm male call. Inhaling deeply, I half turn, trying not to spill the dark brew all over the nice carpet. "Yes, Andrew?"

Blonde brows raise. "What's your hurry?"

Resigned at the inevitable interruption, I sigh. "I'm just bringing this tea to Caden. Is there something you need?"

He stops a mere foot from me. "I'm sure your new boss can wait a few minutes." Again with the bright teeth. "How are you?"

_Impatient_. "Fine, thank you." I clear my throat, trying to repress the sudden anxiousness. "How are you?"

"Great."

We're standing in the vacant corridor for several awkward beats, and I fight back the urge to shuffle my feet with agitation. Blue eyes stare at me expectedly. Waiting for me to swoon at his feet? Did he really stop me just to ask how I was? Something inside me warn against that. I flick a glimpse past the foyer and into Caden's sanctuary, hoping he hasn't collapsed over his desk and half dying.

"Well." I force my gaze back to the other man. "I better get back to work."

Only Andrew is looking at me oddly. Jamming his hands into his trouser pockets, he sighs audibly, "Listen, Ashley. I'm sorry about..." He flicks a wrist before returning it to his pants. "You know. I was having an especially difficult day, and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have."

A difficult day? That's his excuse? I'm not someone who likes to hold a grudge, but I'm also not dumb enough to overlook common sense. I may choose to remain professional with him, but that's as far as it goes.

I'm not sure what to say to his apology, so I don't.

As though finally taking the hint, he sends me a regal nod. "I'll see you at ten, then."

The meeting! I'm supposed to cancel his ten o'clock with Caden. If I have the hand, I'd slap it against my forehead. "Actually, there's no need for you to stop by this morning. I'm sorry, but Caden isn't feeling well, and he asked me to rearrange his schedule, including your appointment with him."

Andrew doesn't bother to mask the scowl. "There's no need to make excuses for the ass. His flippant conduct with me is relatively transparent."

Not wanting him to think worse of Caden, I gaze at him earnestly. "He's fighting a fever, Andrew. He really is ill and shouldn't even be in the office." I lift up the mug, letting the aromatic scent of herbal tea fill the air between us. "Have you ever known Caden to drink anything other than coffee otherwise?"

Brightening, he straightens to his full height. "The indestructible Caden sick, huh? How...curious." Striking blue eyes gleam with grave interest. "Thanks for the tip, Ms. Evans. I owe you one."

Then I'm left staring at his back as he strides away purposefully.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Caden

The swelling pressure in my head is scarcely tolerable, and that's with my protesting system drugged up to maximum legal capacity. Actually, I don't know if my body is objecting to the multiple meds or the lack of coffee all day. All _long_ day. Ashley is determined to wean me from the blissful brew and ply me with some natural liquid shrubbery. That and with plain old boring water. She filled my cup so many times with leaves and water that all I need is direct sunlight and I'd be germinating out of my ass.

A muted gurgling sound has me frowning at the little gadget shooting mist at me from the corner of my desk. My assistant thought it would help with the congestion. Go figure. That woman spent half the day running around looking for peculiar things to help alleviate my stupid cold. She even went out to lunch and brought back chicken soup from who knew where. If I hadn't snatched the thing from her, she would have spoon-fed me like I was a tantrum throwing toddler to ensure I'd actually eat it.

_Pfft_. Chicken soup. I couldn't believe she was gullible enough to buy into such nonsensical superstition. As though a clucking poultry who can't even fly would have any sort of miraculous healing abilities.

I ate it anyway.

And fuck if it didn't hit the spot.

I look up at the faint knock on my open door, perking up as Ashley... I mean _Red_ approach with yet another steaming cup in her hand. Only for my shoulders to slump at the brewed foliage placed in front of me. Not a single grounded bean in there. She sure knows how to kick a man when he's down.

"Ashley," I begin, waiting for those big brown eyes to lift to mine. "Perhaps we haven't met?" Mockingly, I gesture around my office. "Caden Martini, COO and your boss, and I need coffee." The biting words lost some of their effect with the nasally, whiny voice, but I'm sure she gets the full force of my displeasure.

She only smiles, her pretty mouth widening on her pale, flawless face like a lure. "Caden is sick. Tea is good. Coffee when better," she tells me like our building is on Sesame Street. "Okay?" Before I can really protest, she has a soft, cool hand on my forehead again. "Hmm."

"What?" Does she feel the horns? Why is she making that face?

Maybe I need her to nurse me back to health for the rest of the week. That should do the trick.

The thought already has me feeling infinitely better.

"I'll be right back."

_Wait!_ "Where are you going?" _Can't you see I'm sick and need your attention?_

The placating expression on her is rather appealing. Maybe because she's looking down at me with such calm, her splendid lips tilting up adorably at the corners. "Caden, drink your tea," she says by way of an answer and scoots the vile potion closer to me. "I'll only be a minute."

Then I'm watching her hips gently swaying as she leaves my office, shapely legs above ugly ass sensible shoes.

I REALLY like that black skirt on her.

I glare at the steaming mug. Wrinkling my sore nose, I tug out a tissue from the nearby box and warily wipe it for the hundredth time today. "Red!" I call out, not really expecting her to respond. "I need more meds!"

"It's only been two hours since your last dose," she reminds me as she strolls in with yet another gadget in her hand. "Too much of that and you'll OD on cold remedy."

The wand she's carrying looks like something Cindy had use on her happy parts. "What's that?"

She holds it up to my face. "A thermometer. I need to take your temperature."

"Hell no." Jerking back, I glare at the vibrator-imposter. "You're not putting that in my mouth." The size of that thing is positively indecent.

I wouldn't mind taking her temperature with it.

Ashley bites back a snicker. "It goes on your forehead," she tells me and demonstrates by rolling the tip across my skin. "See. Done."

I eye it skeptically. "Did you find that in the first aid kit?"

Leveling the instrument to readable level, she peers at the digits. "Bought it at lunch," she murmurs absently. Then, "One hundred and one degrees. And that's after taking a fever reducer. You, Mr. Martini, are officially on the temporary disabled list."

The scowl is so fierce my face hurt from it. "I've got too much shit to do. I've worked through worse than this, Red. Don't doubt me on that."

She only shakes her head in exasperation at the sneeze that erupts like an exclamation mark. "You're not going to get any better by being here. Whatever you've got to do can wait a few days. At least it's Friday. You should go home and take it easy for the weekend."

"Are you insane? I can't even be out for one day, much less a few." It's my turn to shake my head only to snag another tissue at the last second. "Not happening," I reiterate over my obscured nose.

We both pause at the vague sound of her phone ringing from her desk.

"Hold that thought," she says and disappears for the second time in five minutes.

As much as I delight in watching her backside, I find I like her near me much better. I like bickering offhandedly with Ashley Evans, enjoys her genuinely affectionate and serene nature. She doesn't take offense easily, and I've even caught her giggling a few times at my stony remarks. No one finds me funny. Not a one would dare. And isn't that just another kick in my ass?

So I like Ashley Evans. So what? She's a likeable person. I appreciate her company, her uncomplicated wit, it doesn't mean I want to rip off her clothes to discover what's underneath those prissy outfits. This desk is made for work, not for her to sprawl on in abandon as I lick and taste every inch of that perfect fair skin. Or have her hot gaze on me with those beautiful amber eyes as I plow into that delectable body.

How long does it take to answer one phone call anyway?

Stupid meds are making me delirious.

"Caden?" Ashley is hovering just inside the door, looking not entirely comfortable as she fretfully laces her fingers in front of her. "That was Jamie in Finance. Carly's calling a meeting at four today about the R Hotels and Resorts project. She wants to know if you can make it. I told her I'd call her back, but you weren't feeling we—"

"I'll be there."

She frowns and huffs out a breath. "But, Caden, you need to rest. Who knows how long that meeting will take? You guys can be there for hours."

I wave off her concern. "Give me some credit, Red. If I can't handle a meeting with a little cold, I don't belong with MOI."

*****

I must be dying. Slowly. Painfully. Just the way I no doubt deserve.

All I want is a bed and about a pound of aspirin. It doesn't even have to be a comfortable bed. As long as I can be horizontal on a flat surface, I can make do with a contented smile on my face.

One good thing about this blasted cold: one look at me and everyone took a seat as far away from me as possible. That fucker Dorskey has been going on and on and on for an hour and a half now. Didn't Ashley say Carly wanted this meeting? Why is Dorskey the Donkey acting like it's his show and dance?

Did Ashley make a mistake? Maybe I misunderstood. No. That can't be possible. Even drugged up and croaking, I hear every word that comes out of Ashley's tantalizing mouth.

Maybe I shouldn't have downed those extra meds right before the meeting. When Ashley wasn't looking, I snagged another dose and tossed it back within seconds. I blame it on her. She wasn't patrolling me at the time. So really, what did she expect?

"Are we boring you, Caden?"

Dorskey's sneering at me with hardly suppressed glee. That's when I realize I've been dosing off with my eyes open.

"Only when you say the same inane thing over and over again... Oh wait, you are."

"If you'd rather take a nap," Dorskey scorns, "by all means, don't let an important meeting stop you."

_Bitch better shut his jackass mouth_.

A glimpse around the long marble table shows everyone is staring at me with incredulity clearly on their expression.

_This is unacceptable, Martini. Pull it together_.

Where's Ashley? I can use another one of her grassy drinks, one she delivers with her sweet, faintly shy smile.

Shit, that's right. No assistants in this meeting. And it's after five. She's long gone. Double shit.

Why didn't she wait for me?

"Caden, you sure you're up for this?"

It takes a second for the voice to register. It was Darren. Asking me a question. "Yeah." How come I can't feel my face? "Sure." What did he say?

God, I need a break. Or a shot. In an expresso. Have I ordered it already?

"—unprofessional. He's clearly not taking this seriously, Darren."

Why are these people yammering on about nothing?

A long male sigh. "It's getting late anyway. Carly, unless you have additional concerns you want to address, I suggest we adjourn this meeting."

Chairs scraping back. Bodies shuffling. Annoyed chattering breezing behind me.

Where the hell am I?

Gentle hands on my arms. My head jerks up from the table. "What's up?" Did I snooze out? I blink at the adorable brown-eyed girl staring at me with worry between her brows. I must be dreaming.

"Come on, Caden," the Ashley apparition murmurs sympathetically. "Let's get you home."

She's helping me up. "Meeting," I manage with a mutter. Fuck. I feel like my legs are going to fold right from under me.

"Meeting's over. I'm taking you home."

"My nose hurts."

"I know, Caden. You'll feel better once you get some rest. I promise."

That sounds like heaven. She's the best. I wish I can smell her. She always smells so nice. Like cucumbers and cookies.

"And more tea? That's good stuff. I like tea. Cucumbers and cookies."

There's a feminine chuckle. "I don't think they make that, but I'll be happy to make you more herbal tea."

She wraps a dainty arm around me, securing me against her petite, delicate body. That feels like heaven too. I drag along next to her, striving not to topple her as she leads me out of the building that houses MOI. My home away from home. Except it doesn't feel like home at this moment.

Home is wherever Ashley decides to take me.

I have enough cognitive function to make out where we are. The parking structure is deserted with only a few straggling cars here and there. I have a reserved spot only steps from the front of the building, but I'm guessing that's not where she's taking me when we completely bypass my Jag.

My head is so woozy I'm vaguely surprised I haven't fallen over. The short journey from office to car was never this straining before. I'm resting against the side of a white car as Ashley opens the passenger door.

"Here we go," she mumbles more to herself and eases me inside. It takes some maneuvering, since the vehicle has a cramped interior.

Then she's leaning across my lap, her warmth brushing over me like a caress. I want her to stay here with me like this, her delicious body close to me. I know there's a reason why I shouldn't. Shouldn't want to be near her. Shouldn't want to touch her. At this very second, as she adjusts ever so slightly to reach the seatbelt and snap it in place, I don't care what that reason might be.

The door latches, and within seconds she's next to me again. My lids are slacking over, obscuring me of the alluring view of the auburn hair hottie hovering over me.

"Caden, I don't know where you live."

I try to focus on the amazing amber eyes. "Um?"

Air skitters over my face. "I need you to stay awake for just a little longer so I can get you home." Small hands cupping my jaw. "Caden? Can you do that? What's your address?"

So tired...

Hands shaking me awake.

"—see your license?"

Don't know. "Wallet," I garble.

"Where's your wallet?"

"Pocket." Remarkably, my mouth pulls up into a stupid grin, though my amused eyes remain stubbornly shut as my head happily lulls against the smooth palms. "Ass."

"Oh boy."

CHAPTER NINE

Ashley

"Caden?"

He's out like a light.

Normally I'm not one to mutter to myself, but that seems to be the most effective outlet as Caden completely slumps back in the passenger seat of my little Honda. One second there was a silly smirk – one I've never seen on Caden Martini before – and the next he's passed out cold.

Inhaling acutely, I brace myself for the inevitable.

"I deserve a raise," I gripe to no one in particular and wedge a hand behind the unresponsive man sagged next to me. "I only need your address... oh God. You're in amazing shape... all warmth and firm muscles. This is so wrong on so many levels." Ignoring my tingling fingers and the skin standing on attention on my arm, I drive further in. _Oh man, that's his rear_. _Niiiice_. "I have to go in deep, boss." A slight swelling beneath expensive cloth and I know I've made contact. "... please don't fire me."

A choked groan but otherwise nothing.

Caught between two fingers, I extract the leather holder. Caden hasn't so much as twitched during the crazy ministration. I should list that unique skill on my resume. My chest deflates in relief as I flip the black fold open. Several credit cards, a few creased receipts... Displayed conveniently on one side is his driver license behind a clear pane. Pointedly ignoring the foil packet shoved behind the card, I enter his address in my phone's navigation app.

It's as I'm pulling out of the parking spot, my headlights slicing across the vacant lot, that I catch sight of the fair hair man leaning against a black luxury car, his fixed gaze tracking us as I carefully steer us into the night.

Why is Andrew still here?

The executive meeting let out nearly an hour ago. Being a Friday evening, everyone in the room filed out as soon as it ended, including Andrew. I knew this because I was in the stark office, lingering to see if Caden was all right. Besides, work isn't limited to regular office hours in Operations, so there's always something to do. When I heard grumbling voices from down the hall, I waited for the COO to return to retrieve his belongings before heading out himself. Five minutes. Ten. When fifteen minutes passed and there was no sight or sound from Caden, I made my way through the silent, darkened office to the conference room, my footsteps echoing back at me.

And found him hunched over, head resting on an arm on the table. Mildly snoring.

He looked so alone. There must have been at least a handful of people in that meeting, yet none of them even noticed Caden was left behind. My heart gave just a little, taking in the slow rise and fall of his back, his dark hair in disarray.

Most of all there was anger, incensed at the insensitive and uncaring lot that abandoned a sick colleague to his own devises, deserted him in an empty room. Even the lights died off when there was no motion after ten minutes.

People think Callous Caden Martini is some sort of raging tyrant who won't even borrow human emotions, much less possess them. No one sees that he's just a man looking to find his way. Perhaps I'm romanticizing his character, but I'm certain he's not a bad person.

He's just scared. Everyone tries to hide vulnerabilities. Caden is no different. He's just really, really good at it. Probably from years of practice, it takes very little effort for him to alienate others, pushing them away so they won't see just how raw he is.

It might be only a few weeks that I've been working for him, but it's obvious to me just how thoughtful and engaging he can be if given a chance.

Which makes what Andrew asked me to do that much more ridiculous.

There's no way Caden would do anything questionable when it comes to MOI. The company is his life. All he does is work. Even when he's running a high fever, he's slaving at the office.

The fact Caden and Andrew are like water and oil is just more reason for me to tell Andrew to go to hell with his scheming. It might have taken me a while, but I now suspect Andrew has his own agenda, and Caden being who he is, he doesn't hesitate to call him on it. He used me to dig into Caden's life. Caden has ruthlessly demonstrated he can outwit, out work, and out vote the marketing director without half trying. Why wouldn't Andrew despise him?

If Caden finds out just how I ended up being his temporary assistant, he would loathe me just as much as he does Andrew. Possibly even more.

There's an ache that I won't name at the thought of the betrayal he would surely believe. I can't worry about that. Not when my top priority right now is to get him home and into bed.

He might not talk about it, but I have a feeling he has no one to take care of him.

When my phone tells me I've reached my destination, I easily find a spot to park on the quiet street. I'm taken aback by the unassuming neighborhood, expecting Caden to live in the ritzy, pompous part of the beach city. Instead I'm enchanted with the quaint, two-story home in a row of other colorful, charming houses.

There's a light on inside the house.

For some reason, I thought he lives alone. Uncertain, I glance at the slumbering man, not sure what to do. What if his soon-to-be ex-wife is in there? Or worse, another woman. Like the hussy Cindy Allegore.

Shutting off the engine, I attempt to wake the man, hoping he can take himself home without my help. Unease shivers down my spine. The last thing I want is to have a confrontation with Marianne Martini or Cindy Allegore.

I'm not sure I can handle coming face to face with the women in his life. I'm only his assistant, I remind myself dejectedly. I have no place here.

The thought is a burn in my chest.

When he doesn't so much as stir, I sigh in resignation and climb out of the car. Maybe I should just ring the doorbell and explain to whoever opens the door. I can't very well sit in the car until he decides to come back to this world. At least I'd get some help with a man who easily outweighs me by a hundred pounds.

With heavy steps, I make my way to the front door. I'm proud of myself for only hesitating a beat before lifting my hand and pressing on the lighted button. A biting ocean breeze has me shuddering in my thin work clothes, and I push at the summon again, barely suppressing the urge to fidget from one restless foot to the other.

The patio light flicks on seconds before the door swings open. The last thing I expect is to find myself facing a man at the other side of the threshold.

I blink. Nearly rub my eyes in disbelief.

_Wow_. What a man.

Perfectly formed lips stretch over eye-catching features carved with nothing short of love. And lust.

"Hello, there."

These things just don't happen to me. "Hi." _Stop squeaking, Ash!_ "Um..."

Knowing amusement dances over the stunning face. "If you're looking for Caden, he's not here."

I clear my throat. "Actually, Caden is in the car." I gesture vaguely behind me without removing my admiring gaze from the flawless male specimen. Seriously, how can anyone keep from gawking at him in absolute admiration? "He's asleep."

Wheat-color brows hike up. "He's sleeping?" He peeks over my shoulder. "Huh. Okay, well... do you want to leave him there?"

"Excuse me?"

He chuckles at his own joke. "I'm just pulling your leg." He holds out a hand. "I'm Daniel Cray, Caden's brother."

Is my palm sweaty? Oh well, too late to do anything about it. I'm sure he's used to it anyway.

My hand meets his in a brief clasp. "Ashley Evans."

Hazel eyes dip to take in all of me, from my simple pink button blouse to the black skirt it's mercilessly tucked into, to my serviceable low black heels. Realizing how that must have come off, he looks only marginally contrite. "Forgive me for being so forward, but you're not Caden's usual type."

Of course not. Considering my breasts are real and my hair isn't bleached, I'm only flattered Caden remembers my name occasionally. "We work together," I explain, not wanting him to hear the sullenness I'm suddenly battling at the reminder. "I'm his assistant. Interim assistant." Who cares if Caden prefers the fake Barbies? He's my boss. Nothing else.

I might have to tattoo that somewhere as a reminder.

"Let's get our boy then, Ashley Evans, interim assistant."

_Boy_?

Leading the Adonis to my car, I unfasten the door, ducking inside to undo the seatbelt from Caden. There's not even a flicker of an eyelash from the man. If my hand isn't propping up a slack shoulder, he would tumble sideways out of the vehicle.

With Daniel on one side and me on the other, we lug and clamber Caden to the house. Drowsy eyes pry open, a goofy grin explodes, before promptly knocking out again as we set him down on the firm sofa.

"This can't possibly be in your job description," Daniel observes dryly, giving me an odd look.

A shoulder bobs. "He required help. I was there and happy to lend a hand." How do I explain that I can't possibly leave Caden to fend for himself? He... needs me. No, but that's not true. Caden doesn't need anyone. Least of all, me. "He has a fever, but I'm pretty sure he guzzled more cold remedy then was recommended, so he should probably lay off it." My worry gaze lowers to the man in question. "He's been out of it for a while. Probably for the best."

"You're right about that. He doesn't sleep, you know." When my eyes meet his, Daniel nods down at his brother. "Not that he tells me anything, but it's pretty obvious."

"You live here? With Caden?"

He doesn't respond right away, most likely thinking of a polite way to tell me to mind my own business. "No."

Neither one of us speaks for a few minutes. I'm not a guest, uninvited or otherwise. He's no doubt wondering why I'm here, watching his brother snooze.

On an exhale, I capture one of the throw pillows, fluffing it automatically before leaning over Caden. "Let's get you more comfortable," I murmur to Sleeping Beauty. With as much care as I can manage, I gingerly elevate his head just enough to slip the pillow beneath it before returning him in place.

God, his hair is so soft.

Cobalt eyes flutter open inches from mine, direct and arresting. He stares at me as though he hadn't just spent the last hour in deep slumber. I don't move. I can't. I'm frozen by the silent intensity of his gaze, the way it seems to be taking me in, holding it there. I watch his eyes darken, the air bottoming out of my lungs, my pulse pounding like I'm about to plunge down in a hurtling rollercoaster.

"Ashley."

My name is just a breath on his lips. I have this mad urge to wrap my arms tightly around him and never let go. To have our hearts press snugly together, beating the same rhythms.

"Cade? You all right, man?"

At the voice, the face below me morphs into annoyance. For a moment I'd forgotten about Daniel. Slowly, I straighten to a sitting position at the edge of the sofa, but I don't stop to think about what I'm doing as I brush back the dark hair at his temple.

I smile down at him, hesitant but glad he appears to be more himself. "Hey," I whisper.

"You're here." The voice is soft and rusty.

His house. I'm in Caden Martini's home. And I don't want to leave. "Yeah." Of its own accord, a hand brushes down the curve of his solid shoulder. I can't seem to stop touching him. "How are you feeling?"

"Better with you here."

Pleasure skitters up my body to dance around my happy heart. The tentative smile blooms. "Really?"

"Yes. I can use some coffee."

The corners of my mouth plummet. I can feel my blood pressure rise steeply as I hold back a glower. He's only glad I'm here so I can serve him?

Jerk!

"Red." His lips twitch. "You're beautiful when you're flushed."

And just like that, the rush to the head is for an entirely different reason. _He thinks I'm beautiful._

A not so discreet throat clearing draws both of our attention. Daniel is eying us with speculation and a lot of confounded interest.

Remembering myself, I reluctantly push to my feet, feeling Caden's unnerving gaze on me the entire time. "It's getting late," I announce to both men. "I better get going. I hope you feel better, Caden. Please get some rest."

CHAPTER TEN

Caden

With more effort than I'd like to admit, I push to a sitting position and rake back my hair. Every molecule in me is protesting at the gestures, but I ignore all of them. "Don't be ridiculous. I rested. Now I'm fine." Ashley is only a foot from me but entirely way too close to Daniel. I don't like it. I wouldn't trust him with my shoes, much less with Ashley. I slant Daniel an irritated face. "What are you doing here?"

He folds his arms against his chest, seemingly unaffected by my frosty greeting. "Evidently helping poor Ashley with you. I can't quite say it's my idea of a good time on a Friday night."

"So leave."

Ashley's big brown eyes widen even more. One would think she'd be used to my blunt mannerisms by now.

"Caden," she admonishes. "That wasn't very nice. I couldn't have gotten you inside without Daniel's assistance."

_Nice_? Is she kidding me? I thought I was the one on drugs. "I'm sure he'll live," I offer wryly. "Now get the fuck out of my house," I order Daniel.

This time Ashley's chin slacks in astonishment. "Oh my God. You speak to your brother that way?"

If looks can kill... "He's not my brother."

Her head swivels to the other man in question.

He shrugs. "Brother. Stepbrother. Whatever."

"I told you to forget I exist," I bite out through my teeth. "And I'll return the favor." How can this guy stand in my home – and with Ashley! – and pretend like all's well? "I don't need to remind you. You know your way out, Cray."

"Come on, man. You can't be mad at me for the rest of your life. It's been two years!"

He clearly has a death wish. "There's a difference between mad and disgust. Not to mention respect, of which I hold zero percentage of stock for you."

"Cade, you really going to go there?" he asked incredulously. "It was one time, bro. It wasn't even that good."

Ashley's huge gaze bounces from him to me.

Deliberately, I get to my feet and step between him and Ashley. "Shut your shitty mouth and keep it shut. I've no interest in any new excuses you recently conjured up in your spare time. I told you to leave." I make sure my eyes reflect the hard truth of my next words. "You're not welcome here."

Jaw clenched tight, he eyes me with disdain. For a tense second, I thought I'd have to physically remove him from the premises. To my surprise and relief, he whirls around without another word and stomps out of the front door.

I stay where I am, not sure what to do next. All I know is my body is aching like a bitch, and waking up from a fleeting coma to find Daniel in the same room with Ashley didn't help.

"You sure have a way with people."

"Don't you start on me," I tell her lightly as I turn. "You're lucky I'm sick, or I can't guarantee what I'd do with you."

She mock trembles. "Oh, big, bad Caden is going to sneeze on me. I better behave." Pretty eyes roll. "Come on, let me help you get to bed."

Now _that_ sounds like a fantastic idea and not because I'm thinking of rest. Brows draw as a sudden thought occurs to me. "How did we get here? Wasn't I supposed to be in a meeting?"

"You were. It ended, and you decided to get to know the conference table better by sleeping with it."

"I always did like those legs."

There's a mock gasp, and Ashley gawks at me in embellished shock. "Did you just make a joke?"

"It's the meds," I confess, fighting back amusement. "I think I'm dying, Red. You better tuck me in."

Muttering under her breath but loud enough for me to catch _sick men are such babies_ , she shakes her head in exasperation. "Where's your bedroom?"

No sweeter words have ever come out of her tempting mouth. I tip my head in the general direction. "Down that hall, last room on the right."

I stay in place as she veers toward the master suite, only to swerve back around when she realizes I'm not right at her heels. "What's wrong?"

Holding out my arms, my shoulders sag in faux defeat. "So weak..."

"Oh! Of course." Feminine legs rush back, all distress and contrite. She secures an unexpectedly strong arm around me, a delicate hand on my chest. "Here, put your arm around me."

The urge to chuckle at her troubled air is barely suppressed as I gladly do what she instructed. I would blissfully wrap my arm around her in sickness and in health, any day of the week. Besides, she's just too adorable for me to resist. "Thanks for being here," I tell her softly as she carefully walks me down the hall. "Hands down, the best assistant I've ever had."

For some reason she stiffens at my words, the arm around me going rigid. She doesn't respond to what I meant as an accolade, and I'm left wondering if I somehow offended her.

Do I care that I might have insulted her?

I consider it, fleetingly thinking about all the people I slight on a daily basis, some unintentionally, others not so much. Do I give a shit? Hell no. With Ashley, I'm taken aback when the answer is a resounding _yes_.

Her naiveté and pure heart intrigue me. I've never meant anyone like her. Perhaps in the surface, with a personal agenda hidden, someone might occasionally go out of the way to please me, but with Ashley, what you see is what you get. What I get is a lot of delicate thoughtfulness and infinite amount of patience. I won't deny I'm an asshole, which means she deserves a medal for being able to make me happy.

To top it off, she hasn't complained to HR yet.

She's quiet on the short trek to the bedroom. Normally I would prefer it. There are only a few things worse than a yammering female – that's a cheating or selfish one. Nothing normal about our current situation, though. None of my previous assistants had been to my home, much less put me to bed. Ashley seems to be the exception to all the rules.

I feel the need to hear her voice. Insane, I know. There's only one way to get her going.

"I'm not paying you overtime for this, you know," I tell her none too gently as she vigilantly releases me to pull back the bedspread. "And if you think you're getting an extra day off, you've been sniffing at the glue again."

Her hands stilled in mid motion. I wait for some sort of reaction, a _go to hell_ , an eye roll, an offhanded reassurance, or even a giggle.

Nothing.

It's unlike her. She always has something to say.

"Ashley?"

Seeming to snap out of it, she pats the pillow once before politely turning to me. "I'll see you on Monday. Goodnight, Caden."

She leaves me. Just like that.

Funny, I didn't figure her for the moody type.

*****

Ashley

God, I'm such an idiot.

The biggest idiot this side of the country. Certainly the biggest at MOI.

_Hands down, the best assistant I've ever had_.

Of course, I'm only his assistant – the best – but still an assistant. Does he feel the need to remind me? Is he able to sense just how pathetic I am, driveling over him with leaping hearts in my eyes?

There were a few times I thought he might, if only a little bit, begin to see me differently. The way his gaze lingered on me just a tad longer than customary. The comments he made with an obvious effort for my attention. How he was constantly calling me into his office just to make a casual observation like he just wanted to chat with me.

Ducking into the car, I mechanically pull away from Caden's street. Without giving myself a chance to change my mind, I call up my cousin.

"Heya," he answers on the second ring accompanied by the sound of thumping beats and laughter in the backdrop.

"I'm an idiot," I wail without reserve in the confines of my Honda. "There's no cure for this kind of idiocy, Bryan. I might as well slap a permanent label on my forehead!"

"Slow down, girlie." There's audible inhales and exhales like he's walking. The upbeat background noise fades further with each second. "What are you talking about?"

I sniff. "What else? A man." I waver but decide to go with it. "At the office."

There's a pause. "Did you get fired?"

I roll my eyes. Why isn't he following the conversation? "No. Nothing like that. "

"Then what's this about?"

"This man at work. I'm crushing on him royally."

"Uh." His voice perks up appreciatively. "Do tell."

"There's a problem." Here goes nothing. "It's Caden Martini."

Dead silence. Then, "Isn't he the COO or something?"

"And my new boss." Hesitating, I chew on my lip. I went this far, I might as well spill. "I... I don't know. I kind of like him. But he doesn't see me that way."

Are there crickets in my car?

"Okay, Ash. Listen to me. And I mean listen to me carefully. One, you're not in high school anymore. Two, have you lost your mind? Are you hoping to get fired?"

"Wh—"

"I said listen to me," he interjects before I can even utter a thought. "Do not. I repeat, do not. Go. There."

The air deflates out of me, a dejected, lost balloon. Bryan has always been straight with me. Well, _straight_ on a gay man. Isn't that why I'm talking to him about this? Somewhere deep down inside, I need to hear this. He's the most well versed guy when it comes to matters of the heart. And men. "I know," I admit reluctantly. "Not only does he not feel the same, but he's still married."

Now there's indignant sputtering at the other end of the phone. I think I prefer the silence.

"And he cheated on his soon to be ex-wife," I add to the vexed curses flying out of my phone.

Is my cousin having a heart attack over there?

"Ashley. For the love of chocolates and dildos... you can't. You seriously can't. You're either going to get your heart torn right out of your chest, or you're going to get canned. Neither one of those options are good."

"It's just... he makes me _feel_ , Bry. I look forward to waking up every morning knowing I'll see him breezing into the office in a couple of hours. When he's near my heart pumps so fast. It makes me feel alive. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, unfortunately, I know exactly what you mean." A long, suffering exhale. "Sweetheart, I know it's hard, but you cannot engage. Not only is he your boss, but he's a cheating coward, and you know how I feel about that. Once a cheater, always a cheater. He's no good for you, Ash. You deserve more than that. Stay away from him."

"How am I going to do that? I have to see him every day. It's going to be torture."

"Wasn't this supposed to be a temp gig? You're going back to corporate after this, right?"

The reminder dampens my mood even more. "I'm supposed to be back in my regular position in three months." That seems so brief, yet so far away.

"It's only a few months. Just be professional. Don't bake him cookies or anything else. Don't run around catering to his every whim. Do your job. That's it. If you find yourself alone with him, stick to business and make it quick. Exit as soon as possible. Got it?"

_Geez, is that all?_ The manual makes it sound so straightforward.

Too bad there's no guide on how to barricade your heart.

"Got it."

"The key is to keep yourself busy. That way, you won't have time to think about him – and I know you, every minute that you can spare, you'll be mentally stalking the dude."

"That's not true!"

"You saying I'm lying?" he challenges sassily.

I hate it when he's right. "God, it's going to be so awkward."

"Not if you don't make a big deal out of it," he chides. "Hey, why don't we meet up Monday night? We'll have a drink and get your mind off that two-timing boss of yours."

Pouting isn't going to make me feel better, but a drink just might. "That sounds good."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Caden

She's acting weird. I don't mean Ashley-weird, I mean weird even for Ashley.

Granted, it is Monday morning, and most people are not themselves the first day of the workweek, but she's always been a cheerful, agreeable person regardless of the time of day or the day of the week. How is it a month of working together I discover another side of her?

The side that refuses to look me in the eyes for more than a fleeting, clumsy glimpse, or linger near me for any length of time other than what's necessary to get the work done. First thing this morning she inquired about my health. After I assured her I was mostly well, she gave me a rundown of my day's schedule. When I adjusted my body in the chair to be more comfortable, she actually flinched like she was bracing herself for a sudden attack.

Is it because of last Friday? Did she have a bad weekend? Is it that time of the month?

What happened after she left my home?

The reminder of what happened last week sends pleasant warmth through my frigid system. God, she drove me home. Drove me crazy with her soft hair brushing over my cheek as she slipped a pillow under me. Little Ashley Evans. Sweet Red. She'd smile at a mannequin at a storefront, that's how adorable she is. There's not a malicious bone in her body. I'm certain of it.

I've never met any woman like her. Honest, hardworking, genuine. Beautiful. Every expression, every gesture comes from the heart, and it's a heart of pure gold.

The way she took care of me, nurtured me while I was nearly delusional. No one had ever done that for me, not unless they were paid to take care of me.

Wait... but isn't she being paid to take care of me?

No. Not like that. That was way above and beyond.

Maybe she's not feeling well. Maybe I got her sick.

Come to think of it, she started acting strange after I told her she was the best assistant I ever had. She clamed up after that and hasn't been herself since. Here I thought it was a compliment, but did I somehow screw up?

Shit, women are so confusing.

The distracted tap-tap-tap of my pen against the desk surface is a reminder that my work mind is shot to hell. How can it not be when every other second I'm glancing through the glass wall, wondering what that perplexing woman is doing just a few feet outside of my office?

I know she's going through my emails. Ever since I gave her that impromptu lecture on keeping it under some semblance of control, the thing has been remarkably manageable. I didn't even think that would be possible before Ashley landed in my office.

Why is she acting odd?

_Tap-tap-tap_.

This is ridiculous. _Just talk to her, Martini_.

Do I really want to know what's on her mind?

"Red!"

Was that a fucking sigh?

Within seconds she's in my office, standing just inside the door and a good fifteen feet from me. "Yes, Caden?" she responds to a blank point just over my right shoulder.

Uh... What do I say? "Where's my lunch meeting again?" _Coward!_

"At Fallas." Fingers fiddle with the side of her skirt. Delicate clearing of throat. "Reservation is for noon."

Nothing after that. It's as if she's not even breathing, it's so outlandishly silent in my office. This from the woman so used to chattering nonstop. Her gaze flicks down to me momentarily, only to swerve away again as though afraid my eyes would turn her to crumbling stone.

When I don't offer anything further, she simply dips her head, turns, and practically runs off, her little sensible shoes almost leaving a trail of smoke as they rush over the carpet.

What the hell...

I give her just enough time to get back to her desk. Then, pressing on the intercom on my desk, I order into it, "Cancel my lunch meeting."

There's a delay before she responds, "Yes, sir."

My finger lifts from the button only to jab on it an instant later. "Ashley."

"Yes, Caden?"

"On second thought, cancel my lunch meeting with Bethany Donaldson but keep the reservation."

"Will do. Should I change the reservation to table for one?"

"No." I glance up to the glass wall, though I can only see her back as she leans over the intercom waiting for my instructions. "Still two. I'll be taking my assistant to Fallas."

It takes her a second.

Her head whips around as her round, stupefied gaze collides with mine.

*****

"I've never been here before."

Those were the first words she said to me in the last ten minutes, and they were so tepid we might as well be two outsiders in a cold lobby waiting for the same elevator... and not waiting to fuck in there either.

Did I do something wrong?

_Well, there's a shocker_.

"Fish is good." _Brilliant insight, Martini. Don't forget to comment on the benign water too_. I hear the trickle as the server pours sparkling mineral water into our glasses, but I don't spare him my attention. I only have it for the woman seated across the white cloth table from me. "Crab salad is exceptional, if you're into that sort of thing."

She was instinctively watching our glasses fill, but to my wonder, her lips twitch and she glances up at me. "That sort of thing? You mean, greens?"

I like that smile. Like it more than I should. "Yeah." I didn't know I was doing it until I feel it stretch my lips, feel the same smile take over my face. "Greens. Vegetables. Twigs sprouting off moist dirt."

"They're not so bad, you know. You should try it some time. You might even like it."

"You're so certain I haven't?"

She tilts her adorable head, her big, pretty eyes dancing with the tease. "By that look on your face, I bet you haven't lifted a leaf in a long time."

"Not unless it was to piss at the root."

A giggle bursts out before a pale hand shoots up to smother it back, but that can't suppress her shoulders from shaking as she casts a scandalized look at the determinedly passive server. All proper waiter manner, he tips his chin before retreating, leaving the half empty bottle on the table.

"I think I'll have the fish."

I don't even care that she can see my gaze riveted on her. "Good choice."

There's that dazzling smile again. How did I ever think she wasn't stunning?

To my dismay her expression morphs as though something just occurred to her and she abruptly straightens as though yanked by a taut string. In the blink of an eye she physically and wordlessly put space between us.

"Thanks for inviting me," she says formally, reminding me this is assistant to COO. "I wasn't expecting this."

What just happened?

I don't like what she's doing, but I shrug off her gratitude. "It's the least I can do, considering what you did for me on Friday."

Those cute auburn brows pull together in confusion. "What did I do?" Then her face clears. "Oh, you mean taking you home." She waves a hand. "That was nothing. Anyone would've done that."

I'm shaking my head. I have a feeling she really believed what she said. "I hate to burst your bubble, but that would be a big, fat no. Most people would rather roll me down a cliff than to go out of their way for me, much less what you did."

It's her turn to shake her head. "I refuse to believe that's true. What about your family? Even... Mrs. Martini. I'm sure if she knew you were sick, she would've been there in a heartbeat."

"You're right about that. She'd be the first in line to shove me down that cliff."

Crestfallen. That's the only way to describe her expression as she searches mine and sees the unforgiving truth, and I can tell the brutal confession devastates her romantic sensibilities. She hesitates for a beat. "Caden... what happened between you and Mrs. Martini? I know that's a very personal question, and I have no place to even wonder. I just... it's hard for me to fathom two people who must had loved each other enough at one point to want to share a life, only to end up despising one another a few years later. I just...I don't get it."

She looks away, embarrassed or self-conscious or both, I'm not sure.

It was the same question I'd asked myself over and over for a long time, only there was no apparent answer. Had I somehow driven Marianne away? Was I not paying her enough attention, not giving her what she needed, so she sought it elsewhere? Was I working too much, had too many demands?

After many, many long nights obsessing over the deterioration of our short marriage, I still don't have a ready answer.

Do I even want to talk about it? It's not a normal lunchtime conversation with someone from the office, and Ashley was right in that it is deeply personal.

Despite the impropriety, the possibly unfavorable conclusion she might arrive, for whatever reason, I find I want her to know.

I'm saved from having to provide an immediate response when the server returns to take our order. I watch Ashley chat with the older man, her lips curving naturally as she graciously speaks to a stranger she's never met. It's as though her authentic, gentle soul draws anyone she encounters, and I'm no exception.

Handing over the menu, I order the chicken, never taking my gaze off the enchanting woman.

"I thought at the time Marianne was what I wanted. I was twenty-six, not too young, but not wise enough, evidently. She was gorgeous, socially savvy, and ambitious," I begin as though we were never interrupted. That's the only way to get this out. "Her father's in politics. Nothing major, but prominent enough to work in her favor. From all appearances, we fit well together, and I was under the impression we wanted the same things in life." I paused for a taste of water, feeling Ashley's wide, innocent eyes steady on me. "We were about two years into our marriage when I caught her with Daniel. Admittedly, there was already a strain between us."

Her pretty lips part in astonishment. "Daniel? Your brother?"

"Stepbrother."

"And they were—"

"He was feeding her. With his dick."

"Caden." Lashes blink, shocked. "I'm so sorry."

I don't normally indulge during working hours, but right now I'm wishing I'd ordered something stronger than the sparkling water. Dismissing the whole sordid topic, I deliberately reject her empathy. "It was a long time ago."

"It hurt you."

Like a fucking limp was sawed off. "At the time, yes." No point in denying it. In retrospect, it was more the fact that my own family would do something like that to me. "Now I just want her out of my life."

Her gaze drops, lingering on the blunt fingers dragging over the condensation on my glass before veering up again. "Do you still love her?"

At this I bark out a laugh. It's not bitterness so much as startled incredulity. "I stopped loving her the moment I saw her with Daniel. Hell, maybe even before that. I can't really say for certain at this point. I don't wish her ill. I just want to move on with life without this hanging over my head."

Fair, slim fingers clasp mine atop the table, squeezing them gently. "You will."

I stare at those fragile fingers. She has exquisite hands. Dainty but strong, the nails short with a light coat of pale pink polish with a tiny, almost imperceptible birthmark at the base of her thumb. I take my time considering it, running my own thumb over it a few times. Her hand is warm, but I feel her shiver once as my fingers tighten on hers.

Knowing this is probably a _very_ bad idea, my gaze meets hers over the expanse of our outstretched arms. Her lips are parted for an entirely different reason than a few moments ago, the pulse practically knocking against her neck. I feel my own heartbeats dancing with hers, the room heavy in the suddenly too small space with too many bodies.

I want her alone. Just the two of us. Take her away from this overly loud restaurant and far, far away from MOI, from a parasitic ex-wife and a spineless stepbrother or anyone else who might get in the way.

My eyes are riveted to those tempting, puffy lips – the ones I want to taste so badly the tip of my tongue is nearly fighting for it in my mouth – as they soundlessly form one word.

_Caden_.

I _love_ my name on her lips.

Of its own accord, my other hand reaches out, seeking hers. I watch that succulent mouth suck in a breath as though preparing to leap off, then both her hands are in mine.

Where they belong.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ashley

My heart is pounding so fast.

I know it's silly. It's just Caden.

Caden with a sure hand on my back as we head out of the restaurant. Caden's masculine scent engulfing me when he opens the passenger car door for me. Caden looking at me like I'm some precious treasure he just discovered and can't wait to take home.

_God, don't let me pass out_.

"Thank you for lunch," I say as soon as he situates in the car before pulling into traffic in hopes of diverting my focus from my overwhelming nerves. I'm rather proud I sound relatively normal and not as breathless as I feel. "You were right about the fish."

He doesn't take his eyes off the road, but his hand reaches out, takes mine again. "You're welcome."

I can feel that touch all the way down to my shoes. His hand is so big, completely dwarfing mine. He's been through so much with his ex-wife – that's how I think of her, not as his wife \- yet he didn't speak cruelly of her, only wishing for closure to their previous union. He can be so gruff on the surface, so coarse, yet I've seen a different side of him, one I suspect even he thinks he doesn't have.

Even his profile is masculine. "Caden?"

Leisurely, a smile blooms.

"Say that again."

"What?"

"My name."

I can't help matching my expression with his. "Caden."

"Ashley."

Though he's diligent with his driving, I make a face at him without thinking twice about provoking him. "What? No _Red_? Or _Temp_?" I snort at the memory, feigning aggravation. "Or my personal favorite, _You_."

He laughs. Actually laughs, when I've only heard him chuckle once.

"When we're alone, _Ashley_ , I'm going to kiss you."

Air sticks in my throat, swelling my heart. Only to have it galloping a million miles a second, ready to burst out of my chest.

I want him to.

Yes, I really, really want him to.

The road speeds by, tires chasing the pavement. Yellowing trees flutter in the mild fall breeze as we sail by. Pedestrians on crosswalks. Dogs on a leash. Colorful, trendy storefronts beckoning for attention. Still I can't tear my captivated gaze from him.

"We're alone now."

For the first time since he started driving, he rips his attention from the street, eyes so fiercely blue on me I nearly melt on the leather seat. Then I feel my center shift, seatbelt anchoring me in place, the car turning swiftly before being thrown into park.

I don't know who moved first. One minute I'm staring at the ferocious heat of his gaze, the next his warm, eager lips are on mine, one big hand at the side of my neck.

I've never met anyone like Caden. I've positively never kissed anyone like him.

My mind, my thoughts, my heart are sucked into him, and he's taking them all. Demanding for them. He's giving me his in return, putting his all into it. No practiced seduction. None of the finesse. It's just us.

My arm goes up, pulling him closer, needing more. Vaguely in the mindless fog, I hear a click and my body is unrestrained. Another hand on my back, gently soothing me even when there's no holds barred.

I can't seem to get close enough, craving so much to ease the ache throbbing inside me. The side console is biting into my hip and I shift, only to have Caden ease away to bury his nose in my neck. His hot breath whooshes out uninhibited against my skin, like a heartbeat in answer to my dashing pulse.

There isn't enough oxygen in the car. Surely we must be fogging up the windows. My chest is hammering, hurtling for its own rescue. His beat against mine, frantic for something we don't quite reach. And I know that if he ever stops doing what he just did, ever stops looking at me the way he has for the last hour, I would never breathe the same again.

"Caden," I murmur just to hear his name.

The large, masculine hand on my neck isn't quite steady. That's the most staggering realization of all.

That hand slips lower, down my shoulder but doesn't stop there. Lightly, carefully, it smooths across the collar of my shirt to the rapid rise and fall of my chest just above the swell of my left breast. I don't try to calm it but want him to know how much he affects me.

"You get this way," he starts, running his fingers back and forth over my blouse, "without any coffee?"

That was such a Caden thing to say that I have to laugh. "Only tea."

I can feel the face he's making against my neck. "Don't remind me."

"It's good," I insist lazily, relishing the fact he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to detach from me.

"Didn't say it wasn't."

On a whim, I lift a hand to cover the one still idly over my heart. "Are you trying to cop a feel?" I ask without much heat.

"Would you let me?"

"I don't know. We are in public. In a car, but public nonetheless. I haven't made out in a car since I was seventeen."

Reluctantly, he raises his head to look at me. "Who was the boy?"

I shrug, missing his warmth already. "His name was Bannon Abagail."

Dark eyebrows shoot up. "You made out with a boy named _Bannon_?"

"In my defense, he was really cute."

"He'd have to be with a name like _Bannon_."

Mildly, I slant him a reproachful look. "Be nice."

At this he chuckles, lightly pinching my chin before straightening fully.

"Only you," he murmurs more to himself than to me before scanning our surrounding, at the bustling shops and people strolling from and to their car. "Let's get out of here before someone calls the cops on us."

Not that I want to hang out at some random shopping center parking lot, but the thought of returning back to the office where I have to be mindful of every word around Caden lest someone gets suspicious isn't worth looking forward to. Buckling back in – while we were all over each other Caden must have released the straps - I say nothing as he casually maneuvers us back into the lunchtime traffic.

With each mile we get closer to MOI, my apprehension strengthens. Would others notice something off between me and my boss? What if some tactless yet intuitive soul comes right out and asks? Would I be shrewd enough to deflect the question?

And as I watch us pull into the parking structure and slip into the reserved spot with still no word from the pensive man next to me, I can't help but wonder if he's already regretting what happened between us. Not that it was much, but it was beyond what I ever thought would happen.

Don't make a big deal out of it, no matter how much that would hurt.

With a jab of a finger, the car is switched off. Discomfited silence blankets as we both stare out the windshield at nothing while the past hour kaleidoscopes in my head at once.

"Do you want—"

"Ashley, this th—"

Just as we spoke at the same time, our mouths slam shut at the identical moment.

Caden turns to me, his blue eyes calm and twinkling with something new, something I'd never seen in him. He flashes an encouraging smile. "You first."

The anxiety overtakes me for a beat and I glance away. I'm not sophisticated like Marianne Martini, not coy like Cindy Allegore. I wouldn't begin to know how to play this with someone like Caden, who is certainly used to women with much more experience when it comes to men.

Taking a bracing breath, I go with the safest thing. "I think we should be sensible." I wait for some sort of reaction, a response, preferably reassurance, but all Caden does is stare at me mutely. "What happened just now... we can't have anyone suspecting. It would jeopardize both our positions with MOI. That's the last thing I want."

Daring a glimpse, I find myself looking at his inert profile, his thoughts unreadable as he gazes at the white sign posted on the wall. _Reserved for Caden Martini_. I'm sure he isn't taking in the sign that he's seen every day.

"I see," he finally lets out after what felt like a full five minutes of ticking silence.

I gnaw at my lip. "Caden. You're my boss and I don't... I don't think it's a good idea. And..." Again my eyes veer away, the words dying on my lips.

"And what?" he presses, sparing me a glance. His voice is several degrees cooler than ten minutes ago. "You might as well get it out."

"And you're still married."

His nose suck in like he's trying to hoard the air, his jaw tight as though fighting back what he really wants to say. "Is that it?"

That was the COO voice. More accurately, the Callous Caden voice.

"Caden." God, this sucks. Whatever it was I was desperately trying to convey, it was clearly not being heard the way I meant. "I don't want to be the other woman, the cliché office affair, but I want to be with you," I blurt out. "So much. I just don't want you to get in trouble."

He steals a few seconds to process that, visibly softening inch by slow inch. "Let me worry about that."

I shake my head. "We only have three months left before Erin Jimenez comes back from maternity leave, then I'm back with Corporate Compliance. We'll still work for the same company, but at least you wouldn't be my boss anymore."

"So, what? You want to pretend like we can't stand each other in the meantime?"

Lifting a shoulder, I look at him sheepishly. "I'm not that good of an actress."

"I don't want you to act at all, Ashley." He sighs. "I'm not suggesting we throw caution to the wind and get naked in my office – though that has its own merit – but I have no interest in feigning detachment either. It wouldn't suit either of us." This time when his gaze meets mine, it's deep and searching. "Can you honestly tell me you don't want me to be near you?" His hand reaches up, wide palm at the side of my neck. His thumb sweeps back and forth over the rapidly battering pulse. "To touch you?"

_He did hoard all the air_. Surely that's the reason why I can't seem to take in enough.

There has to be a reasonable compromise between the inevitable and the practical. I really don't want Caden to violate MOI's no fraternizing policy. COO or not, the board would not sit back and allow it. Maybe _because_ Caden is the COO, the board members would demand a strict adherence to the policy. If they found out he got thoroughly friendly with his assistant, they wouldn't hesitate to terminate me and most likely force Caden to step down from his position.

Even now, if anyone happens by and catches Caden's hand intimately on my neck in the company parking structure, spiteful suspicion about us would blaze like destructive wildfire.

As though reading my thoughts, his hand drops to the center console.

"What if we just keep it to ourselves at the office?" I throw out there, hoping it's something he can live with, if at least for a few months. "We have the weekends. And Friday nights," I add quickly at his narrowed eyes. "We do what we want outside of working hours, but here at the office, no one needs to know. We're professionals like we were before today until I'm back with compliance."

Falling back on the leather seat, he doesn't say anything for a few moments, resuming his staring contest with the posted sign of the parking space. I let him gather his thoughts, knowing this isn't exactly how he was planning his day when he woke up this morning. I don't think either of us could've predicted the sudden turn of events.

"I'll still be married," he says softly. "I don't know when this so-called marriage is going to end, Ashley. It's dragged on for years. It's the superficial technicalities now. My attorney is all over it. But you have to know I want it to."

It's me who reach out. Fingers grasping. Skin to warm skin. There and gone. "I know that, Caden." Though no one's around, I need to make a habit of observing our restrictions. Touching him, even fleetingly, can be dangerous. "I wasn't—"

"Mr. Martini?" A familiar male face peers down at the driver side window. It's one of the security guards usually stationed at the building lobby. His gray goatee twitches as his curious gaze veers over to me then back to Caden. "Is everything okay?"

We're on company property, and there are surveillance cameras all over the premises, even in the quiet parking. Jerry no doubt notes the comings and goings of every vehicle through the domed cameras. How long have we been sitting in the car that security felt oblige to check?

Caden merely holds up a finger, silently demanding more time.

The security guard inclines his head. With one last glimpse at me, Jerry disappears from the side of the car.

"We should get back," Caden says even as he snaps off his seatbelt. "We'll talk about this later."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Caden

The keyboard is soundless as my frantic fingers fly over the letters, the scathing words in my mind screaming to land on the screen. That motherfucking, bloodsucking attorney of mine better get this shit done and done quick. If he's not putting two thousand percent of himself into this, then there's going to be hell to pay.

I am _not_ going to let Marianne ruin this for me and Ashley.

... _and if both our signature isn't on the divorce decree by the end of this month, there will be no further need to bill me._

My hands still over the keys as Ashley's timid confession replays in my mind.

I don't want to be the other woman, the cliché office affair, but I want to be with you. So much.

Instinctively my gaze latches onto the woman who takes all my focus hostage. Through the glass and the blasted distance, I can just catch her slight movements as she cheerfully waves goodbye at one of the slothful but overpaid staff taking off for the day. It's barely five o'clock and more than half of the office has already cleared out.

Without warning she half turns, gorgeous eyes fastening onto me as though she felt my panting from twenty-feet away. My chest expands with each second of her hot gaze. The heated zing is like a live wire and shooting straight south. At least my tongue isn't hanging down to my chin.

If she keeps looking at me like that, I just might spontaneously combust right here in my chair.

Fuck, were my pants always this constricting?

Then she's pushing out of her chair, her swaying hips and sexy ass a pornographic reel in my head before she disappears from view.

Get back here! I'm not done ogling!

I want to sink my teeth in that succulent ass so bad I can almost taste her.

Where did she run off?

Just as well, I decide as I wrestle my attention back to the monitor. I have work to do, and like it or not, I have to get used to Ashley within easy reach but steadfastly untouchable. Her dictate, not mine. She ought to know that I don't give a fuck about office gossip or what the losers are speculating. We wouldn't be the first to test the company's non-fraternalizing policy. I can handle whatever comes my way, even if that means going toe to toe with the board. Though she might not know it, Ashley is under my protection. This means she is now untouchable at MOI.

After all, each board member has his or her own reasons not to piss me off, and each and every one of them knows it, while the well-respected Darren cares about me too much to intervene. If they don't want their faux pas and indiscretions revealed, they'd do best to keep their opinions to themselves.

Given all that, I still admire Ashley's sense of propriety even if I don't necessarily agree with the whole of it. I have to remind myself she's in a different position, not familiar with the behind-the-door politics that aren't written in a handbook.

She's too innocent to understand there's a dubious world outside of the unwavering black and white, that not everyone plays by the written order. People cheat, manipulate, and lie all the live long day, and that's just scratching the surface. Not my Ashley, though. She's all things pure and genuine, beautiful yet undemanding. That's undoubtedly one of the reasons why I adore her so much.

_You got it bad, Martini_.

What she sees in me, I can't begin to guess. I'm indelicate, severe, uncouth, and in the middle of a vile divorce. What sensible woman would want to be involved with me unless she's after something?

_Clank_.

My head jerks up in surprise to find the woman herself at the side of my desk. I must have been staring at my monitor for a while, lost in my own impractical musings. The minty aroma of fresh tea wafts up my sniffing nostrils from the steaming mug on my desk.

Ashley is looking down at me, a small but warm smile on her delicious lips. She nods down at my desk. "I figured you were due for a cup. Wasn't that why you were drilling holes into the glass with your stare?"

"You told me not to talk about what I'd like to drill in the office."

Her dainty hand flies up to cover her mouth, but I can see her eyes sparkling with laughter above her palm.

"Caden Martini, you are being bad," she admonishes with no heat whatsoever.

I can't help the twitch of my own mouth. "But you like me that way." With the desk and her body blocking the sight from onlookers who might happen by, I give in to the overwhelming urge and lightly clasp the fingers at her side. No questions, no strings. Just a physical connection I crave. "Business hours are over. Unless you're doing overtime, Miss Evans, you're off the clock."

"Guess I am."

"Hmm." With my free hand, I reach for the switch to obscure the glass panels. Anyone from the exterior office curious enough to look would only find an opaque wall. "However, I do have matters that require your attention. If I'm not intruding on your personal time, of course."

"I'm at your service, Mr. Martini."

Red hot current vibrates down my spine and straight shoots to my already straining boxer briefs.

"Really?" An easy tug and she's brushing my knees. "That sounds promising." Lifting her hand, I press my mouth against her palm. "And I do enjoy promises."

An auburn brow arches. "What else do you enjoy?"

Cucumbers and cookies. That's what her skin smells like. It's invigorating. Intoxicating. "I could tell you..."

"But?" she prompts when I let the sentence trail.

"But I'd rather show you," I propose with delight only to curse at the irritating chime of my cell phone. "I'm going to pretend that's not there."

She's already easing back. "It might be important."

"Nothing is as important as what we were doing."

A finger taps the tip of my nose. "You say that now. Wait until you're sick of me."

"I can't imagine that ever happening." It's the absolute truth. I can't remember wanting to be with someone as much as I want to breathe the same air as Ashley Evans. Not within arm's reach would be too far. "Don't go yet," I urge when she makes to head out of my office. "Have dinner with me tonight."

Her apologetic expression gives me the answer before her words. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. No one has to know. We'll go somewhere out of the way. Hell, we can drive down to San Diego if that makes you feel better."

She's shaking her head. "That's not it. I have dinner plans tonight."

That has my back instantly up. She said she wasn't married and didn't have a boyfriend, so who can she be meeting on a Monday? _Stay calm, Martini. It's probably a girlfriend_. Still, wasn't Marianne always hanging out with her _girlfriends_ until I caught her red-handed?

"With who?"

The irritating sound of my phone goes off again.

I have a clue what she thought of my tone when she folds her arms across her chest and flashes me an affronted look. "Aren't you going to get that?"

"Aren't you going to answer my question?"

She sighs, her shoulders sagging. "My cousin. His name is Bryan, and we're meeting for dinner and drinks at Patty's Pub. Not that it's any of your business, but he's also gay."

Of course. Unlike me, she has family that she wouldn't mind seeing. Feeling like an idiot, I'm on my feet, taking the few steps until I'm looking down at her gorgeous but resigned eyes. I should apologize, but I'm not good at that. "I'm new at this," I murmur. "There have been women since Marianne, but none I cared about."

The brown gaze takes its time studying me, absorbing the frankness behind my words. She must see something that convinces her not to harbor any resentment, because she tips up to lightly brush her soft lips against mine.

I feel that modest kiss in my entire body.

_Yup, I'm a goner_.

"I'm sorry she didn't treat you right," she offers gently, "but I'm not her."

"I know that." Ashley isn't Marianne. They're nothing alike. For my own sanity, I need to remember that. "I know that," I say again to reaffirm it and let the heavy, pent-up breath out of my lungs. "Enjoy tonight. I mean it," I reinforce when she only looks at me hesitantly. "But don't indulge and drive. I like you in one piece."

"Are you going to be okay?" she asks in her sweet voice.

"I'm always okay. I have things I need to catch up on anyway. I'll just stay here for a bit, maybe grab something on the way home. Call me when you're done. I just want to know when you make it home safely."

She wavers but then nods. "All right."

I watch her walk back to her desk, the sensual shift of her luscious body as she retrieves her purse from the drawer and, with a last wave at me, she leaves me alone with my lascivious thoughts.

Going back to my desk, I hit _send_ on the email and work on catching up the time lost to daydreaming.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Ashley

"Have I not taught you anything about men?" Bryan huff out in agitation as he continues to plow through our platter of appetizers. His dark brown hair is cut short, and there's an attractive five o'clock shadow on his strong jaw. Broad shoulders stretch the light gray T-shirt as he leans an elbow on the polished wooden bar top. "They're snakes, Ash, and not to be trusted. Look at me," he motions swiftly at himself, beseeching me with chocolate brown eyes to see reason. "Look what happened to me? If they think they can get away with it, they will screw you over."

I'm shaking my head even before he was finished. Bryan is only a year older than me, but he's always treated me like I'm the helpless baby who needs protecting. Unfortunately, because he's been really unlucky in love so far, he thinks everyone will end up just like him. "That's not true. _You're_ not that way."

Moderate beats thump from hidden speakers, loud enough to be enjoyed but soft enough not to dwarf eager conversations. It's a light crowd with only a handful of tables occupied, but we chose to sit at the bar for the convenience and to be closer to the liquor. Colorful bottles line the wall behind the counter and vaguely makes me wonder what would happen if there's an earthquake.

Bryan straightens and stuff a potato skin in his mouth, chewing vigorously while giving me the are-you-seriously-that-gullible look. "I'm the exception," he declares nonchalantly after he swallows. "There aren't many of us, but we do exist."

I roll my eyes. "What makes you think Caden isn't an exception?"

"Because he's married," he retorts without missing a beat. "You said yourself he's been separated for two years. Two years! Why isn't he divorced yet? He's probably one of those needy types who's afraid to be alone, collecting a different woman for each day of the week. And you're the office bunny."

My shoulders droop. I honestly don't know why Caden's divorce is taking so long with no end in sight. I don't feel right asking Caden, and he doesn't seem to want to talk about it. "I don't know why they're still married. I think they're still negotiating the terms." Even to my own ears the words sound defeated. "I guess there are a lot of terms."

Bryan snorts and reaches for a mozzarella stick. "They were only married for a few years, how many terms can there be? I hate to rain on your parade, but for all you know, they're probably negotiating the terms for reconciliation. These things happen all the time. One or both of them have a change of heart, and the next thing you know, they're trying to work it out."

Biting acid burns in my stomach at the thought. Caden couldn't kiss me like he did while still trying to reconnect with Marianne, could he? The hated image of him kissing anyone besides me sits like a jagged boulder in my throat. The sample starter that sounded so good on the menu now looks like leftover garbage on a tray.

By all accounts, Caden can't stand even talking to his impending ex-wife, why would he want to work things out with her?

"And what about that other one?" Bryan pushes relentlessly when I don't say anything, lifting his glass. "The woman you told me he was messing around with? Where is she in this love triangle? Wait. Don't tell me." He holds up the drink in a mock salute. "She's his weekend distraction."

Cindy Allegore. "They called it off." I meant the words to have conviction, but they came off small and uncertain. "They had an argument a few weeks ago. She hasn't called him since."

She hasn't called the office since... o _nly he refused to answer his cell phone while I was with him_. What if it was her, and he didn't want to pick up in front of me?

My cousin sets his tequila sunrise down with a plop. "Ashley." He pauses as though considering how to break it to me. His handsome features soften as he peers over at me. "I love you. I don't want you to get hurt. And this guy... this guy is not all that he seems. How can he be? He's got a wife, a lover, and now you. These men with money, they're not like you and me. People – women – are expendable to them."

My gaze drops to a wet spot on the counter. "But he's... different."

"Sweetheart." He reaches for the hand on my lap. There's compassion in both his gesture and his tone. "I know you like him, and I know you always want to believe in the best in people. I hate to say this, but this Martini guy is probably using that to his advantage."

I nod, though I don't really believe it. Not in my heart where it counts, and I've always relied on that to guide me. Perhaps I am naïve and do want to only look at the silver lining, but Caden isn't like what Bryan is suggesting. He's... well, he's never lied to me. He's always been upfront and downright brutally frank. He cannot possibly be as manipulative and conniving as Bryan alludes.

"I know what you're trying to tell me, Bry, and I appreciate it. I promise that whatever happens, whatever I end up doing, it's with my eyes open. That's all I can do for now."

He doesn't seem fully appeased with my assurance, but he squeezes my fingers encouragingly before gesturing for the bartender. "Check please."

The bartender, a trim, fiftyish man with burly arms, saunters over. "Already taken care of."

Both Bryan and I gaze at him in confusion. "We haven't paid," Bryan reminds him.

"A Caden Martini called and took care of it for you." His eyes land on me. "You are Ashley Evans, aren't ya?"

I can feel my brows scrunching in puzzlement. I look from my cousin to the bartender, not sure what to think. "Well... yeah."

"That's what I figured with his description. The name was also on your ID. When you ordered your drink?" he prompts as all I can do is stare at him. "You're all set, unless I can get you anything else?"

He did ask for proof of legal age when I ordered a Martini – that was because I was missing the man, not the drink. At the time, I figured the bartender's inquiry was routine.

"I'll have the berry cheesecake," Bryan pipes in happily. He winks at me, "Go ahead, Ash, order dessert. You might as well make the most of it."

*****

With a swift swipe, I swerve to the next lane. "I am not upset."

Caden's hard voice comes through the Bluetooth in my car. "You're telling me you normally snap at people when you're not upset?"

"I am not snapping at you!"

"Fine. You're not upset. Are you fit to drive?"

"What?" For some reason that question puts me more in the defensive than him remotely and underhandedly handing over his credit card for my dinner. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"How many drinks did you have?"

I grind my teeth, driving by instinct rather than intention. "You should know. You paid the bill."

"I didn't ask for an itemized receipt, _Ashley_."

My name was spat out with such condescension I want to reach across the phone and smack him. "I had half a drink over an hour ago, _Caden_. I'm sure you'll call Patrick's Pub and verify."

"Is that what this is about?" There's a long-suffering male sigh. "Stop being silly. It was food and drinks. Let's not make a big deal."

I'm not making a big deal. Am I?

It is silly though, but I can't seem to help myself. It's not really about the tab. I just want to provoke him, to goad him into a fight to satisfy the ridiculous, petty part of me that's disappointed he can't magically be divorced and devote himself to what we both deserve, that, as ludicrous and childish as it sounds, another woman still has a claim to him.

"Hey," he prods into the continued silence, but there's now a playful appeal at the other end. "I've never heard you mad before." He chuckles softly. "Anxious. Affronted. But never mad. I didn't think you were capable."

"I am human." He's trying to ease the tension, and I'm suddenly grateful he didn't take the triggering bait.

"A beautiful one."

My lips twitch despite myself. "I've never heard you give a compliment. I didn't think you were capable."

This time it's a laugh. "Touché."

Taking in a lungful, I blow out the constricting air stuck in my body for the last hour, purposefully releasing the gripping tension as I turn onto my street. "I'm almost home." I bite my lip. "Caden? Can I ask you for a favor?"

"You can ask me anything."

"Please don't... please don't ever lie to me. Even if you think the truth would hurt or upset me."

"Did something happen tonight?"

Pulling into my parking spot, I shut off the engine but not the power. Ignoring his question, I say, "Promise me."

I can hear his inhales and exhales, taking his time responding. Or is he processing the odd request?

"You have my word."

Intense relief surges through me and I have to shut my eyes for a moment. I choose to believe Caden, choose to believe he's a good man underneath the coarse façade. "Thank you."

"Are you home?"

I love his voice, love it better when it's warming my ear rather than through the car's technology. Snatching up the phone, I shutoff the power and climb out of my Honda. "Yeah. See, I got home safely." The stairs to my second-floor apartment are a nuisance, but I don't mind them too much with Caden occupying my thoughts. "What did you do tonight?"

"Stayed in the office for a while. Prepped for the board meeting on Thursday. Left at seven-thirty. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Had three cups of coffee after I left."

"Don't start, Red. What is that sound?"

My arm halts from trying to extricate from the cardigan while juggling the phone. "I'm taking off my sweater."

There must be a hiccup in the connection because I could have sworn I felt him suck in a breath.

"The one you wore to the office? The pink one with the little black things at the bottom?"

He noticed my attire down to the beads on the trim? "I didn't have time to go home and change before meeting my cousin."

"And the black skirt."

A giggle escapes. "Caden. Do you have a thing for women's clothing?"

"I have a thing for what _you_ wear," he corrects. "And what you're taking off."

"Ahum. Give me a sec." Setting the phone down on the bedside table, I turn my back and make sure I'm right up on the mic on my phone. With deliberate, calculated tugs, I slither the zipper down one metallic tooth at a time, ensuring he can hear the teasing descent. With a wiggle, the fabric falls and pools at my feet. "Caden?" I call out, picking up the discarded clothing. "You still there?" When there's no immediate response, I retrieve the phone. "Hello?"

There's nothing but heavy male breathing.

At least he hadn't swallowed his tongue. Yet.

His words, when they come, are choked. "What color?"

I don't need him to elaborate. There's no doubt in my mind he's picturing me in my panties. "Pink. I like to coordinate."

"Let me see it," is the abrupt demand.

I want him to see it. I want him to see a lot more than my panties. "Are you sure?" I torment. "Imagination might be better than the real thing."

"No fucking way," he vouches with absolute certainty. "Let me see it."

"Ookay," I agree, though a part of me is just this side of reserved about flashing myself to Caden Martini. Tossing the phone on the mattress, I shrug out of the black shell I wore underneath the cardigan. In nothing but my pink lace bra and matching panties, I recline against the white pillows piled at the head of my bed.

Aiming the phone's camera, I attempt at a suggestive pose and snap a selfie – careful not to include my face because I'm not completely susceptible – and check the image.

Not bad. I'm no Cindy Allegore, but he hasn't seemed to mind.

_This is insane_. With a mix of trepidation and excitement, I share the pic with the man on the other end of the call waiting impatiently.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Caden

I beat off three times. Twice last night and once this morning in the shower.

Who would have ever thought proper Ashley Evans would prefer racy lingerie? She could've whipped my ass in the middle of a meeting and I wouldn't have been more shocked. The tantalizing image of her pale arm thrown back with what I assumed was over her head, though I couldn't see her gorgeous face, her tits swelling out of the lacy cups with enticing glimpses of her rosy nipples peeking out of the tops, her taut stomach with the cute dip of her belly button and trim waist. Down more to the mere scraps of flimsy cloth covering her mound. I couldn't remember a place where I wanted to bury my face more than between those creamy firm thighs.

_Fuck_.

It's nothing short of medieval torture to know what she looks like underneath all that prim textile and not be able to lay a fucking hand on all that smooth skin.

And that little vixen knows it, sashaying that scrumptious ass around my office, hiking up that polite skirt to her velvety thighs as she leans against my desk when she knows fuck well I can't lay a finger on her.

"Lisa wanted me to remind you of Mr. Oats' upcoming two-week vacation. While he's gone, the running of the company is your duty."

"I remember," I grumble. How does she expect me to concentrate when she's not two feet from me? "What else?"

"Do you want me to book a flight for your visit to Nevada on Thursday, or do you plan to drive?"

"Fly."

She doesn't seem fazed by my obvious grouchiness. "I know it's a day trip, but would you like me to reserve a room for you at the nearby hotel?"

"No."

Her head dips as she checks off on her tablet. "You have to leave for your rescheduled lunch meeting with Bethany Donaldson in thirty minutes. And I'm not rearranging it again just so you can play footsie with your assistant," she teases with her gaze still averted. "Or handsie."

I scowl so hard my face actually hurt. "Why the hell not?"

Auburn hair swings as she bops her head up and makes a face. "That was not necessary." Setting the device on my desk, she folds her arms. "You know I was joking. Must you yell all the time?"

My eyes stray right to the tits elevated by her arms. "That was hardly yelling," I reason with the alluring tits. "Tell me why I can't touch you."

"Eyes up here, Mr. Martini."

That's it. Fuck the policy.

"Caden!" she gasps in surprise as I grasp her hips and scoot her in front of me.

I'm still seated in my chair, and her sexy ass is against the edge of my desk. Because I can, I stick my arm through the bottom of her skirt to reach under my desk, flipping the switch to darken the glass panels and close my office door.

"Now, Miss Evans," I proclaim and push to my feet until I'm looking down in her beautiful wide eyes. They're huge on her dazed face. My mouth is a mere breath from her very tempting lips. "What were you saying?"

She merely blinks up at me, speechless. Good. I don't feel like talking anyway.

Then I'm tasting her delicious mouth, my tongue as voracious for her as the rest of me. Her arms bound tightly around my neck and I take that as a hint and lift her up until she's on my desk. Without any urging, her legs wrap around my hips.

Closer. That's all I can think. That's all I obsess about. Not MOI, not my life-draining ex-wife, not my incompetent lawyer, or my gutless stepbrother. Closer until I'm all over Miss Ashley Evans.

There's a feminine moan that vibrated into my mouth.

My palms slide up underneath the sides of her skirt, pushing it up, but with her legs around me, it doesn't go nearly as high as I need.

"Up, baby," I order against her lips. God, I'm dying to see what she has on underneath. "Lift that gorgeous ass up for me."

She does, and I waste no time shoving the skirt to her waist.

Easing back, my gaze zeros in on its target.

White. To match her blouse. Silky white.

My new favorite color.

"Did you put this on for me?"

She nods. She's adorable when she blushes. "Just in case you wanted to see what I wear underneath."

"Oh, I want to see. Make no mistake of that." I run my thumb down her center and up again. She's trembling. I fucking crave it. I relish that she doesn't hide her reaction to me, not that the dampness on those panties can lie. "You like that." My mouth brushes hers once while my fingers replace my thumb to sweep back and forth. "You like me touching you here?"

Air gushes in and out of her quivering body, and she tightens her arms around me, needing to hold on.

"Tell me," I murmur against the side of her neck.

"Yes," she manages in a low voice. She's pushing herself against me, seeking more of my busy fingers.

"How about like this?" My hand pushes underneath her panties, a finger finding her needy core. She's practically dripping down her thighs. Slowly, I ease inside her, watching her big brown eyes glaze over with pleasure, her swollen lips parting at the intrusion. She's warm and moist, tighter than what I'm used to. "Is this good?"

She makes a sexy sound just as my finger slide out before pumping back into her, the heel of my hand rubbing up against her.

Any better and my dick will use my pants as a punching pad.

I groan myself at the sound of my cell phone going off. Fucking technology. Why can't people leave me alone? Don't they know I'm working?

"Caden?" Ashley mumbles against my shoulder.

"Ignore it," I tell her without breaking my ministrations.

To my disbelief, she stiffens and pulls away, gingerly slipping off the desk and righting her clothing with jerky motions. "I need to get back to work."

_What?_ We weren't even close to being done yet. "What's wrong?"

She huffs and whirls away, heading for the doors. "I am not an office bunny," she announces before stomping away in her low, sensible shoes.

"What the hell are you talking about?" But I'm shouting at angry dead air.

What the fuck just happened?

Cursing under my breath, I slam back into my chair and jab at the intercom. "Get your ass back here, Red. This second."

I curse again when there's no response. With a frustrated swipe, I clear the glass panel, only to find an empty desk where my assistant should be.

When I get my hands on her...

On a growl, I hurl myself out of my chair and right out of my office, barreling after the most infuriating woman I've ever met.

What the fuck was she talking about? Office bunny? No pets allowed at MOI. She ought to know that.

One glance at me and staff duck and leap out of my way. I catch sight of Dorskey hovering over that lazy ass – fuck if remember or care what her name is. The fake blonde with the faker tits.

"Where is she?" I bark in their general direction.

Dorskey uncurls from his getting fucked up the ass position on her desk. "Well, here's a surprise. Caden pissed at the world."

"Wh...who?" tremors the fake from behind her desk.

Save me from professional idiots. "My. Assistant."

"Uh-oh, did Caden misplace his assistant?" taunts the marketing loser. "If you don't want to lose her, put a leash on her."

I get within an inch of his sneering face. "One more word about Ashley, and you're fired."

He sputters like the stupid jackass he is, eyes blazing with hate.

Lazy ass jolts up off her seat, thrusting a pointy nail down the hall. "She went that way. I think she went to the ladies' room."

Done with them both, I pivot in the direction of the restrooms.

"Darren is going to hear about this, Martini," Dorskey hollers after me.

I flip him the bird and keep going.

The hallway is full of MOI employees rushing off to lunch. Some are hefting bags as they head to the lounge, others yammering on about what they feel like eating. I don't pay them any attention, my entire being fixated on one woman who had the audacity to walk out on me.

"Hiya, Caden, where are you off to in such a hurry?"

That's what's-his-face in production. What does he do again?

Who cares?

An older woman is pushing out of the women's restroom, head half turned back in mid-speech with her colleague behind her.

"—the entire day sitting on the couch. Can you believe that? I was li... Hey! You can't go in there!"

The snarl is instinctive and has the desired impact of sending the protesting bat and her companion running for cover.

As soon as I round the wall and away from the door I see her. She's perched on a chaise situated to the side – why do women need that in the piss room? – her back to me, thumbs flying over her phone. There's another woman washing her hands by the sink. Our gazes collide over the mirror, hers shocked and outraged as her wet hand flies up to her throat.

"Mr. Martini, you're in the wrong restroom," she squeaks crossly.

I glower at her. "Beat it or you're fired too."

"Caden!" Ashley's on her feet, her arms straight down her sides as though she's preparing to take a swing at me with her phone. She's all emotions and vibrating testiness, magnificent to behold if I'm not too busy chewing nails. "Get out of here!"

The crazed hand washer marches out, shooting death rays at me.

I eat death rays for breakfast.

A blunt finger stabs at the direction of the door. "You get your ass back in my office this instant."

Her back goes taut. "Or what?"

"Or I will smack your little behind so hard you won't be able to sit for a week. Don't test me, Red," I warn when her jaw firms stubbornly. "You know I'm good for it."

"You can't boss me around, Caden Martini. Not during my lunch break, and certainly not in the women's restroom."

I'm surprised the ceiling hasn't caved in with our fiery standoff. "I won't tell you again. March those feet back to my office. Then you will explain yourself."

"What in the living hell is going on?"

We both glare at the newcomer standing in scandalized astonishment just inside the door. Trisha's meaty fists are planted firmly on her meatier hips, her pudgy cheeks red with fury. Short black hair is spiked up exceptionally pointy today to accentuate her usual ugliness.

Who the fuck called HR?

Ashley is the first to speak. "I'm sorry, Trisha. Caden got confused and was just leaving."

"No, I wasn't"

If Trisha's face gets any hotter, she'll set off the sprinklers. "I need to see you in my office, Mr. Martini."

"If you're done belching, you can see yourself out. I have important matters to discuss with my assistant."

The head of HR isn't as weak as the others. "You are in the women's lounge, Caden. As the name implies, it is restricted to women only. This means that, COO or not, you need to vacate the premises, or I will have security physically remove you," Trisha rebukes in what I recognize as her don't-mess-with-HR stance. "Then I will contact the authorities."

Silence is like a weighted blanket in the mirror and tile room. Though I'm staring down at my new adversary, I can feel Ashley's strained tension radiating behind me.

Seconds tick. Trisha doesn't back down when she has a cause, this I know from past experience and had quietly admired her for it, but now that the conviction is standing between me and Ashley, I won't hesitate to put her in her place.

A dainty hand lands on my elbow.

"Caden, please." Ashley is tugging at my arm, her pretty face filled with concern and foreboding. "Let's just go."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ashley

Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod. I can't believe Caden did that. He might be one of the head honchos of the company, but even he has to abide by certain rules. One of them being he can't barge into the women's restroom and threaten to fire anyone who gets in his way. The crazy, maddening man!

Caden doesn't say anything as we trek back to Operations. Being lunchtime, the hallways are empty. Not that it matters, since we're no longer touching or even attempting to play the part of knowing each other.

I know without having to look that he's seething, his long, purposeful strides sure yet livid. Probably plotting my slow and painful demise.

How did we get from almost ripping each other's clothes off in his office to this?

The department is all but empty except for Marsha, who's munching on a sandwich at her desk as she surfs the net. She about drops her food when we appear, unabashedly hanging on to any word she can grasp from her distance.

"You're late for your lunch meeting," I remind my mute yet simmering boss stiffly as we near my desk, all business. "And you'd already rescheduled once with Ms. Donaldson." Because he took me out instead. "It would be extremely inconsiderate to cancel on her when she's probably already there."

"Trying to get rid of me?" comes the low, scathing remark from behind me.

"Just doing my job, Mr. Martini."

He stalks right past me and into his inner sanctuary, only to reappear seconds later with his suit jacket. Just as I'm claiming my purse from my drawer to grab my own meal, I hear, "I'm not close to being done with you," hissed harshly by my ear before he storms away.

Great. Something to look forward to.

Within a few heartbeats Marsha is at my desk, clearly alarmed and fascinated at the same time. "My God, Ashley, what did you do? I've never seen Caden this angry before."

I put an abrupt halt to his office playtime.

My thighs squeeze together, remembering. I can still feel him there, expertly massaging me inside and out.

"He didn't like that I didn't do everything he wanted."

Marsha nods in embellished sympathy. "That's Callous Caden, all right. One of these days someone is going to teach him a lesson. I'm hoping I'm around to watch it. You should've seen how he talked to Andrew. I mean, I knew they didn't get along, but to be that foul? I thought my poor guy was going to lose it right in front of me."

"I'm sure Andrew can handle himself."

"Yeah, I guess," she agrees, though she doesn't sound too sure. "You off to lunch?"

Truth is, I have no appetite for food, but I do want to call Bryan. "I'll be back in an hour." I was trying to text him in the restroom until Caden obscenely charged in.

*****

Bryan didn't answer. Figures.

I sent a text instead. _Call me tonight_.

Deciding I need some sustenance to put up with Caden the remainder of the day, I opt for a cup of soup from the cafeteria. It's while I'm in line that overhear the latest office gossip.

The good news is, no one suspects there's anything going on between me and my boss.

The bad news is, everyone thinks I screwed up so bad I ran to the restroom to cry while the COO chased after me to chew me out.

At least, that's the consensus I gathered.

Instead of joining one of the many tables, I take my meager meal back to my desk. Marsha is nowhere in sight, which is just as well, since I'm not in the mood to fawn over Andrew Dorskey. Whatever those two have going on, I'd rather keep out of it.

I freeze mid-thought.

When did I stop having hearts in my eyes every time I think of Andrew?

And does it matter?

Spooning in the last of the soup while going through my own emails for a change, I grab the ringing phone at a swallow. "Caden Martini's office, Ashley speaking."

"Ashley, this is Lisa at Mr. Oats' office."

"Hi, Lisa." Please don't tell me she called to dig for gossip. "What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Oats is at lunch, but he just called and wanted me to setup a meeting with Mr. Martini as soon as possible. Mr. Oats should be back at one-thirty. Will Mr. Martini be available then?"

"Um..." I glance at the darkened office behind me. "He's at an offsite lunch meeting right now, but he should be back by then."

"Please let me know as soon as he returns."

I nearly gulp. "Sure. What's this about?"

"Mr. Oats didn't divulge, only that it was urgent."

Caden likes to be prepared for any and all meetings, which means he demands to know the topic of planned discussions at all times. The one exception is with the Mr. Oats. "No problem. I'll be sure to call you when he's back."

Did Trisha complain to the CEO about what Caden did? That wouldn't surprise me, given her threat. It's just passed one o'clock, and my colleagues are starting to file back to their workstation. This means it wouldn't be long before Caden returns. Should I warn him? As angry as I am with him, I wouldn't want him to lose his job over what happened.

A shadow falls over my desk as I'm frantically contemplating what to do. Reluctantly, my wary gaze draws up to meet the attractive, grinning face.

Did my earlier flippant thoughts conjure him up?

"Hey, there."

Mentally rolling my eyes at the overly cheerful greeting, I return, "Hi, Andrew." Resigning myself to the inevitable, I push aside thoughts of warning Caden for now. "What can I do for you?"

He tilts his head, a practiced pose if I've ever seen one. "You okay?"

"I'm just fine." Call me cynical, but I have a feeling he's not really here to inquire about my wellbeing. "How are you?"

He rounds my desk, resting a define butt cheek on the corner and forcing me to twirl in that direction.

Gee, comfy?

"I'm doing just great." Leaning into my personal space, he peers down at me like we've been dear friends for decades. "So... what happened?"

Both my brows climb up. "With what?"

"Come on, Ash, don't be coy. Wait, let me guess." He holds up a finger, hope and anticipation gleaming in his clear blue eyes. "You discovered something you shouldn't have about Martini, and he caught you?"

I sigh. Was he always such a phony, pain in the behind? I must've been blinded by his good looks. "Sorry to disappoint you."

He takes his time visually probing me, looking for hints or fabrications?

"Nothing?" he asks, clearly disheartened. "I don't think you're putting in the effort required of such an important task, Ms. Evans."

That makes me bristle. Who does he think he is anyway? As a member of the leading management team, first he manipulated me into spying on the COO, and when I can't find anything to his liking, he chastises me? He's not even my boss. No wonder Caden doesn't think much of him.

It's bad enough dealing with what happened today with Caden, not to mention _he's not close to being done_ with me, and now this?

"Mr. Dorskey," I begin with my most official, assistant to the COO voice, "if there isn't anything on record you need from me, I will resume my official duties."

Once more with the head tilting. Good grief, does the guy sit in front of a mirror and rehearse these precise gestures?

"Ashley."

A grin, all teeth, reminding me of a shark.

"Ashley," he tries again when I only stare. Something changes in his gaze as he studies me, like something is finally dawning on him. "You're different."

He's said that too me before. I'm not sure what he means and don't care to chat with him about it.

"Dorskey, are you so hard up for work you need to solicit from other divisions?"

I flinch at the cold accusation, scooting my chair way back in self-preservation at Caden's rigid glare at Andrew.

"Martini." Not one bit flustered at the cold frost blasting in his direction, Andrew takes his time to straighten, leisurely scooting off my desk. "It appears I found your assistant." He sends me a wink before taunting Caden. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to lose her again."

"Get the fuck out of my office."

Mocking a tsk-tsk, Andrew shakes his head. "Such language for an executive. I'm appalled."

"I've got other words for you, Dorskey, but I can't guarantee you'd like those any better."

"Mr. Martini," I bravely – or stupidly – interrupt the knuckle-cracking. "Mr. Oats would like to meet with you."

Unhurriedly, Andrew negligently fishes out a lip balm from his trouser pockets, takes a second to skim at the tiny label as though he's never seen it before, uncaps the top, and smooths it over his smirking lips.

Caden really should patent that _die, scum_ look.

"Well, I'm off now," Andrew tosses out flippantly as he pockets the lip balm. "See you around, Ash."

"You," Caden starts as soon as Andrew is out of earshot. "In my office."

If I refuse, it would appear cowardly, and people will talk even more. On the other hand, he can take his acerbic, authoritarian tone and shove it.

That aside, I still have a job to do, and like it or not, Caden is my boss for now. If he requires me in his office, I cannot publicly tell him to go to hell.

Without a word, I breeze by him and into his inner office. I keep my back to him but can hear his steps, the gentle click of his office doors closing, then he's reaching over his desk and darkening the glass panels once again.

Guess he doesn't want any witnesses.

He whirls so abrasively my foot falls back in retreat.

"You think because I want to fuck you so bad my head is spinning that it means you can get away with whatever you want?"

He plants a ruthless, vicious glower at me, blue eyes so hard and unforgiving my knees weaken without permission. His entire body is a rigid mass vibrating to explode. This is not the teasing or mischievous Caden I got to know. This is someone else. The one everyone whispers about with fear and loathing.

"Let's get something straight. You're here for me. No one else, is that clear? That means you don't get to walk out of my office unless I'm done with you. Monday through Friday, eight a.m. to five p.m. Are we clear?"

To my humiliation and horror, my lip trembles. But I refuse, absolutely refuse, to let one tear drop. Not one. Not now. "Perfectly."

The harsh, callous gaze takes in my stubborn, unblinking eyes and cut to my quivering mouth. Something like guilt flashes. It's gone so quickly it might have been wishful thinking on my part, the part that still wants to believe he's a good person and cares about me.

Bracing back, he steals a breather, visibly trying to contain himself. When he next speaks, it's at a more modulated tone. "And if I see Dorskey cozying up at your desk again, there will be hell to pay."

I'm choking back the tears so hard, it takes me a second to be able to speak without sounding like a blubbering mess. "Understood."

Air pummels his body as he stares at me. What else does he want me to say? Is he waiting for an apology? What did I do wrong?

" _Fuck_."

Then he's yanking me in his arms, holding me so tight I can hardly draw a breath. Those arms unhinged the bursting dam. That's when I discover I don't need oxygen to sob. Loudly. All over his fancy suit.

"Don't do that." Strong arms tighten even more. "Stop that."

Is that his idea of comforting a woman in tears? If so, he has a lot to learn. At least he's rocking me, which feels much more reassuring than his words.

"Just... no more crying. Okay, baby? No more."

"Then don't yell at me."

It was a bunch of sniveling mumbles against his shoulder.

Timid fingers ease me back. The slaying blue eyes from earlier are attentive, contrite. "You're not allowed to cry, you hear me?" It's a desperate command more than a request. "You can shout at me. Call me names. Even hit me. But you're not allowed to cry."

"I cry when I'm hurt, Caden." A hiccup. "It's not something I do on purpose."

"Just throw a fist at me next time."

I gape at him, knowing my face is a mess and not caring. He's utterly serious. "I beg your pardon?"

"That's how men settle things."

"I'm not a man!" I shriek a little hysterically.

"It's better than crying!"

"Ugh!" I shove away from him and swipe at my cheeks. "Is that it? I've got work to do."

Frustration reeks off him. "Ashley..."

He trails off as though he's not sure what he wants to say. Half turning to his desk, he produces a tissue and begins to mop my face. And I do mean mop.

At this rate I won't have any skin left above my neck.

He really is bad at this.

"I'll do it." The sweeper weapon is intercepted. "Thanks. Mr. Oats is waiting for you," I remind him as I start dabbing with the tissue. I can't waste any more time catering to what's going on between me and Caden. We weren't even supposed to bring it to the workplace, and now this. "He said it's urgent."

"If it was so urgent, he would have called my cell."

"You never answer your cell," I bite out before I can stop myself.

He gives me an odd look. "I only answer to those worthy of my time. I answered when you called me last night. If you're questioning whether or not you're among those, call me again and see what happens."

I don't remind him that he asked me to call him, but I suppose I should be flattered he bothered to pick up at all. Rolling my eyes, I catch sight of a light blinking on Caden's phone. It's an indication that his office line is ringing. With one last wipe at my cheek, I toss the wadded-up tissue at the wastebasket. "I have to get back to my desk."

This isn't the time or the place to get into it with Caden.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Caden

Resting an ankle on the opposite knee, I stretch an arm out along the back of the matching guest chair next to me. I'd discarded my jacket as soon as I walked in, tossing it on another chair. Thanks to Ashley, there's a giant wet stain near the shoulder. It looked like I sweated through my shirt and onto the suit.

Fucking Dorskey and his fucking constant need to goad me.

If I hadn't walked in on him snug as you please with Ashley, swinging his tree trunk leg about like some dog with a wagging tail delighted with her attention, I wouldn't have lost my temper and gone off on her.

And made her cry.

I came at her hard. Really hard. I was surprised she didn't run out of there screaming at the top of her lungs. Hell, Marianne never cried. I think she had her tear ducts lasered off with her body hair. Whenever we fought, she didn't hesitate to kick me on the shin. That was to start. She graduated to going for my balls in the last six months of our marriage.

Fucking Dorskey.

Darren is propping the side of his head with a finger and thumb, quietly assessing me from behind his massive glass top desk. A framed photo of him with his wife and daughter sits askew near the corner as though waiting for the next move.

We've been at this stare-off for a good five minutes.

The few hairs he has left is standing on end as though he plowed the sides of his head with frustrated fingers. If he's trying to intimidate me, he's fifteen years too late. I've long lost that useless notion.

"That was a reckless stunt you pulled, Caden. Even for you."

Ah, so this is about that bathroom mishap. Not my finest moment, I admit. I seem to be on a roll today.

"I've got HR breathing down my neck to discipline you," he goes on. "Sexual harassment, unprofessional conduct, intimidation... and that's just from one person! The complaints are still coming in! What the hell were you doing in the ladies' room, son?"

The fact that he called me _son_ means Darren is dealing with this on a more personal level. Since he was best buddies, and later business partners, with my father before he passed nine years ago, and he is, in fact, my godfather, I can see why he would unconsciously veer towards that direction when I'm in the hot seat. I'm not sure if that's to my advantage or not. "I needed to speak to my assistant."

"In the restroom?" he questions incredulously.

I shrug. "It was important."

The hand that was supporting his head drops on his desk with a thump. His jaw almost joins it. "Caden, you've got to cut that girl some slack. She's your assistant, not your slave."

It's my turn to scowl. "I know that."

"Do you? Because after what you did, I'm not too sure." His barrel chest swells even more on a deep breath. "This girl, is—"

"Ashley Evans."

He waves that off with a dismissive hand. "Whatever. Is she giving you trouble?"

" _Ashley_ ," I emphasize, "is not giving me trouble. On the contrary, she's the best assistant I've ever had."

"And you need this _Ashley_ so much you can't even let her take a bathroom break?" He holds up a firm hand. "Doesn't matter, because you just jeopardized the entire company by giving her ammunition to cry sexual harassment. The other we can handle." At my questioning look, he explains. "You were still drugged up out of your mind with cold meds, blurry, and ended up in the ladies' room. You got upset because you were convinced the women were in the men's room. Since there have been no previous allegations of sexual harassment by you, we just might be able to get away with it. But this girl? This assistant of yours? She has enough to be trouble."

"Trust me, Darren," I insist steadfastly, "that is not an issue."

"You hunted her down to the restroom, and you're telling me she doesn't have cause to take this to the next level? Times have changed, son. Things like that are no longer just frowned upon or brushed under the table. As we speak, Trisha is calling her into her office, getting an official statement from her in an attempt to protect the company."

If Trisha is interrogating Ashley, I swear the head of HR will learn what I'm truly capable of.

My jaw tightens, and I meet his fuming gaze dead on. "Ashley is not like that. She's honest. Real. She wouldn't intentionally harm anyone, especially me."

Something in my adamant tone must have alerted him, because the hazy green eyes sharpen. He lets the clock tick, dragging out the moment as he ponders over it. Then, crossing his arms above the glass, he leans forward. "What's this girl to you?"

If he fucking calls her _girl_ one more time... "She's my assistant," I say through my teeth. "Transferred from Corporate Compliance. A temporary replacement while my regular assistant is on maternity leave."

He continues to pierce me with his steady gaze. "I've known you since the day you were born. Held you fresh from your mama's womb. Was there for you when your parents couldn't work it out anymore. Knew the first time you popped a girl's cherry. Had that you're-a-married-man talk with you at your wedding, because that's something your daddy would have done, God rest his soul. You're family, Caden. Same as Katie and Jane." Suddenly deflated, he sits back, shaking his head. "You can't bullshit me, Caden."

Against my will, I look away. If there had been anger, I would handle it. If he intimates retribution, I'd tell him to fuck off. There was none of that.

He's wounded.

Because he knows instinctively I'm not giving him the whole truth. On top of that, I looked him in the eye and blatantly lied to him when he confronted me pointblank.

Uneasy, my foot squirms restlessly before landing on the thick carpet. Clasping my hands between my knees, I weigh my next words carefully. "Ashley. She's special," I admit after what seems like an eternity of his disappointment slapping me from across the desk. Fucking shit, I feel like a fifteen-year-old caught with a girl for the first time. Without a condom. Only Darren can still have this effect on me. "I... like her."

Darren remains still for a beat, digesting my reluctant and awkward revelation. "And that scene in the restroom. Was that you _liking_ her?"

I nearly bark out a laugh. "No." Good thing he didn't ask about anything happening in my office. "We were having a disagreement, and that was me losing my shit. Not using my brain. We're not always in agreement with how to handle this thing between us. We're just trying to get through the next few months until my regular assistant returns."

"I see." Fingers scoop up, tilling through the few straggly gray hairs. "That's got to say something. Caden Martini letting impulse rule his brain. I have to say, I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," I say sardonically.

"No, son. I'm happy for you on a personal level. It's about time. After Marianne, I didn't think you'd want to try anything serious again. Don't try to deny it," he cuts in before I can. "For you to pursue her like that, without a thought to consequences or who sees? You might not be looking at a mirror right now, but I see your face when you talk about her. You better be prepared, because it's serious. But professionally, I'm concerned."

"There's no need to be concerned."

"She works for you."

Like I need the reminder. "Only for a few more months."

"What happens if it doesn't work out?" He sighs, long and audible. "I know that's not what you're thinking about right now, but you have to give it the credence it deserves. You're the COO of a large, thriving corporation. When I retire next year, you'll be the CEO. You have a lot to lose. How do you know you can trust this Ashley?"

"She's solid." There's zero doubt in my mind. "I'd bet my life on it. You'll see when you get to know her. She's different, Darren, nothing like Marianne or other women I've met. She's beautiful. But simple. Hardworking. As much as me."

His eyes widen at that. "Really?"

"I'll hate to lose her as my assistant, but I'll be glad not to have to hide what's going on."

Picking up a stray pen, Darren twirls it around a bit. He's always doing that when he's contemplating. "I don't have to tell you, the board's not going to be thrilled about this. Everyone knows you're taking over next year, but the members still have a say in the running of the company. She might not be working for you at that point, but she'll still be an employee and you the CEO. Luckily, we're privately owned. Still..." His weary gaze grabs mine. Holds. "It's not going to look good."

I'm shaking my head, partly in denial, but mostly from bewilderment. "What would you have me do? Fire her?"

"That's something you're going to have to figure out on your own."

*****

Darren wants me to fire Ashley. He didn't exactly say the words, but then, he didn't have to. I've known him all my life, and just as he can see through my bullshit, I can read him like a book.

It's not going to happen.

No way. No how.

If Ashley is doing a poor job, then I wouldn't be so against the idea of encouraging her to move on, but I wasn't exaggerating when I told Darren she was a hard worker. She deserves a raise, not a termination. If I do talk about her salary, Darren would think I'm favoring her because of what's going on between us, and I can't have him doubting my decisions, as clearheaded as they are.

When I reach my department, it's to find an empty chair where Ashley should be. Her computer monitor is dark, and her desk is organized and cleared of any works in progress. I glance around, a panicked hope to find her coming down the hall.

"Where is she?" I ask of the space at large when I don't see her.

"She was with HR," one of the staff responds. "Then she came back, shutdown, grabbed her purse, and left."

MOTHERFUCKER.

I make it a point not to stomp down the hall again, but I'm not sure if I actually succeed.

If that Trisha drove Ashley away, I'll have her spikey head on a spikey fucking platter.

Without warning I march past the startled HR team and goes straight into Trisha's office. She's on the phone but looks up at me in surprise as I slam the door behind me. Then, as if I have every right – and fuck yeah, I do – I jab the disconnect button on her phone, leaving her gawping at me in stunned disbelief.

She's on her feet in an instant. "Mr. Martini. What is this about?"

I don't even attempt at civility. "What did you say to her?"

"If you mean Ashley Evans, that is none of your business."

Neither do I hold back on my glare. "None of my business? Did you or did you not summon my assistant into your office to grill her on me?"

She yanks at the bottom of her ugly ass blouse, struggling to look calm. "I was doing my job, following on the incident that occurred this afternoon. You know as well as I do we need to have her statement on record after what you did."

"After what I did?" I take a step closer, both of us ignoring the angry pealing of her phone. "Or what I _allegedly_ did? If there is a legitimate complaint against me, as HR, it is your job to conduct an impartial investigation. Are you saying you have completed a thorough, impartial investigation of the said incident in the two hours that it occurred? And that, based on such a thorough, impartial investigation, you'd drawn an unbiased conclusion and have found that I am, in fact, guilty of such charge or charges? Is it not true," I press when she tries to open her big mouth, "that Human Resources is obligated to inform the charged party of the allegations before it conducts a thorough, impartial investigation?"

To my surprise, she looks more resigned than angry or defensive.

"Are you quite through, Mr. Martini? If so, please have a seat."

Suspicious yet needing to know, I grudgingly land on one of the chairs facing her. "Speak."

Ceremoniously, she takes her own seat, taking her time folding her hands above her desk. "There is no formal complaint against you." At my look, she continues, "Ashley insisted it was a misunderstanding. She denied ever feeling harassed, intimidated, or even mildly mistreated by you. She stated that she was happy, and that she was learning a lot working for you."

Wow.

Really?

I clear my throat. "Go on."

"As for Daniela Hanson, she—"

"Who?"

She blows out an impatient breath. "The employee in the ladies' lounge when you first entered the facility."

The crazed handwasher. "Right. Of course."

"She could not verify if you were under the influence of any medication, as Mr. Oats had suggested to me. However, she did confirm you appeared irate to be in the ladies' lounge, which, in some way, corroborates with Mr. Oats' reasoning."

"But you're not buying it."

"I cannot say conclusively that you had malicious or unruly intent, but I was there, Mr. Martini. You appeared perfectly lucid to me."

"I really don't give a shit what I appeared to you. I didn't come here to ask about me." Pushing to my feet, I glare down at her. "Where's Ashley?"

Her eyes flash, but she tames it down quickly. "Corporate Compliance. There's a deadline, and they're shorthanded. They requested Ashley's assistance. Since you were occupied, I okay'ed it." Leveling me with a look of pure challenge, she dares me to argue. "Hope it's not a problem."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ashley

It was past eleven when I left work last night, and I was dead on my feet. A fifteen-hour workday would do that to you. With Caden's constant demands and those requiring his time, I'm used to working nonstop, but that was beyond the usual. Not only were there three pending patents that MOI was filing, but one of the team members was on a scheduled vacation and two called in sick. Today will be another long, gruesome day at compliance.

Trisha assured me Caden understands the need for my reassignment for a few days, but I still worry about him. I know he can probably do without an assistant for a while. He won't be happy about it, but he'll live.

The reminder of Trisha has me doing a mental shiver. God, I can't believe I ended up in the HR office, giving an official statement about the COO. I've never been in that position before, never even seen the principal's office when I was in school. It was routine procedure, she explained to me, but it was disconcerting to be in that chair, saying all those things to Trisha. I'm not sure if it was the smart thing to do, but my heart tells me it was the right thing.

I've not seen or talked to Caden since he left for Mr. Oats' office yesterday afternoon. The busy gossip mill has it that Caden got his hand slapped by Mr. Oats for yesterday, but that, as far as anyone knew, that was the extent of it. I was so relieved.

I wasn't even aware I was doing it until my gaze swung in the direction of his empty parking spot last night on my way to my car. He wouldn't have been in the office that late, but I couldn't help but check anyway.

There was a missed call and a message from Bryan on my cell. Two missed calls and no voicemail from Caden. Given the time, I didn't return either calls. I did send a quick text to Bryan to let him know we'd chat later in the week.

In between my pressing duties at CC, I manage what I can for Operations from the other side of the building. This means I'm still trying to review Caden's never ending emails from my old CC desk while juggling with the deadline the department director had placed on us.

I miss that surly man.

"Ashley?"

My mind snaps back to the present at the raised voice. With a hand hovering over his mouse, Roy, one of the legal assistants, is looking at me expectantly. How long has been calling my name?

"You want mushroom on your pizza?"

"Sure." Mentally chiding myself, I quickly mark the message _unread_ so Caden can see for himself. "That sounds great." The stretch of my mouth is slow but satisfying, and within seconds I'm grinning like a fool at the monitor.

Does the pizza come with champagne?

*****

"Thanks for all your help, Ashley. You can't imagine how much I appreciate it."

I smile at the CC director. It seems I'm all smiles today. "I'm happy to help, Lauren. I'm glad we're able to get everything done – and in a decent hour!"

She laughs. "Only you would think seven is a decent hour to call it a day. Go home. Pour yourself a drink. You earned it."

That sounds fantastic. Waving goodbye, I heft my handbag on my shoulder and make my way down the empty hallway, the click of my low heels on tile joining the distant hum of a vacuum cleaner from somewhere in the building. Conference rooms and offices are dark, computer screens fast asleep. It isn't that late, but with technology, a lot of people would rather take work home than to linger behind.

Which is why I nearly scream in fright when a man slinks out from an intercepting hallway.

"Andrew!" My hand is over my heart, a reassurance that it's still there and functioning after the unexpected abuse. "What are you doing here?" My tone wasn't at all friendly.

"Hiya, Ashley. Working late?"

"Clearly." Swallowing back the scream that's still itching to be released, I drop my clutching hand. "You scared me half to death."

"Sorry." He only flashes that toothpaste commercial grin, not even pretending to be contrite. "Listen, you had anything to eat yet?"

Pizza seven hours ago, but I'm sure that wasn't what he meant. "No. I'll make something when I get home."

He holds out his arms. "Why eat alone when you can eat with me?"

Did he seriously just say that? "Thanks, but I'm quite tired from the last few days. Long hours. I'm sure you understand."

"Come on, Ash. It's just a meal."

There was a time not too long ago when I would have leaped for joy at such an invitation from Andrew Dorskey, dropped everything in sight and followed him almost anywhere. By the look on his face, I know that he knew it. And now? I'd rather go home hungry.

Not to mention if Caden finds out I had dinner with Andrew Dorskey, he would detonate.

I think the man gauging me from the length of the hallway can see that too.

That stupid head tilt again. "You wouldn't be trying to give me the brush off, would you?"

I sigh. It's not in me to be rude, but he is earnestly grating on me. "I'm sorry. I really am tired, Andrew. I'd rather just go home."

"All right," he acquiesces easily. "Tomorrow night, then."

The groan doesn't escape, but it was a close one. "Andrew... what's this about? Is there something you want to discuss?"

He takes a step closer. "What? I can't take you out for a meal without there being an ulterior motive?"

Not with him. I'm conscious of that now. "I didn't say that," I try to mollify. "It's just that you never invited me before, and I'm just surprised, that's all."

"You went out with Martini," he points out.

Is that what this is about? A fight over perceived territory? And how did he know I had lunch with Caden?

"It's not uncommon for a boss to take his assistant out to lunch."

"Average bosses?" he counters scathingly. "That would be true. Caden Martini doesn't do assistant lunches. Didn't you see that in the memo?"

My chin lifts. "I'm not the average executive assistant."

He's quiet for beat, leveling me with an impenetrable look. "I'm beginning to see that. It looks like I picked the wrong person to look out for the company. He certainly is protective of you. I do wonder, though," he goes on, taking another stride towards me as his gaze slowly lowers to my moderate V-neck sweater and pencil skirt, "what makes you so special. Your homemade cookies, perhaps?" He chuckles as though to himself, a derisive, spiteful sound. "Or something else?"

"Why do you hate Caden so much?" I ask bluntly.

The corners of his mouth are still lifted, but his eyes are like knives, contradicting his next words. "You're wrong, Ms. Evans. I don't hate him. He's not worth my time."

"He's the COO. He deserves your time and your respect."

"My, my. Aren't you the good little soldier, guarding her superior with everything she has?" He stops within inches of me. Fingers brush against my cheek. Linger there. "Don't believe the hype, Ashley. He's not worth your time either."

Frozen in place, I don't move. Can't. My mind is scrambling for a reaction, but it's not coming up with one fast enough.

Then the words are out before my trained manners can intercede. "You're out of line," I utter through strained lips.

The kicker is, he's been out of line long before this.

"Hey." All innocence, both hands float back, holding up like I'm aiming a gun at him. "I mean no harm. You had something on your face, and I was merely helping you out."

"What the fuck is going on here?"

Both our startled gazes swing to the irate male voice at the end of the walkway. Andrew's arms drop, jamming his fists into his pockets.

"Caden!" I have never been so glad to see him. "You're still here."

But he's too busy slaughtering Andrew with is eyes. "Why are you here, Dorskey? Didn't I make myself clear? Let me remedy that oversight now." In a blink he's between me and Andrew, his face contorting into a vicious sneer. "Stay away from Ashley. Far away. You got that?"

Andrew looks from the seething man to me and back again, no doubt calculating his best move. There's something in his face, as though he's recalibrating. "I was just saying hello." Gone is his usual charm. "It's late, and I didn't want her to walk by herself." Politely, he dips his head at me. "My mistake."

I watch Andrew walk away, back straight, gaze forward, and I have a feeling he's not going to let Caden drive him away so easily. Not without retribution.

"Caden?" I lay a hand on his arm. It's rigid, muscles bunching under my fingers. His shirtsleeves are rolled up at his elbows, his tie gone. With what I hope is good judgment, I move close to him as his livid gaze lingers after the man no longer in sight. "Don't worry about him."

That livid gaze gradually lowers to meet mine. "Why is it that every time I turn around, you're with Dorskey?"

The whispered question was no less lethal than if he'd bellowed it.

I fall back a step in astonishment, not wanting to believe what I thought I heard. "What?"

"Were you with him last night?"

Shocked, I gawp at him in speechlessness.

"Were you?" he pushes when I can't manage past the heaviness in my chest. "Just tell me."

Swallowing the boulder scraping my throat, I shake my head. "No." That one word is raw, filled with the pain I can't mask. "No," I say with what I hope is more fervor when all I want to do is tremble with rage and devastation. "I was not. I was working until almost midnight. Feel free to check with Lauren Chiu. She was here too."

As I stand there with my vein sliced open and throbbing, all I see is wariness and doubt from the one person who holds the saving bandage.

Without another word, I turn and trudge down the corridor, my steps rapid, purposeful. I'm not running and that's by design. A ringing is numbing my ears, my eyes blissfully fuzzy, but I don't look back while I round the corner to the reception foyer.

Don't shed another tear for him again. I forbid it!

By the time I reach the parking structure I'm a stride from trotting. My lungs hurt, but hopefully that's just from my wheezing. It's a good thing I park at the same spot every day and don't have to think about where I left my car. That would require too much effort right now.

Why is it that every time I turn around, you're with Dorskey?

How can he think that of me? When have I ever done anything that would make him doubt me? It was bad enough having to defend myself against Andrew's ridiculous insinuations and advances, but to have Caden question my motive when I did nothing wrong is just not what I'm willing to put up with.

On autopilot, I drive home, not allowing the choked emotions to burst. I simply won't allow it.

How can I possibly be with someone who would question my every whereabouts? My every intention. He doesn't have any faith in me. Worst yet, he doesn't have any faith in himself.

For that, I hate Marianne and what she did to him. What she's still able to do to him.

And the thought just enrages me.

Caden deserves more than that. More than what he allows himself.

The engine is hardly off before I'm shoving out of the car, banging it shut behind me. Instantly blinding headlights slice across my vision and force me to avert my gaze. Screeches come to a halt beside me.

No sooner does the black Jaguar stop roaring is Caden in front of me. The top two buttons of his dress shirt are loosened, and he's breathing hard, his chest rapidly rising and falling while he stares daggers at me.

I give it right back to him. It's either that or deck him.

I didn't see it coming, had no way to foresee his move. If I had, I don't know what I would've done.

Because I didn't, all I can do is kiss him the way he's trying to take me in, take me whole. Because I didn't even feel him thudding me back against the side of my car until I'm already there, all I want to feel is him. His hands in my hair. His breath mingling with mine. His tongue insatiable in my mouth.

Now that I'm able to see, I'm shoving him off me with all my might, all my anger. "You jerk!"

Did his lips just twitch? Oh my God, I'm going to kill him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Caden

She's so adorable I don't know what to do with myself.

If _jerk_ was the worst insult she could hurl at me, life's good. And if that's just the start, then at least she's talking to me.

She's right, though. I am a jerk. More than that, but I'm not going to spell it out for her. She's already seen first-hand what an asshole I can be.

"Ugh!" She shrieks in obvious frustration. "Are you just going to stand there and laugh at me?"

"I'm not laughing at you."

The truth seems to piss her off more. "You know what?" She shunts an indignant finger an inch from my nose. "I don't care. You can go to hell."

"Been there," I retort, only she's already stomping away. "Don't walk away from me. I'm talking to you."

"Work hours are over, Mr. Martini," she snaps without breaking stride. "My time is my own."

I mentally count to five, giving her the lead. It is a nice night, after all, and I wouldn't want to disturb her quiet neighbors. When the count hits five I'm bounding up the stairs two at a time. She's at her door when she sees me coming fast and yelps, one hand already on the doorknob as she frantically shoves her key in the deadbolt. My hand wraps around her much smaller one on the metal before it turns, successfully seizing any advancement to safety and locking me out.

I can clearly make out each wild intake of breath, feel her frenzied pulse like my own, and it's turning me on.

Using my body as a shield around her, I murmur directly in her ear, "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"I told you to go to hell," she hisses at the wooden door in front of her.

It's cute how she wouldn't even turn to yell at me. I admit, I have it coming, but fuck if I'll let her call it quits.

My nose skims down behind her ear, nuzzling, caressing. Her hand tightens under mine, but not before I feel her sexy body shiver against me.

I'm pretty sure she can feel my happy dick drilling against her lower back.

With my free hand, I slip it around to her quivering stomach, pressing her back even closer to me. "Ashley," I whisper against her temple. "Let me in."

We both know what would happen if she does.

"I... I can't."

Disappointment slams into me like an automatic braking system. Can't? I hate that word, almost as much as I hate the word _no_. My forehead sinks to her shoulder. "Why?"

"Because." She turns now and I let her. Let her turn me down. "You're still married."

Her words are low, the impact severe.

"It's just a piece of paper, Ashley.

"Not to me."

I hold up my hands, let them fall. "I don't know what you want me to do."

"You don't have to do anything. I know it's a matter of time." Her tongue darts out, licks her lips in a nervous gesture. "Maybe we can take this up again then. When it's final."

"In my mind – in my entire being – it's final. It's been final. What the lawyers are doing is just a technicality.

"That might be the case for you, but until it's legally final, she still has a claim to you." She shakes her head sadly. "I don't want to be in the middle of that."

"I'm not asking you to be," I reason. Why can't she see that? Can't see that Marianne lost her claim to me a long time ago? "I don't want you to be in the middle of anything. All I care is that you're by my side."

"Everything okay, Ashley?"

An older woman a few doors over is peering through her front window, giving me the stink eye.

Ashley's cheeks pinken endearingly. "Sorry, Mrs. Freedman. My friend and I were just talking."

"You _friend_ , huh?" The old bat doesn't hide her skepticism. "He's a looker, I'll give you that."

This old bat is all right.

Indecisive little teeth play with her lower lip, then, "Mrs. Freedman, this is Caden. Caden, Mrs. Freedman."

So manners win. I lift a hand at the busy body. "Pleased to meet you. My apologies for disrupting your evening." Ashley whips her head to me and does a double take. What? She didn't think I have manners of my own? "I was trying to convince Ashley to let me walk her in, but it appears she doesn't believe I'm an honest fellow, so I'm forced to enjoy her company at her door."

"Caden!" Ashley hisses, utterly mortified.

Mrs. Freedman's eyes gleam with humor and indulgence as she cackles. "Have you tried flowers? Those never hurt. Our Ashley is partial to tiger lilies."

I acknowledge her matchmaking effort with a wink. "Thanks for the tip."

Her cap of curly white hair bobs when she nods in my direction, her gaze on Ashley. "I like this one, girl, but don't make it easy. Give him a run for his money."

Ashley groans in defeat, her head dropping on the side of my shoulder. Since there's nothing I like more than having her close, I take the opportunity to wrap my arm around her, only to discover she's shivering. Suddenly realizing there's a bite in the air, I murmur to her, "Are you cold?"

There's a hesitation, then the head against my shoulder dips once but doesn't lift, probably still fighting back embarrassment.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Freedman. Have a good night," I offer earnestly as the old woman watches us with a thoughtful gaze. "I'll make sure Ashley is safe and warm inside."

Ashley's keys are still hanging off the deadbolt. With my free hand, I remove them before twisting open the door. The hinges squeak noisily as I push it in. It's dark inside, so I only make out shadows of sparse furniture. Practicality rather than frivolities, but that's what I like about Ashley Evans.

"Come on, baby." I urge her through the threshold while remaining on the other side. "It's starting to get cold out."

Auburn brows crease. "Are you leaving?"

"I might have done a lot of questionable things in my life." Grabbing her hand, I place her keys in her palm, curling her chilled fingers over them. "But when a woman says no, it ends there."

Her gaze drops to my throat. Unfortunately, I don't think she's considering licking it.

"I was just going to make an omelet for dinner. Nothing fancy. Do you..." Uncertain, her fingers grasp the interior doorknob like it's an anchor. "Maybe you want to stay a bit for omelet?"

God does exist. "I love omelet."

"Okay." The corners of her gorgeous lips tilt up and she nods. "Please, come in."

As I'm closing the front door behind me, she flips on a light in the dining room that magically lights up the kitchen, as well. A tan couch is against the wall facing the front door, the cushions look well-worn but comfortable with colorful throw pillows and a red overlay on one corner. There's no coffee table, just a couple of leather ottomans between the couch and a medium size television mounted on the opposite wall. A life-size big-leaf plant sort of divides the living space from the small dining room, where a round white-washed table with four chairs are centered. A huge white framed mirror hangs on the wall, giving the impression of a larger space. The galley kitchen has a half-wall that serves as a breakfast bar, and I watch her head in that direction after setting her purse on a dining room chair.

"You live here long?" I ask, wondering if the place is even big enough for one person.

"Four, five years, I think. Sit down. I'll just go change and wash up."

Looking around, I settle for the padded barstool, figuring she'll be in the kitchen.

"You like cheese?" she wants to know as she disappears toward the back of the apartment.

"Who doesn't?"

I hear a muffled snicker. "Lactose intolerant people."

"They're just in denial."

"Says the man who relieves himself on greens."

"I see one in your apartment that can use my TLC."

"Don't you dare touch my plant, Caden Martini."

I'm chuckling, enjoying myself. And with my clothes on. Who knew?

She comes back into view in a bulky yellow sweatshirt that grazes her hips and what I'm guessing are leggings? Yoga pants or something? Fuck if I know, but they're black and snug and hugs her ass like a dream.

"What?"

My gaze slashes to hers. "Hm?"

"You were staring at me."

"I was?" Guilty.

And she knows it. "Yeah, you were."

I look from her sock covered feet to the collar of the bright sweatshirt. "I just realized I've never seen you in anything but professional attire before."

"Oh." The sleeves are pushed up, revealing smooth skin. "I like to be comfortable when I'm home."

I like her to be comfortable. "I like your home," I tell her instead. "It's uncluttered, functional yet welcoming. It's... well, it's you."

To my surprise and delight, she breezes over and brushes her lips against mine. "That's sweet."

When she makes to step back my hands snake out to her hips to hold her in place. "You're sweet."

Her gaze softens even more, bounding from my eyes to my mouth and back. "You can be sweet, too. The way you chatted with Mrs. Freedman. That was nice."

"Yeah?" I have to taste those delicious lips. Once. Twice. "I'm not a jerk anymore?"

Her lips stretch over mine. "You still are, but that's why you're special."

"Hmm. Come here." With a little tug, I have her nice and secure between my knees. Since I'm sitting on the stool and she's standing, we're nearly eye to eye. Our position is made more gratifying when she smooths her palms over my shoulders. "Go away with me this weekend."

If she's taken aback, she doesn't show it. "Where?"

"Vegas? Ensenada?" I try again when she made a face at the first suggestion.

There's a different face, a sheepish one. "I don't have a passport."

The hands that were relishing sliding up and down her sides pause. "Say what?"

She shrugs. "I never needed one. I've never been out of the country."

"You're kidding me." At her bland stare, I say, "Not even to Canada?" I guess Mexico for the weekend is out. "Everyone's been to Canada."

"No, Caden. Not everyone's been there."

"We have to get you a passport," I decide right then and there.

"Why? It's not like I'm going anywhere that would require one."

"Baby." I give her a gentle shake. "We need to get you a passport so I can take you anywhere you want to go. Anywhere in the world."

She slants me a look. "I like it here just fine."

"Sicily," I throw out there, not taking her niggles to heart. "My family has a villa."

That stops her. "Your family _owns_ a villa? Like, honest to goodness Italian villa?"

My hands resume their blissful roaming. "Villa Lucia, after my great-great-grandmother."

She stares at me as though she's never seen me before. Then she's out of my arms and in the tiny kitchen, her back to me the whole time. There's inane muttering as she rummages through the refrigerator, shifting things around on the shelves. She bends down to delve through the crisper drawer.

Fuck, but I like those leggings or pants or sweats or whatever they are.

"I own spaghetti sauce. He owns a villa."

I'm so engrossed with ogling her delectable rear end I nearly missed her rumblings.

Clear plastic bags containing colorful but cruel looking things are spread out on her small countertop. Eggs, butter, and I don't even know what's in that bottle litter her miniscule kitchen. She busies herself with washing a bell pepper and other meal garnishments, all the while mumbling to herself.

"Is there a problem?"

"Nope." Cutting board by the sink. "No problem at all." Yanks knife out of a block. "Why would there be a problem?" Vegetables. "All's swell in this part of the world." _Thwack_.

Oh good.

_Whack_.

Then she's cracking eggs over a bow, beating the crap out them with a fork. At the rate she's propelling her arm, she's going to lift off soon.

"You need help?"

She stops abruptly, looking up at me. "You know I'm never going to own much of anything, right?" She picks up the knife again, sawing slices of butter from the stick, waving it in between to emphasize her point. "A decent car, sure. Maybe a condo once I save up enough for the down payment. But that's it. That's all that's in store for me."

I eye the sharp blade with trepidation. "Then it's a good thing I'm not a gold digger."

"It's not a joke, Caden." Sober, the kitchen tool is set down as she looks at me. "What you have? I can't even begin to picture it."

"The villa belongs to my mother, not me." I don't tell her that at some point, it will. "Family and friends are always welcomed, that includes you."

Her shoulders droop. "You're missing the point."

"No, I'm not." Rising, I eliminate the space between us to come up behind her. "I don't see it as a point. What you and I have doesn't involve my family or what I own or don't own. It doesn't involve what you may or may not own now or later in your life. So how was I missing the point? Tell me," I insist when she refuses to look at me. "If Marianne were to wipe me out in the divorce, would you see me differently?"

"Of course not!"

"Why?"

"Because it doesn't change who you are."

"Ashley, look at me." As though I just ordered her to the guillotine, she slowly, reluctantly twists around. Sometimes I want to shake her until she sees reason. "I ask again, how was I missing the point?"

"It's not the same," she contends stubbornly.

"You're right. I don't have to worry about how to pay the bills, which, I hear, can be a big stressor in a person's life. You should be happy that I won't die of cardiac arrest anytime soon. Isn't that good news? I, for one, am happy about that." When she bites her lip to keep it from lifting, I silently breathe a sigh of relief. "Don't borrow trouble, baby. _That's_ too much trouble. Now, let's return to a previous point."

When I reach for her, she doesn't waver but wraps her arms around me, her cheek right over my heartbeat. Is she checking for that cardiac arrest?

"I know I'm being silly," she lets out. "It's not a big deal right now."

Or ever, but I'll grant her that delusion. "This is nice." Nicer if we were naked. And horizontal.

"I heard that."

"Heard what?"

"What you were thinking."

"You're a mind reader now?"

"It doesn't take psychic powers." She snuggles closer. "I can feel it against my stomach."

I laugh, completely enchanted with her. "Let me know if you want to feel it elsewhere."

She swats my ass playfully. "Behave."

That's easier said than done, considering all I feel is her. All I want to feel is her. Even her scent is driving me crazy, sweet and tantalizing. Reminding myself that I'm not a total degenerate, my hands caress her back over the baggy sweatshirt, resigning myself to harmless displays of affection and maybe, if I'm really lucky, adolescent pettings.

Until my palms somehow slip under the knitting to find warm, soft female skin. I wait a beat, seeing if she'd protest or draw back. When she only cuddles against me, sighing in contentment, I take that as encouragement.

It's while I'm exploring, mentally marking the turning point before I have to venture back, that my eager fingertips smooth over nothing but silky skin. No elastic band. No annoying hooks. No sleek fabric.

The tortured groan is audible only in my head. I hope.

Because she's trying to _give_ me cardiac arrest.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ashley

God, he feels so good. Solid. Strong. Impenetrable. Nothing can get through him. And I'm in the center, enveloped in all that ferocious power, but his touches are gentle, his strokes unhurried. He's not rushing this. Not rushing me or us.

Because I told him _no_.

Not while he's still legally married.

The thought of his wife – his _ex_ -wife – and all that she'd denied him, makes me so mad. She abused his trust, his devotion, and for what? For selfish pleasure. She had this fierce, caring, generous man, and she threw him away. Tossed his affections out like rotting garbage. Then further deprived him by dragging out the divorce even though she was the one who hammered in that last nail on the coffin, probably trying to manipulate him into throwing in that Italian villa as settlement.

She didn't deserve Caden.

But I have him now. And he has me. I'm not going to let him go.

Easing back, I watch my own fingers, steady and resolute, loosening the button of his shirt. It's pewter and doing amazing things to his eyes. One hand sails out from under my sweatshirt and flies up to mine, stilling my mission.

"Baby, what are you doing?"

I lift my gaze, let him see my eyes. Steady and resolute like my fingers. "Undressing you."

Eyes so blue they might be burning searches mine. His hand tightens. He must've seen what he wanted, because that hand drops to find its way back with its partner.

I suppose he's not going to help me with his shirt. I fight back the smile as my fingers get back to work, freeing a second button to reveal olive skin with a very light dusting of hair. The shirt is tucked into his pants, trapping further progress.

Well, that just means his belt has to come off.

The metal buckle is warm against my fingers, absorbing both of our radiating body heat. It slackens effortlessly just as I feel Caden's palms, a little calloused, slide up my body, his thumbs grazing the sides of my breasts. His breathing is choppy, but still he doesn't charge full speed ahead. He's letting me take the lead. In case I change my mind.

That's not going to happen.

The ends of his belt slacken around the waistband. Within seconds I've his shirttail out and taken care of the last buttons. I stare into those riveting blue eyes as I slide my hands down his bare chest, slipping the shirt off to land on the floor. His skin is supple and inviting, and I give in to the urge, placing my mouth on the center of it.

"I'd love to return the favor."

I laugh against his heartbeat, his masculine scent shrouding me. Edging back, I marvel at how I can be tickled by humor when my blood is coursing through my body like it's been injected with endorphins, heady and intoxicating all at once.

Fingers reach at my sweatshirt, the hem lifting off my heated flesh. The supple cloth rasps against me and I hold up my arms, enabling him to skim it above my shoulders and over my head. Then his lips are on my chest between my breasts, kissing it the way I did his. The tips of my breasts pebble painfully for attention.

The back of his fingers skim against them, teasing them. "So beautiful." He cups the weight, kneading with fervor and with what looks to be a bit of wonder. "So soft."

I'm no Cindy Allegore or, I suspect, Marianne Martini. A handful, tops. The way he's admiring me, stroking me, I don't think he cares.

"They're real."

It's his turn to laugh. He's probably forgotten what real breasts feel like. I'm happy to be the one to remind him.

"They're perfect."

On tiptoes, I reach up to taste his mouth with mine. He lowers his head to meet me halfway. Our lips and tongue dual for minutes. Hours. I'm not sure anymore. I just know I'm dizzy, my body about to catch fire if he doesn't do more than kiss me.

Grasping hold of his belt ends, I begin to drag him backwards, our lips never parting. The bedroom is just around the corner, but it's way too far for my need. I draw him toward the couch until the back of my knees bump against an ottoman. I heave that aside with an impatient foot only to misjudge and nearly fall over. Caden grabs me just as we both land on the soft couch.

We're both laughing even as my frantic hands yank at the fastenings that confines him from me. His lips are on my breasts, voraciously licking and sucking until I think he's going to swallow them whole. I shove at his pants as far as my arms can reach, but given his position that's not even close to satisfying.

I'd tell him to stop so I can free him, but him lapping at my breasts feels _so good_ I don't want him to.

He gets the big hint when I discard the task altogether and palm his hard length over his boxer briefs.

There's a sound. I'm not sure if it's him or me. Maybe both. He raises to his knees, watching me watch him all the while, and shunts off what I couldn't. Off the couch he goes to kick off his shoes before fishing something out of his wallet and tossing the palm-size package onto the ottoman. Finally those darn pants clear. I drink him up from his gorgeous head to his masculine toes and every aching inch in between.

Then, even as I'm staring at him standing there in nothing but male skin and hard muscles, he reaches out to run his hand over his length, his gaze glued to my face.

"The night you sent me the picture of you," he begins, his voice raspy as he leisurely, beguilingly strokes himself. "On the bed. Pink bra and panties. This was what I was doing for half the night and again the next morning."

My lips part at the confession. No one has ever said anything like that to me. I was always cute. Nice. Sweet. Those aren't exactly a description for wet dreams.

"Did it hurt?" I have no idea where that question came from, except his expression looks pained.

"Not as much as it's hurting now."

Sitting up, I reach for him, replacing his hand with mine as I look up at him. "Let me help." He's iron hard yet velvety. I don't break my gaze as I flick my tongue at the tip of his long length, swirling it around and around before taking him in my mouth.

His eyes glaze with bliss. "Fuck, baby. Take it all." Hands are in my hair, fingers pressing at my scalp, and I feel him hit the back of my throat. "That's it. That's a good girl."

Just as I'm about to gag he eases back for a beat, only to drive back. Reflexively I swallow, breathing through my nose. He's gently pumping into my mouth, his mass skating over my drenched tongue, his satisfied groans fill my ears to join the messy slurps.

He abruptly pulls out of me, his hands not too steady as he leans me back against the couch.

"Wasn't that good?" I ask, not sure why we stopped. He sounded like he was enjoying it immensely.

"Baby, any better and that would have been it, and I don't want that yet." He kneels on the carpet, fingers on the waistband of my pants. "As much as I love these, it's time they come off."

At his prompting, I lift my hips up. The pants slide off in one efficient swoop.

I hear a sucked in breath. Following his hot, riveted gaze to the bare skin underneath the pants, I feel the flush race up my face. "Like I said, I like to be comfortable when I'm home."

"Nothing wrong with that." His voice is low, gruff. "Absolutely nothing at all." Turning, he retrieves the foil package, rips it open with his teeth, and protects us both. His burning gaze meets mine across the expanse of my nakedness. "Put your feet on the couch."

I do as I'm told, because it was a command, not a suggestion, my heels resting on the edge of the bouncy cushion.

Then gasp when my entire body is yanked down, my bottom where my feet were a second ago. Before I can even process what's happening my knees are shoved wide and his head is pressed against me, his tongue making a full meal out of lashing at my core.

_Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh_.

The moan spurts out of me long and hard. Pain. That was what he meant. The pain of pleasure so intense you think you're dying a good death. I can feel my legs trembling in his grasp, my arms desperately trying to find purchase, my toes curling the little death curl. When I think I can't take anymore, when the gripping euphoria is blinding my mind and all I can do is center on that one part of my gushing body, he slips a finger inside me.

It hurts. My throat is raw from the rapid whimpers, my body throbbing for release. I hear his rough voice as if from far away. _Let go, baby. Let go_.

My back comes off the couch. I might be levitating. I don't know. But I'm screaming and fisting his hair as every muscle in my body convulse.

I've no clue how long I was in the enraptured daze. There are lips grazing my inner thigh. A blunt finger is lightly circling my wet opening and skidding up.

I almost jumped off the couch. "Caden." His name was a gasp. "Not yet. Too sensitive."

Immediately the finger slides down. "You're a screamer," he says against my leg, quite pleased with himself. "I would have never guessed in a million years."

After what we just did, I can't believe he still has the ability to make me blush. "Sorry. It just sort of happened."

There's a pure male laugh. "Don't be sorry. It was magnificent."

Climbing up on the couch, he wraps an arm around me and repositions me so that we're both along its length. I feel him gently probing my entrance, his arms braced on either side of my head.

Inner muscles stretch to accommodate him. I feel the uncomfortable pinch of intrusion, the yield of sensitized flesh. His head is lowered, watching us physically connect. It doesn't take long before he's thrusting, drawing in and out, labored breathing fanning my forehead and competing with mine.

"Ashley." _Huff_. "Baby, you're so tight."

_God_. _He feels so darn good_.

Fingers claw at his back. He winces but doesn't stop. The buildup starts, the marvelous tingle at my core and spreading to every inch of my stiffening body. Then my back is off again and I'm sinking my teeth into the nearest muscled forearm to keep from shattering too noisily.

Caden's arms collapse from under him and he buries his face in my neck, ramming into me and grunting as though he's dying the same raw, ecstatic death.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Caden

_Wow_.

My baby is a screamer, a clawer, and a biter.

Crazy. Hot.

Perhaps I should have her nameplate changed.

_Ashley Evans, Executive Wildcat_.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Ten times over.

Her fingers are playing with my hair at the back of my head, nails grazing my scalp and making me shudder with awakened thrill. She's so soft. And tight in the right places. And beautiful. And affectionate. And so sensual I don't know how to stop myself from bursting at the seams.

Fuck if my dick isn't twitching already.

Lifting my head – how did my leg end up on the ottoman? – I readjusted, peering down at her. She's got her eyes closed, her delicious lips slightly parted, looking so peaceful that if she hadn't been messing with my hair a second ago, I would think she's snoozing.

It might be that she feels me studying her, but her lids lift, her gaze cloudy but unmistakably satiated.

"Hey."

A smile slowly takes over. "Are we dead?"

I give that smile a quick kiss. "Not by a long shot. You hungry?"

"Famished."

"Good." One more. Just one more, I tell myself as I brush her lips with mine. "Let me run to the bathroom, then I'll make you that omelet."

Those wide eyes grow even more. "You cook?"

"We'll find out, won't we?" With a coquettish grin, I push off the couch.

Not bothering to try to find my clothes, I pad to the rear of the apartment, guessing correctly that's where I would find the bathroom. It's small and smells like sliced cucumbers. Wrapping the evidence of our night in toilet paper, I toss it and wash up.

I wonder if Ashley have any in her bedroom. I don't make a habit of loading up on condoms on my person at all times, but I suppose I can run to the drug store a few blocks from here.

Except I don't want to leave Ashley.

Knowing her, she might get the wrong idea. Think it's an excuse to run without making a scene. I won't deny I've played that gutless card before when I was younger, but I wouldn't dream of doing that with her.

I intend to stay the night.

When was the last time that happened?

The reflection in the mirror shows a naked man with disheveled hair, a faint red mark on a forearm and, when I turn over a shoulder, fingernail streaks on my back. I look like a man thoroughly and nicely fucked.

In more ways than the physical, because even I can see I have it bad.

You might not be looking at a mirror right now, but I see your face when you talk about her.

Well, I am looking at a mirror right now, and shit on me if Darren wasn't right.

I've never been one for self-delusions. Not when my parents' marriage was over. Not when my dad was dying of liver failure, nor when my own marriage was falling apart. It's just more efficient to accept the inevitable and work with it.

"Caden? You okay?"

The apartment is so diminutive that I have no trouble hearing her concerned call from the living room. "Yeah, baby." I stare at that man in the mirror, the one that's so fucked, and inhale deeply. It liberates in a whoosh. "Things are perfect."

*****

"I have to go." But I'm the one holding the cozy, naked female against me. I'm the one struggling to let go. "I've got to stop by my place for a change of clothes. Then I've got that flight to catch."

Ashley's musing up my recently finger-combed hair, her lips eagerly responding to mine. The one quick kiss goodbye that's on replay. It's four in the morning, the bedroom shrouded in shadows. She's in bed where I left her when I leaped out ten minutes ago to hunt for my discarded clothes. It's where I still want to be. Where I'm halfway back in.

"Will you call me?"

My hand skids down her side and runs back up, palming her soft breast. "As soon as I land."

She smiles adorably, fighting slumber. "Okay. Have a safe trip."

"Baby," I rouse her before she completely knocks out again. "I'm taking you out to dinner tonight, so wait for me."

"Um. Okay, boss."

I wait for a giggle or that sweet smile again, only her breathing has evened, her pretty features passive in slumber.

_Boss_.

She was teasing, right?

I am her boss, I tell myself as I find my way out of her dark apartment and down to my car. At least, for the next couple of months. But she's never called me that. Why would she do so now, especially after we just spent the night together?

She playfully called me a liar last night when I set a steaming and aromatic plate of mushroom and bell pepper omelet in front of her.

She screamed my name over and over when I went down on her again after our meal.

She proclaimed me wicked when I jerked off all over her lovely breasts.

But she never called me _boss_ until now. I'll have to make sure to bring it up tonight.

*****

I went with the white lilies. I know jack shit about flowers, but the internet is a lifesaver when it comes to things like that. Marianne didn't care much for blooms, preferring expensive clothes and flashy jewelry instead. For some reason, buying Ashley flowers seems to make us more official. Besides, I owe her an apology for being a _jerk_ yesterday, accusing her of having a thing with Dorskey. Ashley is sharp. I'm sure she sees right through Dorskey the Donkey. Still, I don't like the thought of him anywhere near her.

She cares about me. I don't doubt that. She's not the kind of woman that would go around fucking guys she's merely attracted to. I'm hoping to advance the care to genuine affection. Maybe even love.

It bothers her that I'm still technically married. It bothers me too but not in the same way. I just want to wash my hands of Marianne and never have to deal with her lying and manipulative ass again.

A thought just occurred to me. Ashley never agreed to going away with me this weekend.

Well, she might not know it yet, but I'm packing her bag and whisking her away for a few days, whether she likes it or loves it.

"Mr. Martini?"

My attention snaps back to the others in the conference room. Three pairs of eyes are staring at me expectantly. "Sorry, my ears are plugged up from the flight. Would you repeat that?"

They're exchanging confounded looks among themselves.

"Mr. Martini?"

There's a young woman hovering next to me. Attractive. A tad heavy on the makeup, blouse fitted over a slim figure. She's holding a carafe.

Was she the one calling my name?

"Coffee?"

"Yes," I answer automatically. Before she can pour the dark brew, I hold up a hand. "On second thought, I prefer tea."

Now the three line managers look positively alarmed.

_Get your head in the game, Martini_.

My watch vibrates, signaling a new text from my phone. Without being too obvious, I glance at the square screen. Ashley.

_Not the same without you here_.

Yes!

She misses me.

"...we increase the production hours, we may be able to..."

"... overtime alone would negatively impact..."

Grabbing my phone from the table, I begin to text...

Go into my office, lock the door.

"...allow a third shift that wouldn't req..."

Switch on the privacy wall. Sit on my desk.

"... cannot jeopardize that. Thoughts, Mr. Martini..."

Pull your skirt up. Put your feet on the desk. Pretend I'm on my chair, looking right at you.

"Mr. Martini?"

"I just need to get this important message sent," I tell the room without looking up. "Please proceed. I'm listening."

"Are we interrupting you?"

My gaze slashes to the impatient shift manager, James Connell. A fleeting personnel profile quickly runs through my mind when his gaze, full of edgy challenge, doesn't waver.

Started as stockroom clerk.

Worked his way to middle management and got stuck there.

Been with the company for over twenty years.

Three kids and an ex-wife.

Deliberately, I set my cell phone down on the conference table. "No third shift. We're stretched tight as it is. Hiring more staff for a third shift would be more costly than overtime. OT is fine as long as it's controlled, managed, and fair to all applicable staff. Send the proposed budget to me by tomorrow. When we meet the deadline with the extra hours while staying within budget, the staff would receive an incentive bonus to mitigate the possible impact on morale. Factor that budget item in your proposal. Have I addressed all your concerns?"

That's how I deal with the rest of my manic day, juggling between duties and relishing Ashley's sometimes erotic, sometimes endearing messages.

When a pic comes through, I jump at it, hoping it's another naughty selfie, but it's a shot of a spilling vase of white lilies on the corner of her desk followed by a heart emoji.

Is the emoji about me or the flowers?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Ashley

My fingers fly up to suppress the giggle threatening to burst. It wasn't meant to be funny, but I have a feeling Caden's trademark grumpiness is all over the Nevada site right now. If he gets through a day without a scowl, it would be a day to mark on the calendar.

Idiots here are either trying to kiss my ass or show me up. Can't they just do their job for a change?

I fork in another bite of chicken cobb salad before I respond to Caden's irate text. _Isn't that why you get the big bucks?_

It's why I get the big headaches.

_It's okay to try to impress the COO_.

_I'm not impressed_.

_Stop scowling._ I might not be able to see him, but I know him. _It can't be that bad._

It wouldn't be if you were here. I wish you were here.

Not only my heart but my entire body softens at the sweet words. _I miss you. Weird, isn't it?_

Why's that?

Because you've only been gone for a few hours.

Not weird at all. I know exactly what you mean.

"Ashley Evans, right?"

My gaze swings up, a small smile still on my face, only to have it drop abruptly and I'm instantly on my feet. "Mr. Oats. Um..., yes, it's Ashley. I mean, I'm Ashley."

To my knowledge, the CEO has never made an appearance at the staff cafeteria. Dressed in a white shirt and navy slacks, he's relatively casual for his position with the company as he carries a white plastic tray. Not only is this the first time I've seen him here, but it's the only time I've seen him without a tie.

It's then I notice the assorted chatter and quiet laughter of the large cafeteria have tersely hushed.

He nods down at an empty chair at my table. "Mind if I join you?"

Do I really have a choice? "Please."

The tray is set down, and I realize he has the same salad I was enjoying. Next to it is a bottle of flavor-infused water. "I hear the salad is wonderful here," he mentions as he waits for me to return to my seat before settling across from me. "Katie, my wife, insists on my eating this healthy mumble jumble. I hope I didn't interrupt your break too terribly."

He indicates the cell phone left on the table where I hastily abandoned it when he first appeared. Thankfully, the screen has blackened, or he might catch sight of my many texts – some of them way inappropriate - with my boss.

I shake my head. "I was just tending to some personal matters."

He smiles almost grandfatherly. "Nothing too pressing, I hope."

Again, I shake my head. Caden doesn't like to be placed on hold, but there's nothing I can do about that. Even as I resign myself to that wary conclusion, my phone lights up with an incoming text alert. Mentally putting it aside for now, I resume my fork, staring at the appealing mix of poultry, hardboiled egg, tomatoes, and greens and not really sure what to do with them.

A shadow of awkward silence descends on the table.

"Caden is at the Nevada location today," I offer in an attempt at conversation. "But he'll be back at the office tomorrow."

"Yes," he says, even though he was clearly aware of his COO's whereabouts. "He's exceptionally diligent. He has to be, to live up to the Martini name." He pauses, picking up his own utensil and begins mixing the contents of the large plate, his gaze on the task. "He can come off as brusque, merciless even, but he has a heart of gold."

I take in the older man across from me, liberally saturating his plate with dressing. Rumors have it he's one of the kindest, fairest man anyone can hope to find in an executive, though I can't say I've had many interactions with him. "Mr. Oats? I didn't file a complaint against Caden, if that's why you're here."

"I don't imagine you did. You can call me Darren, by the way. I might be sixty-seven, but I still look for my father when I hear _Mr. Oats_. Is the salad not to your liking?"

He might have been busy carving up his chicken, but he's an observant man.

Piercing a tomato, I remind myself that I'm allowed to eat in front of the CEO during my lunchbreak.

My phone lights up briefly with another notification.

"Trisha told me about her conversation with you," he continues when I silently try to finish my meal as quickly as possible without looking like an ill-mannered disaster. "I have to say, that was a day for surprises."

Is that what this is about? "Everything I said was true." That sounded more defensive than I would have liked. "I didn't fabricate anything."

The device on the table goes off seemingly in anger.

"I wasn't under the impression you did. Go ahead." The CEO eyes my phone. "He doesn't like to wait."

_He knows_. He didn't have to announce it, but the way he's looking at me... Meaningfully. _Read between the lines_ , it says. My anxious eyes stay on his as my brain feverishly process this.

Uneasy, I chew on my lip and pick up the phone. "Hey."

My unexpected lunch companion returns his focus to his meal.

Caden's voice comes through loud and a little peeved. "I thought you were at lunch."

"I am."

"Then why are you ignoring me?"

"I'm not," I answer crisply. Though there's too much noise in the cafeteria to probably make heads or tails of the voice at the other end of the phone, the man sitting across from me can plainly hear every word that comes out of my mouth. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

There's light panting, like he's walking and talking at the same time. "Why?"

My gaze unconsciously swerves up. "Mr. Oats is here."

There's a heavy pause.

Then curses. Lots of them. So many I can feel my ears turning red.

"Put him on the phone."

" _What?_ "

"Baby, just do it."

"Um... hold on." Tentatively, I cover the bottom of the phone over the mic. This is messed up beyond my imagination. "Mr. Oats – Darren," I quickly correct at his look, fighting not to wipe my nervous hand down my skirt. "Caden wants to talk to you."

There's affectionate indulgence and a touch of humor when the CEO holds out his palm.

"Hello, Caden. Do we still have staff in Nevada, or did they all race out in terror when you arrived?" He sends me a wink as he listens for a minute. "Not at all. We were just chatting."

With all my might, I try to make out Caden's voice, but all I hear are surrounding conversations.

"Yes, she is indeed very exquisite. I can see why you're so smitten with her."

I nearly choke on an avocado.

Darren chuckles. "Naturally. Why don't you two stop by the house this weekend? I'm sure Katie would like to meet her."

Please say no. What would I even say to the CEO's wife?

"That's too bad, but I hear Carmel is lovely this time of year."

Carmel?

"All right, then. Don't be too hard on our folks over there, son, we still need them to work. Here's Ashley."

"Caden?" I say as soon as I have my phone back. "Was that really necessary?"

"You bet your sweet little ass it was. Darren can be all up in my business, but he knows better than to do it while I'm not there."

"You could've warned me," I chastise.

He knows exactly what I was referring to. "Things happened so fast, I forgot I told Darren about us. Don't worry, baby. He's supportive. He's always been supportive of whatever decisions I make."

I'm not too sure about that, but I'm not going to argue or contradict him in front of the CEO.

"Well, my lunchbreak is almost over, and I have a demanding boss," I tease. "I better get back to work."

"I'll pick you up at seven tonight."

The lowered, intimate voice rather than the words has the dreaded flush creeping up my neck. "Sounds good."

"Have a good day, baby."

Taking in my rosy cheeks and bashful gaze, Darren grins at me after I set down the phone. "Looks like my boy knows what he's doing."

*****

"You look gorgeous."

I finger the dove gray cashmere dress. "I do?" I have no idea where we're going, but knowing Caden, we'll probably be at someplace elegant. When he showed up at my door in a suit and tie, I was glad I'd taken the time to put on a little makeup.

Though within minutes, he'd ruined my lip tint.

"You always do."

Quietly pleased, I admire his black suit, blue shirt, and silver tie. "You look nice, too," I tell him as he maneuvers over to the next lane. "You must have an impressive closet." The man seems to have a different suit on every day.

He shrugs. "Whatever is needed," he tosses out dismissively. "Speaking of clothes, don't forget to bring a jacket or something for this weekend. It can get chilly up there."

I slant him curt look. "You know, you should ask a woman first before making plans for a few days in Carmel." As relaxing and romantic as it sounds, I'd like to be in on it.

"I did ask you."

Sighing, I attribute his ridiculous reasoning to the clueless male specie as a whole. "Next time when you ask, would you be more specific?"

He's holding back a snicker, I can tell.

A hand reaches out, grasps mine over the top of my thigh. "Yes, Ashley baby."

I give his fingers a squeeze, letting him know all is well. "Where are we going?" Not that I care, as long as we're together.

"This place in Laguna Beach I've been to a few times. Food's pretty good. Nice atmosphere. Great view of the ocean."

"You live by the beach," I remind him. "Don't you have a great view of the ocean?" The one and only time I was there, it was too dark for me to see. Besides, I was too occupied with a drugged out boss to even think about it.

"A little, not as great as I hope, but it's home for now."

"For now?"

"I bought the first place that came on the market in that area when Marianne and I separated. It's reasonably close to the office, and it's a nice community, but it wasn't supposed to be permanent."

"So where would you live?"

"Not sure yet. This area is nice, but it's not close enough to MOI."

As we speak, he's pulling in front of a tinted glass-front building with a black awning over the wide entrance. Immediately the passenger car door is released, and a man in a black vest waits patiently for me to extricate out of the Jag.

"Good evening, miss."

I smile, waiting for Caden to take care of business with the other valet. There is definitely a chill, and I can only imagine what it will be like in Carmel.

A large hand settles on my back. Outwardly not being able to help himself, Caden lowers his head and brushes his lips against mine.

"Caden?"

In the next second his warmth is gone.

"Caden Martini. I didn't think I'd see you here."

The thin, leggy blond struts toward a frozen Caden, her sizable breasts bulging out of a tight blouse with most of the buttons left undone – not that there's any other way with those massive things. She uses her striking physical assets like ammunition, making sure those breasts rub against his chest as she plants her fire red lips on first one cheek, then the other.

Dread and disgust fights for prominence as I watch in horror.

When she leans back, her bright tipped fingers grasp possessively onto his biceps. A long glittering chain dangles between her deep cleavage, designed to steal all attention and keep it there. "I thought you didn't care for this place."

It's then I recognize her. The hair. The calculated smile. The voice. The double D's... maybe even F's, now that I'm seeing them in person. Cindy Allegore.

Caden appears to be dumbstruck. Definitely a first.

Apart from the others, I stand to the side, watching this nightmare before me and wonder what my part is in all this. That is, if I even have a part.

There's a man in a three-piece suit, late forty's, I'm guessing, observing the devastating scene like me, only he doesn't look like he's about to tear into the younger man. If I'm not mistaken, he looks thrilled to watch the woman he was obviously dining with paw at another man.

He's excited. Even anticipatory.

The long, red nails scale down and up Caden's arms. Once again she tips close, her enormous breasts crushed against his chest. "Cat got your tongue," she purrs against his ear.

That breaks him out of the stunned stupor. "Cindy. What a surprise."

"Is it?" she disputes with glee. "You knew this was my favorite place."

It's like a dagger just pierce my lungs. Brutally. Cruelly. Distraughtly I look from Caden to the other woman, knowing they were lovers recently and feeling like the third wheel. Maybe they were more, because she's taken him to her favorite restaurant.

The same restaurant he took me.

God, was he hoping to run into his former lover?

He steps back. Way back, forcing her arms to drop. "Actually, I haven't thought about that in a while."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Caden

What the fuck was I thinking bringing Ashley here?

I wasn't thinking at all, that was the problem. All I wanted to do was take Ashley somewhere nice with decent food and charming ambiance, then take her back to my place for dessert.

Now all I want to do is grab Ashley's hand and yank her out of here.

She's just standing there.

Lost.

Shattered.

It takes me a staggering second to realize it pains me to see her like this. She's not equipped to deal with women like Cindy. Everything this other woman does, including how she presents herself to the gawking world, is done for undivided attention. The bigger the scene, the bigger the audience.

And right now, the predator in Cindy is scenting blood. Perhaps it was because I dumped her rather callously and her inflated pride couldn't accept it, or she's out for vicious vengeance. I can handle people like Cindy, have been doing it, off and on, most of my life.

Ashley is different. She sees the world through pretty, rose-colored lenses.

I meet her horrified gaze over Cindy's head. With Cindy doing her utmost to set her claws on me, I can only imagine what Ashley is thinking right now.

I mean to mouth an apology to her, but she beats me to it.

"I'll be inside."

And just like that, she's gone.

Reeking condescension, Cindy's painted brow arches. "Are you kidding me with that girl?"

My temper shoots up from zero to a hundred in a split second. "Shut your mouth." I don't attempt to mask the nasty sneer or my disgust with her even when she flinches back. "Google it if you're not familiar with the concept. Nothing you say, nothing you try to do, will ever make you even close to her league. So don't even try, or you'll just end up looking pathetic like you just did."

Her inflated lips twist like she's trying to scoff at me, but all those injected chemicals can't quite manage it. When the victim she's undoubtedly with steps in to intervene, she throws up a stilling hand.

"She's not your type. Too innocent for the likes of you. Do the girl and yourself a favor. Don't deceive yourself into thinking she's too considerate to mind you putting her at the bottom of your priority list once the novelty wears out. Sooner or later, she's going to want to be more than an afterthought," she gibes with contempt. "Money or not."

Fucking bitch has no clue what she's yammering on about. Deceive myself? All that silicone must have leaked to her little brain.

Cindy Allegore was never on my priority list, much less the bottom, and she very well knows it. She can't possibly compare Ashley with her, because what Cindy and I had was nothing like what I want with Ashley.

There were no feelings for Cindy, unless some deranged fool considers lust a feeling. Even I know that's farfetched.

Kicking myself for having spent even a second with that demented creature, I make my way into the restaurant. Candles flicker on clothed tables, and the maître d leads me to a secluded table where Ashley is already seated.

As I advance, I weigh my approach on the situation. Though the establishment is quiet with most of the tables unoccupied, she's not perusing the romantic view at the other side of the glass, not looking at the door expecting me to walk through. In fact, the leather-bound menu covers more than half of her face as if she's hiding from the merciless world.

"Sorry about that," I pronounce flippantly and settle in. Make light of it. Don't dwell and give it the consideration it doesn't deserve. She's what's important. "How about some wine?"

She shakes her head. Or at least, I'm assuming that's what she's doing. All I see is her auburn hair and forehead behind the menu. I pick up my own, though my appetite seems to have vanished.

"The scallops are excellent here. The prime rib is good too, if you have a hankering for red meat."

Nothing.

"Have you looked outside? It's gorgeous out."

Somewhere a utensil hit the floor with a clank.

This is not going as well as I'd hoped.

Okay. Plan B.

"Ashley. Will you look at me?" When she doesn't immediately comply, I reach over and lower the menu myself. There's no anger or judgment, only immeasurable anguish in her gaze. And it almost does me in. "Don't do that," I chide gently. "It's not worth it."

Her gaze falls away without a word. It's as if she's so devastated she can't begin to express it.

"Don't let someone of no importance get between us," I contend with vehemence.

"You were lovers," she says in a faint, broken voice. "And you brought me to her favorite restaurant."

Her first words since the ugly scene outside, and they slam into me like a freight train.

I hadn't seen it from her perspective, made light of the horrendous situation. How could I, when I was too busy cursing Cindy for ruining my time with Ashley?

"That was my mistake." I fucked up. I have to own it. "I didn't think of it when I made the reservation. It's just a nice place with a fantastic view. It has no special meaning."

"Then why are we here?"

Wearily, my back meets the chair. She has a point. Why are we here?

Catching the eye of the server, who's been surreptitiously loitering nearby, probably sensing we needed a few moments of privacy, I signal for his attention. "Check, please," I ask.

The server's surprised gaze bound down to the empty table. Not even a beverage has been ordered yet.

"Sir?"

Right. "We've changed our minds," I explain to the poor, bemused guy. Extracting some bills from my wallet, I lay it on the table. "For your troubles."

In less than ten minutes we are back in the car. Unlike the trip over, this ride is excruciating. Ashely refuses to look at me, much less speak to me. I can't say I blame her, but fuck if she's not good at making me feel like shit about what happened.

"I'm feeding you," I assert. Whether she likes it or not, I'm not ready to let her go yet. Not like this. Not with this outrageous thing over our heads. Not by a long shot. "So either you tell me what you feel like eating, or I'll decide for you."

I wince at my own forceful words. Frustration is not something I deal with easily.

The silence is so painful I'm mentally checking for injuries.

"Fucking-A, baby, will you talk to me?" I demand, swerving my aggravated gaze between the road and the stubborn woman next to meet. "I told you, take a swing at me. But this?" I wave a hand between us. "This I can't handle."

"Can you just take me home?"

"Fuck no."

"You know," she starts, temper finally igniting. I'd take that over hurt any day. "You have a really foul mouth."

"So fucking what?"

"So watch your language!"

"Oh, you don't like it?" I bite out sardonically. "What are you going to do about it?"

When I briefly glance in her direction, she narrows fiery eyes at me. "Are you mocking me?"

"What if I am?"

"Take me home this instant."

I snicker without humor. "Maybe I didn't make myself clear the first time." To emphasize the point, I deliberately take a route in the opposite direction of her apartment. I haven't thought about where we're going, but I know for sure it's not her home.

She's glaring at me. I can feel it like an agonizing brand on my profile as I slow to a stop at a red light. Turning, I make sure her murderous gaze is on me.

"Fuck. No."

Amber eyes blaze. To my astonishment and the alarming cardiac arrest, her hand whips open the passenger door and she rolls out of the car in one motion.

"Ashley!"

The door slams before I can make a panicked grab for her. She takes off, dodging idling cars, dashing to the safety of the sidewalk with her long hair flying behind her.

_Fuck, baby. Fuck_.

Irate honks and shouts.

My fist collides with the steering wheel.

Stupid, reckless girl!

"Move your ass, motherfucker!" some asshole hollers.

"Watch your language!"

The irony isn't lost on me.

" _Fuck_."

The Jag's potent engine roars and I take off, only to deftly jam into the first available parking spot. I don't waste seconds but shove out of the car, wildly scanning the streets and sidewalks for auburn hair and a gray dress.

She's in heels. She couldn't have gone that far.

"When I get my hands on her," I mutter to myself, more pissed than I've ever been, and trot back to the point where she pulled a Houdini and disappeared.

The rage quickly morphs into unease when there's no sign of her. Taking an unlikely chance, I slide my phone out of my pocket and select her number.

It rings five times and goes to voicemail.

Skimming my hurried gaze around the array of storefronts, eateries, and even a luxury car dealership, I note the neighborhood isn't bad, even for a lone woman on foot.

But what if something happens to her? She's upset, not paying attention to her surroundings. Someone can easily nab her right off the street and into a waiting car.

"Ashley!"

A few patrons sitting at an outdoor café watches me with amused interest, some with confusion. They can all go to hell.

And then I see her. Or someone that looks like her. A block down sitting on a bench facing the street. A bus stop, maybe?

My chest collapses with relief.

Thank God she's okay.

Now I can wring her neck.

Making my way over, I keep my eyes on her lest the little wildcat realizes she's been found and takes off again. The night is getting colder by the hour, and as I come close, I notice she's shivering in her thin gray dress.

She looks so forlorn, so beautiful and alone, that as I approach, my mind just blanks. Gives up on me. It doesn't want to think about what to yell at her, how to make her see the error of her action, it just wants other parts of me, the less severe parts, to run the show.

Saying nothing, I take a seat next to her. She's watching the street, but I have the impression she's lost in her head.

Taking off my suit jacket, I drape it over her quaking shoulders. "When do you think the bus will get here?" Like her, I'm looking out onto the active street.

She doesn't seem surprised at my presence, just resigned. "I don't have any money," she admits without looking at me. "I left my purse in your car, so I guess it doesn't matter when it gets here."

"Well, maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but you now have my wallet." No acknowledgment at my sad attempt at levity. "Ashley." I suck in air. "That was probably the dumbest thing you could've done."

Perhaps it's because I didn't raise my voice, didn't berate her but merely stating what was, that she finally peers over at me. "I know."

"Why?"

She shakes her head. "I got mad. That's why I don't usually let my temper rise, because I lose all common sense and do stupid things."

"I'll keep that in mind." Pushing to my feet, I offer her my palm. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

There's only a split beat of hesitation, then her hand accepts mine. I keep it where it is as we stroll back at a leisurely pace, just in case she's still brewing some mad.

"You were right." When she quirks her brows at me in puzzlement, I clarify with, "About my foul mouth."

"Oh." She considers it. "It's not that bad."

"No?"

"I've heard worse."

"Tell you what," I say as we near my car, "you never, ever do that again, and I'll do my best to mind my mouth."

Skepticism is written all over her face. "You're going to change your daily vocabulary?"

"I said I'll do my best. It might take a while, but I'm willing to try." We halt next to the passenger door of the Jag. "Deal?"

The little tongue darts out to lick her lower lip. "Okay."

I take a step closer, giving her a chance to back away, but she doesn't. My palms frame her chilled jaw so she would understand the gravity of the circumstance. "You scared me, Ashley. When I couldn't find you, I thought something bad had happened to you."

I'm pulling her against me, a hand at the back of her head as she burrows against me. "I'm sorry. That was a stupid move."

As long as she knows not to do something like that again, maybe I won't have nightmares about it.

Reassuring myself more than anything, I hold her for several minutes, glad she's back where she belongs. Until my stomach rumbles.

She starts giggling. The most pleasing sound I can hear right now.

"I guess we better put some food in you."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Ashley

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" I frown at the ten or so people in line in front of us. "We can go somewhere else. It's really not all that exceptional."

Caden is behind me, his arms wrapped loosely around me. "What are you talking about? It smells great."

We inch closer to the order window. The waft of grilled, seasoned meats and spicy sauce is making me really hungry, but dinner from a taco truck isn't exactly what someone would consider a romantic evening out. "We can always go down the street for seafood."

His arms tighten. "You've been talking about the tacos for the last fifteen minutes, why are you changing your mind now?"

"Because... I don't know. I just don't want you to hate it."

This is one of the places Bryan and I prefer on lazy weekends. The food is unfussy but delightful, the mood casual, and it doesn't even come close to breaking the bank. It even has long hours for those occasional late-night snacks, but Bryan and I are a different breed than Caden's. As I was going on about the scrumptious tacos during the ride over, drooling over the fluffy, fresh tortillas and mouthwatering salsa, it didn't occur to me that Caden might not only be unfamiliar with ordinary food trucks, but that he might actually be offended by the urban fanfare.

A group of teenage boys join the line at the back, bickering the way only hormones can and roaring with laughter at their own adolescent jokes. The couple on the picnic-style benches set aside not too far from us is making out like this is their honeymoon and greasy food is their aphrodisiac.

"Baby, by the smell alone, there's no way I can hate this. Okay?" His eyes scan the menu posted on the side of the huge order window as we near the front. "What's your usual?"

"The carne asada tacos."

"That sounds good."

A few minutes later I stare in nothing short of awe from the picnic bench, where he insisted I wait just before he ordered. Two humongous paper plates brimming with six tacos, red rice, chips and salsa, and a burrito the size of Caden's forearm land on the rustic table in front of me.

"Where are you going?" I call out as he veers back toward the truck. I shiver in his jacket, missing his warmth.

"Drinks," he tells me from over his shoulder.

How in the world are we going to finish all that food? I can only shake my head.

"Your boyfriend really likes tacos," observes the charmed woman a few spaces over. Her own plate is mostly cleaned out, though there's a stained, wadded up napkin in place of the food.

I give her a small smile but don't respond.

My boyfriend. I'm not sure Caden would be okay with that, but I'm not in the mood to correct a stranger I'll never see again.

Caden plops down two cans of soda before wedging a leg in between the bench and the table, deftly straddling the vacant space next to me. "If we're going to indulge, we might as well do it right," he explains of the sodas. "Let's dig in before our dinner gets cold."

So saying, he offers me a soft taco. I shake my head. "You try it first."

No sooner are the words out of my mouth than in one big chomp, he takes out half of it, groaning in pure ecstasy as he beams at me, chewing enthusiastically.

Anxious for the verdict, I study his reaction more carefully. "Is it good?"

"This is the best," he announces with nothing short of relish. "Oh my God, baby. You gotta try this."

He's facing my profile, so close I can feel his thigh behind me, holding out a second taco in front of me. I don't remind him I've tried it before, not when he's looking at me like I can melt his heart with just one nibble. The chilly evening air, the atmosphere of aromatic fatty meats and chopped salsa, the diners chatting and laughing all around us seem to disappear. We're the only two people on this roughened bench, simply enjoying being with each other.

The way his gaze eats me up the same as I'm eating up the food, I don't think it's just wishful thinking on my part. He's enjoying watching me chew, his gaze seemingly riveted to my mouth as it moves.

At least, I thought that was the case until he says, "You have sauce on you."

Before I can snatch up a napkin his thumb is there, gently swiping the corner of my mouth. Offhandedly, as if he does it all the time, he licks off the laced skin, then proceed to polish off the taco himself. Eyes crossed comically while crunching with embellishment, he moans loudly and fervently for anyone to hear. In his dress shirt, expensive slacks, and Italian loafers, he definitely stands out in this run-of-the-mill place even without the added sound effects.

I laugh at his exaggerated expression. "You're such a dork."

He grins, reminding me of the teenage boys in line behind us. Then his lips are on mine, tongue diving in to flick and sample.

And I'm tasting his last bite in his mouth.

Next thing you know we're both cracking up, our lips still meshed.

"Carne asada flavored mouth. My new favorite," he declares, blue eyes twinkling with mischief and laughter.

Despite the darkened night and brisk air, we take our time at the weathered table. Occasional food truck devotees come and go, but we linger at our spot, taking pleasure in the effortless moment and in each other. I don't know how long we stayed there, but it must have been a good couple of hours. The crowd has since dissipated to a few die-hard stragglers by the time I'm off the much warmed bench and brushing at the seat of my dress. Caden clears our trash into the bins, eyeing the menu one last time as though he's considering round two.

"You really liked this place?" I want to know as he approaches, holding out a hand to me.

"I definitely wouldn't mind a return trip."

Comfortably, his warm fingers twin with mine. "You surprise me." I bump a friendly shoulder against his arm. "I wouldn't have figured you'd be into street fare, especially after that place you took me to tonight."

His mouth hikes up as we stroll hand in hand. "Ms. Evans, I'm a complicated, multi-faceted man. It takes more than a few endeavors to grasp a fraction of me."

"Speaking of grasping a fraction of you..." My stomach flip-flops at his masculine laugh. "Do you want to go back to my place?"

"Actually," he begins as we near his car, a seductive murmur of timbre. "I was hoping you'd come back with me. Let me show you my home properly." Instead of opening the passenger door he crowds me against it, dipping in for a gentle kiss. "Last time you were there, I wasn't able to do that." Another brushing of lips. "We'll have to remedy that tonight. I'll let you grasp any fraction of me your pretty little hands desire."

A delicious shiver runs through me within the ardent cocoon of Caden Martini.

"In that case, how can a girl resist?"

*****

He peered down at me, eyes still fuzzy from his release. "Hi, baby."

Sweat dotted his forehead, his breathing competing against the beating of his chest. When he stopped at that, I smiled up at him. "Hey, boss."

In a flash something I couldn't name passed over his eyes quickly. Then it was gone, and his lips began tilting up, but this time it seemed forced.

Clear cobalt blue eyes studied me for a spell before the serious gaze dropped to my mouth only to dance back up. "I like spending time with you."

It didn't sound like a compliment but a confession. "I like spending time with you, too."

" _In and out of the bedroom."_

" _I'm flattered." I meant it as a tease in an attempt to lighten the suddenly solemn mood, but he didn't even crack a smile._

" _And in and out of the office." Fingers swept back my hair almost tenderly. "The latter more than the first, but I'm not complaining about either."_

His somber expression was making me a little nervous. "I'm glad. Everything you just said, that's the case for me too."

" _Good. That's good." The fingers moved to my jaw. "You know that you can say no to me. Just because we work together doesn't mean you're obligated in any way on a personal level. What we do or don't do as Caden and Ashley wouldn't impact the COO to executive assistant dynamics."_

" _Caden." It was me who reached out, smoothing my hands down his strong shoulders to his chest and loving every ripple of muscle. "If I wasn't sure that would be the case, I wouldn't be here right now. With you." And it was me who closed the short distance between us to nibble on his soft lips._

Easing back, he gazes at me with an unusual earnestness if not trepidation. "I'm sorry about tonight."

There was no further description needed. I knew exactly what he was referencing.

Why does he have to remind me?

" _For taking you there," he continued when I didn't offer a response. "For that run-in outside of it. For putting you in that spot."_

It distressed me every time I thought about it, so I tried as much as possible not to. As much as I try that method, it was stubbornly clinging to the back of my mind and not letting go. "Do you... do you still want her?"

His face scrunched up in what could only be called stupefaction. "Why would you think that?"

" _She's gorgeous." What man wouldn't want a Cindy Allegore? "Every man's fantasy."_

" _More like nightmare. She's self-absorbed, ultra-high maintenance, and manipulative. That's only scratching the surface. I married a woman like that and learned my mistake real fast." He shivers. "No thanks."_

My lids sluggishly lift, blinking in the unfamiliar darkness. the memory of our cherished conversation right after he made love to me still playing in my head. I must have dozed off because the last thing I remember is gawking at Caden's firm, sexy behind as he was ambling to the bathroom afterwards. I'm huddled under the covers with Caden behind me, a heavy arm draped over my waist. It wasn't my plan to sleep over, and a quick glance at the clock reveals half of the night has passed.

The only problem is, I didn't drive.

We came back here, and despite my intentions, that's where I am still.

He hadn't asked me to spend the night. He wasn't acting like he wanted me out as soon as the deed was done, but then, I had apparently conked out.

I'm so clueless when it comes to the rules of these things.

Against my better judgment, I wonder if Cindy Allegore ever spent the night, slept in the same spot I'm currently, blissfully curled in.

Don't think about that.

How can I not, considering I had an up close and personal reminder today? She's beautiful, just like her profile picture on her emails, and looked stunning standing next to Caden. She probably fits right in at an Italian villa.

And he didn't exactly fight her off. He just stood there, letting her rub her oversized breasts all over him. He was probably enjoying it. What man wouldn't?

_Stop thinking about it_.

I wish I can.

God, what am I doing with a man like Caden? I'm so out of my league, I don't think I'll survive it in one piece.

Gingerly, I glimpse over my shoulder. Caden's eyes are closed, his body lax. I wish I can rouse him just to ask him if he can take me home, but I'm not that brave. Besides, isn't the guest supposed to find the way home after? I really don't know.

The one time Caden was at my place, he didn't leave until the morning.

But that doesn't mean he expects me to stay... does it?

Better safe than overstay.

As delicately as possible, I quietly slip out of the warm bed. My clothes are piled on a chair near the corner, and I grab them on my way out of the dark bedroom.

I find my purse where I left it on a living room table, my shoes by the sofa. With my load in my arms, I decide to use the little guest bath between the kitchen and the front door. Once I'm dressed, I'll summon a rideshare and wait outside. This time of night, it might take longer than a few minutes, but my options are limited.

The bathroom is sparkling clean with lightly scented disinfectant lingering in the air. Caden must have a cleaning crew that does the dirty work, because I can't see him scrubbing toilets. I make work of putting myself back together, using a brush from my purse to set some semblance of order to my tousled hair. There's no way the rideshare driver wouldn't know why I look the way I do and calling for a ride in the middle of the night, but I can't worry about that now.

A few quick taps on my phone and my driver is on his way.

Gently, I sneak out of the bathroom.

And squeal with demented fright.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I wheeze in shock, glaring at Caden accusingly. "You scared me half to death."

It's shadowy, but it's clear Caden hadn't bothered with covering himself before coming out to give me a heart attack.

"I asked you a question."

His accusatory tone immediately puts my back up. Excuses race through my mind and are just as quickly discarded. There's no need to make up something, so I lift my chin with annoyance, "Home."

"It's two in the morning."

"Thanks for the update."

"Why?"

A sigh escapes. "Because it's two in the morning."

I think he might be gritting his teeth.

"You are the most exasperating woman I've ever met."

Affronted, I look away so he wouldn't see how much those blasé words, so soon after my own dreaded uncertainties, affect me. "Don't worry, this exasperating woman will be out of your way in a few minutes. Then you can go on with your merry life."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means my ride will be here shortly."

"I'm your ride."

"I didn't want to bother you. There's really no need at this point."

His body towers over me as he gets close, irritation like the scented disinfectant in the bathroom, permeating the air. He throws out an arm with a finger in the direction of the bedrooms. "You have ten seconds to get back in bed, or I will physically haul you there."

His infuriating, domineering attitude more than the words has me biting back my own temper. "I'm off the clock, boss, and I'm going home. I clearly don't belong here."

If the clenched jaw and smoke coming out of his nose are any indication, that seems to inflame him even more. "You belong where I put you. And that's going to be bed in eight seconds."

How dare he talk to me that way! "Sevensixfivefourthreetwoone. I'm out."

He makes a grab for me but I reel away, madly dashing for the front door. Luckily it's only a few feet from the guest bath. I wrench it open and hurl myself outside.

Fingers seize my upper arm and I whirl around. I'm not sure what I was going to do, but the sight of Caden buck naked on his front lawn has me hissing in alarm. "Caden! You don't have any clothes on!"

"If you don't want me arrested," he enunciates through his teeth, "then you better get back inside."

"That's blackmail!"

He shrugs.

Oh my God. He'd do it too. He'd stand there with not a stitch on for the world to see just to prove a point. And when a troubled neighbor calls the cops, he'd be arrested with his... with his penis hanging out.

Then the hungry news crew will screech up and he'd be all over the morning news.

Caden Martini, Chief Operating Officer of Martini Oats, Inc. was arrested early this morning for public nudity and disorderly conduct. He was captured here on camera chasing after a vehicle in this residential neighborhood with a woman allegedly in his employ inside. The authorities have yet to identify this woman.

COO or Flasher? Let's take to Twitter.

"It's really cold out, Ashley."

It would serve him right if he freezes his favorite male part off. Though I'm fully clothed, the wintry night is penetrating through my layer. "Then go put some clothes on, for God's sake. You're being ridiculous."

" _I'm_ being ridiculous?" He trembles once when a chill breezes by. "You promised me you wouldn't pull this shit again."

"I didn't jump out of a car. I'm merely going home. It's late, and tomorrow is a workday."

"You're closer to the office here than you would be from your apartment," he points out.

Why does he feel the need to spell out the obvious? "But I'd need a change of clothes, and if I have to go home anyway, it might as well be now."

"This isn't about clothes or having to work. You're still upset about what happened earlier, and you're scared out of your mind about what's going on between us." Headlights turn onto the peaceful street, and he glowers at it. "Decision time, Ashley, because I'm not going in unless you're with me."

The bright beam slice through the black night, the car going slow but approaching faster than I want, not allowing me extra time. I can't let him get in trouble. He's got too much to lose to risk a faceoff with authorities.

Throwing up my hands, I cut him a stern look and tramp back inside the house.

I hear the front door shut, but I'm on my phone canceling the ride service, hoping I don't get charge for it anyway. Not that I don't think the driver deserves to be compensated for his late-night plight, but I don't exactly have the disposable income like Caden.

"I'll take you home in the morning," he vows rationally just before he snatches the phone from my hand on his way to the bedroom. "But I'll keep this for you in the meantime."

"You give that back, Caden Martini."

"Come and get it."

"Oh, that's mature," I bite out.

Not taking the bait, he doesn't break from his resolute strides to his bedroom, the enticingly firm behind above strong legs on proud display as he passes by the French doors on the way.

Oh, whatever. What's one night? It's not like I'm going to leave my phone here and walk home in the middle of the night.

*****

"What's going on with you and Caden?"

My eyes jerk up to Marsha making herself comfortable in my one guest chair. Since the boss is gone for a meeting, she's a little social butterfly, darting from desk to desk.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you can cut it with a knife over here. The tension is insane. Did you do something to piss him off again?"

Lifting a shoulder, I feign ignorance. "You know him. He's always upset about something."

"Yeah, but he's the rant and rave type, not the silent-treatment type." When I don't offer anything juicy to satisfy her curiosity, she wiggles her nose in annoyance. "Hey, are you ever going to tell me who sent these gorgeous flowers to you?" She fingers a delicate lily petal in the pretty vase on my desk. "These must have cost a fortune."

I'm sure they did. "They're from... a friend."

Her expression clearly conveys her doubt. "That's some friend. Is he single, because I want a _friend_ like that."

"He's seventy-five with a hairy mole on his nose."

She takes a beat to consider it. "Can he get it up?"

Appalled, I deliberately dash my attention to the computer monitor. "I need to get back to work."

For some reason, Marsha hinting she'd like a chance at Caden makes me want to yank out her over processed hair. Not that she knew the flowers were from him, but the thought still enrages me.

She looks to be his type, too. At least, physically. There's more work done on her person than on her desk.

My hint at her to go away seems to have no impact. "You got plans for the weekend?"

Not anymore. "No." Maybe the curt answer would send her elsewhere.

"I'm going over to Andrew's tomorrow night. We're going to order a pizza, then I'm going to let him win at strip poker."

_Classy_. "Hm."

"Well, I'm going to head out in a few minutes."

That has me frowning at her. "It's not five yet."

She snorts. "Please. Look around you. It's Friday, and most people are packing up. What's fifteen minutes? The boss isn't here anyway."

Of course, what am I thinking... I decide with a little derision. "Enjoy your weekend."

Peroxide hair is flipped back. "Oh, I will."

I spend the next fifteen minutes absorbed in drafting an email to one of MOI's vendors, knowing the additional inventory is critical for the enhanced production in the Nevada plant. Caden was adamant about getting the extra shifts rolling, but that won't happen until everything is in place. So engrossed am I with the details that I don't hear footsteps approaching.

"Ashley."

Automatically I look up from the monitor, my fingers pounding away in hopes of finishing the sentence before I lose my train of thought.

Clear, ocean blue eyes smile down at me.

It registers then that the office is empty, and Andrew is once again in my face.

Why is it that every time I turn around, you're with Dorskey?

"Caden is not available right now." It was intentional that I didn't say he wasn't here. "Are you here to make an appointment?"

"He's at the executive committee meeting and will likely be there for a while yet. I'm not here to speak to him. I'm here for you."

"I'll be leaving shortly, Mr. Dorskey, so if it's not an urgent matter, I'd rather we wait until Monday." When we're not alone.

A long exhale. "I don't blame you for being mad at me, Ashley. I behaved like a fool the other day."

It's odd that he speaks as though we're friends. He must be after something. Again. "Okay."

"I'd like the opportunity to make it up to you." Unlike last time, he stays out of my personal space. "Let me take you out to dinner. Just this once," he adds when I instantly open my mouth to object. "Then I promise I won't trouble you again."

"Andrew." It's taken a long time for me to learn to say no, but I sometimes still have difficulties with it. "That's really not—"

"Nothing fancy," he goes on, his gaze sober. "Maybe a burger? Or that noodle place down the street if you prefer." His trademark head tilt. "Please."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Caden

The chances of Ashley still at her desk are slim, but a man can hope. The executive committee meeting was over at ten after six, and Darren further detained me to discuss the Nevada plant progress in his office. By the time I'm striding back to my division, it's six forty-five.

Lights have darkened due to the lack of motion, but as soon as I enter, they gradually brighten. A glimpse confirms my suspicion. A clean, empty desktop. A black computer monitor. Chair pushed in. Ashely is gone.

It's just as well. She needs to be packing for our weekend at Carmel anyway.

We need these few days away from everything and everyone and just be together. Though she hasn't said anything since the unfortunate debacle at the restaurant, I know running into Cindy and seeing her with me made her pull back, pull away. I don't know why, but I'm not letting Ashley get away that easily, especially over something like a former, fleeting fuckenemy who has no bearing in our present or our future.

She wants to be with me. She's just afraid what that might mean for her. I can only reassure her that everything is going to be okay, that if she doesn't resist the inevitable, we can be so happy.

Unlocking my office door, I begin gathering my things. I can't remember a time when I've been more enthusiastic about life. About a simple weekend away. It's been a crazy day today. Between preparing for the executive committee meeting, which, to my amazed annoyance, took nearly half the morning, putting all the ducks in a row for Nevada and juggling calls between the key players, and unsuccessfully trying to dissuade my mother's nonstop texts about the new woman in my life – thank you, Darren! – I hadn't had a lot of time, but Ashley seemed just as occupied, so it worked out just fine.

Don't deceive yourself into thinking she's too considerate to mind you putting her at the bottom of your priority list once the novelty wears out. Sooner or later, she's going to want to be more than an afterthought.

My jaw tightens painfully as Cindy's caustic, bitter words come barreling into my mind.

Cindy's novelty wore out as soon as I finished fucking her the first time. Maybe even while I was doing it. As for wanting to spend time with her outside of the bedroom, it never even entered my mind until she dragged me, bitching and whining.

The irrationality of me just wanting to be with Ashley is so different from anything I've experienced. If she told me she would only let me fuck her once a month, that would make the rest of the month rousing foreplay. It would no doubt kill me, but it'd be a sweet kind of torment.

She's not even in the vicinity of an afterthought. In fact, if I think about her more often, I'd need to schedule a session with an addiction counselor.

Just thinking about her has me itching to hightail it out of here so I can grab my own gear to start the relaxing weekend with my girl.

In my car, I try to call her, but it just rings and goes to voicemail. Frowning, I hang up and dial again. I know I gave her phone back to her this morning when I took her home. Not that she would've been able to sneak out. Besides the fact that I'm a light sleeper on the sporadic occasions when I am able to knock out, but I had my arms wrapped so tightly around her she had to wiggle a few times to get more comfortable.

Sitting at a red light, I type out a text to her.

_I hope you're busy packing_.

A mile later there's still no response.

Perhaps she's still upset about yesterday, and she's deliberately ignoring my calls. Though she seemed okay while we were eating, once the doubtful thoughts had time to marinate, who knows where she went with them. That sounds more plausible, given how distraught she looked.

More of a reason to escape so there are no irksome distractions when we straighten this ridiculousness out.

When my phone finally goes off a half a mile from home, I don't even check the caller ID. "Where have you been?"

A heartbeat of breathing, then, "Pardon me?"

The voice jacks up my irritation level from ten to sixty in two point three seconds.

_Pardon me?_ What kind of pussy says that shit?

I don't even try to hide my testiness from my stepbrother. "The fuck do you want?"

An exasperated sigh. "It's been several years, Cade, and you can't pretend to be civil?"

In the flickering murkiness of my car, I bare my teeth even if he can't see me. "Why lie?"

"Come on, man. We're family."

Weren't we supposed to be family when he messed with my wife? "What do you want, Daniel?"

"You got anything going on tonight?"

"Why?" I don't care if that came off more provoked than curious.

"I was thinking we can grab a beer or something."

"Again, why?"

"I need a reason? How about the fact I haven't seen you for a long time?"

"You were at my house a few weeks ago."

"That didn't count," he counters immediately. "You were out of it. And you had a woman with you."

"You don't speak of her." Pulling into my garage, I shut off the idling engine and glare at the muted dashboard. "You don't need to see me. You don't need to think about me. You certainly don't need to talk to me."

"Cade, I know you're upset about what happened, and you have every right to be. Can't we let bygones be bygones? I was twenty-one, for fuck sake! Smashed out of my mind. A hot woman offered to suck me off, I wasn't going to say no."

The glare turns to a sneer. "Thanks for the recap, but I don't give a f—"

"I can make that divorce happen faster for you."

I still in the midst of tersely cutting off the call. "What are you talking about?"

There's a sardonic snort. "Let's just say I have evidence - of the recorded kind - of a certain public official's oldest daughter in a compromising position with someone other than her husband. And it wasn't with me, in case you're wondering. Wait," he cuts out with exaggerated animation even as I'm ruthlessly digesting the revelation. "Isn't that public official already gearing up for reelection? If she doesn't want that unfortunate incident broadcasted and dissected at every whim, her pen will quickly meet the dotted line."

Marianne would throw a royal fit worthy of any diva if she finds out about the inopportune evidence Daniel is boasting he has in his possession, not to mention the volatile damage it would have on her family's precious stance in the public's eye. Wariness, never a forgotten ally, has me narrowing my eyes. "Why would you do this? What's in it for you?"

"We might not be of the same blood," Daniel heaves out in heavy exasperation, "but one thing I did learn from my big brother."

"Stepbrother."

"I always pay my debt," he goes on, ignoring my auto-correct.

"And what? You suddenly found Jesus?"

I can hear him inhaling deeply over the phone.

"Let's put it this way, she wasn't exactly an angel with me after everything blew up in our faces. The last thing I want is for her to get her way, not after all the shit she's pulled, and I don't mean just with you."

"Are you trying to tell me she fucked you over?"

Daniel's voice hardens. "In more ways than one. It's just taken me this long to get what I need."

*****

With a noticeably lighter step, I sprint inside the house with new found enthusiasm for what's ahead. Daniel might have screwed me over once, but for whatever reason, I believed him when he said he'd put Marianne where I need her to be. After all, Marianne's talent for wrecking people's lives just for the fun of it is well known. It wouldn't surprise me if she's pulled her special brand of crazy on Daniel.

I don't waste time but set out to collect the things I'll need, making sure I have plenty of rubbers stuffed in the valise. Ashley and I will eventually have to talk about alternative methods of birth control, because having something between us, even something as sheer as a condom, will not be something I will tolerate for long. For now, until we both get tested and are protected from any unplanned surprises, these will have to do.

Not that I'm not looking forward to being a father down the road, but I'm sure Ashley will want a say in it.

That done, I head out to her apartment, trying her phone again on the way.

Still nothing.

Fucking-A.

I'm not a patient man by any stretch of the imagination, and not being able to reach her is really grating on me. She knows that about me, which leads me to believe this is intentional.

If there's one thing I like less than waiting, it's being made to wait because the woman prefers to play immature games.

Twenty minutes later, I'm pulling up to her apartment building right next to the spot where I know she parks her car.

The empty parking spot.

Something's not right.

Leaving my bags in the car, I dash up the stairs to her front door. The windows are shaded with not a sliver of light permeating through the slated blinds. I knock loudly anyway, hoping she's just busy in the bedroom, stuffing the last of her clothes in a case.

And knock a second time.

And again.

"She's not home."

I veer at the voice, spying her curious neighbor at her favorite window. Telling myself not to holler at the old bat, I affect calmness instead. "Good evening, Mrs. Freedman. Do you know where Ashley might be?"

She eyes me suspiciously. "Don't you know? I thought you were her _friend_."

_Patience_ , I remind myself. Honey is more effective than vinegar. "I'm afraid I screwed up. Ashley is a little peeved at me. I just want to make sure she's all right."

Suspicion turns into indignation. Her nose turns up in the air – hard to accomplish given it's pressed against the glass. "You didn't toy with her emotions, did you?"

"I would never do that."

Those dark eyes narrow. "Was it another woman?"

_It's none of your fuckforsaking business_. "No, ma'am."

"Another man?"

I blink at her. I'm hoping she was asking if Ashely had another man, because I can't imagine the alternative. "Um, no."

She sniffs at me. "Well, I don't know where our Ashley is, not that I would tell you anyway. She wasn't alone, that's all I'm going to say, and looked all right to me, so you can stop your worrying."

"She wasn't alone? Who was she with?"

With attitude galore, she does a little miffed headshake. "You'll have to ask her that. He looked more than capable of taking care of her, so don't you concern yourself."

My head is going to blow. Just one more inhale and it'll implode all over Ashley's flimsy front door.

I'm going to kill whoever she's with. Bury my fists in his motherfucking face again and again until his own mother cringes in horror when she has to identify him at the morgue.

Not sure I can speak through the red haze of fury, I abruptly turn and vault down the stairs.

Is that why she won't answer my calls? Wouldn't want to do that in front of another guy, I'm sure. Yanking my phone out, I dial the one person who can help me.

"Caden, I thought you were going out of town."

"I was. Am," I modify, because I'm not going to allow the fucker she's with to change my plans with Ashley. "Darren, I need your help. You know that PI you hired to keep tabs on Jane?" Darren's daughter ran away from home a few years ago and changed her identity. Instead of physically hauling her back home, her father has a man on commission to keep track of her and make sure she's safe. "You think he can track someone's whereabouts for me? It's urgent."

"Is someone in trouble?" There's concern and bemusement. "Is your mother okay?"

"No, it's not about my mother." Easing back into my car, I let out a pent-up breath. "It's Ashley."

He takes a second to digest that. "Ashley's in trouble? I thought I saw her at the office today."

"She's fine." I stare at the stucco wall at the front of my car, debating how much of this shit show I should divulge to Darren. "I just need to know where she is right now."

"Now, son, I know it's not easy, but just because she doesn't respond to you right away doesn't mean you have to send out the National Guard. She's probably just preoccupied at the moment. There's no need to get distressed."

"I'm not distressed." I'm pissed out of my mind. "I need to track her down. Are you going to help me or not?"

An enduring sigh sounds through the phone. "All right. I'll send you his contact info."

"Thanks, Darren."

It didn't take long. Less than an hour after I gave Miles Jameson Ashley's information, including her cell phone number, he was able to trace her down to a small, nondescript café a few miles from her apartment. She'd used her credit card to purchase mint tea and a salad.

So the asshole she's with is not only a douchebag, but he's a stingy douchebag who wouldn't even buy her dinner.

The café is a part of an unremarkable strip mall, certainly nothing to get excited about. I catch sight of the familiar compact Honda parked near the entrance and take a spot a few over.

My combing gaze lands on her as soon as I push through the heavy paned door. There's only one other table occupied on the other side of the puny café. She has her back to the entrance, but I can spot that gorgeous auburn hair anywhere. The fucker she's with has light brown hair and looks like he's holding a professional pose for a magazine on that cheap wooden chair. He's waving his hand adamantly as he runs his mouth, not even realizing he's about to bleed all over the dark laminate floor.

The table is square and meant for only two people, with barely enough room for their half-finished meals. A friendly middle-aged lady begins to approach when she sees me, but I wave her off while nodding at their table.

With minimal fanfare, I snatch an empty chair from a nearby table, plop it down next to her, and make myself comfortable, tossing a possessive arm over the back of her chair.

She's enormous eyes and stunned lips, gaping at me in utter alarm.

"Hello, baby."

Her mouth works, but nothing seems to be coming out of it.

My gaze slashes to the fucker and hardens. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

That suicidal lowlife actually looks to be entertained.

He holds out a hand over the table. "You must be Caden Martini. We were just talking about you."

"And you are?"

"Bryan Sage." A cocky, knowing smirk. "Ashley's cousin."

Not by a flinch or a blink do I let on how elated and relieved I am at the unexpected revelation. We clasp our hands briefly. "Nice to meet you, Bryan. Ashley has told me about you."

"What are you doing here?" Ashley demands, her cheeks flushed. "And how did you know where I was?"

"I was worried about you." Gee, she doesn't sound happy to see me. "I tried to call you a few times, but there was no answer."

"My phone was pretty drained, so I left it charging at home." Baffled eyes search mine. "Caden. Why are you here?"

"I told you, I was worried about you."

"So you just pop up out of nowhere? How does that even make sense?"

Happy now that I know Ashley isn't out with some random ass-wipe, I bob a shoulder. "Makes perfect sense to me."

Her gaze flies to her cousin's. "Does that make sense to you?"

Hands jolt up, palms out. "Don't look at me."

"Is that salmon salad?" I give Ashley's plate more attention than it deserves. "Sure looks good. I haven't had anything to eat."

With more exasperation than care, my baby scoots her dish in front of me to the amused chuckle of her cousin.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Ashley

I'm beginning to notice a pattern. When it comes to Caden, I don't know what hits me until I'm already down for the count.

Take this weekend, for instance. I was sure the whole Carmel thing was off. Ever since that awful and desolating run-in with Cindy Allegore, things haven't been the same. On Friday, he hardly said a word to me all day, then he proceeded to hunt me down after I turned down Andrew Dorskey before calling up Bryan for some much needed venting time.

Then, as soon as Caden finished off my salad and ordered us a dessert, he ushered me back to my apartment with a hasty goodbye to my cousin with the excuse I needed to pack. Evidently, when he said _I_ needed to pack, he meant _he_ had to cram _my_ things in the one and only suitcase I possessed for rare weekend trips. I eyeballed him from my perch at the end of the bed, half amazed, half flabbergasted, while he whirlwind around my bedroom and bathroom, swooping up clothes, toiletries, shoes, and whatever else he deemed necessary.

I was exhausted from watching him.

Caden crashed at my place last night... and without making love. He seemed perfectly content to lounge on the couch with me to watch an eighty's classic on TV, and when we turned in, me in a T-shirt and panties and him in boxer briefs, we stayed under the covers the entire night. First thing this morning, it was rush-rush-rush out the door to catch our flight to Carmel. I'd never flown first class until then. I have to say I can get used to it.

Now we're on a breathtaking golf course resting along the scenic coast. Another first for me.

"No, baby, you have to put your thumb here. Like this." He demonstrates by positioning himself behind me, his hands over mine. "See?" he murmurs next to my ear. "You got this."

Who invented the golf grip? It's the most unnatural thing in the world. "I don't know, Caden." I half turn my head towards him, playfully wiggling my behind against his lap. "I thought the club is supposed to be in your hands, not in your pants."

He swats my bottom playfully and steps aside. "Keep it up, and we won't even make it to the ninth hole."

"How many holes are there?"

"Eighteen."

I nearly groan. "Men consider this fun?" It boggles the mind.

As soon as we settled in our suite at the beautiful resort, Caden dashed back outside, claiming he needed to pick up something at one of the shops. I was diligently hanging up both of our clothes in the extensive walk-in closet when Caden came back hefting two large paper bags. I had my fingers crossed that it was breakfast, but to my disappointment, he dumped a tiny black skirt, a pink long-sleeve polo, white gloves, and a cap on the fluffy mattress and announced eagerly that we were going golfing.

Oh yay.

"And women. Just as many women as men find this to be a preferred way to spend the morning."

One look at the navy polo shirt that emphasizes Caden's broad shoulders, narrow waist, and lean abdomen and tucked into slim fitting khaki pants that cups his firm, delicious behind quite nicely, I can see why women would find this sport entertaining.

"If you say so." Biting my lip and mentally shooting up a prayer, I lift the club just the way Caden taught me.

"Good, baby. Nice form. Don't forget to end the swing with the extension."

And bring down the club with a whoosh.

Pieces of groomed green and dirt clumps bounce down the course. The ball sits at the exact same spot for the last ten minutes, not even a scratch on it, mocking me.

In frustration, I do groan. We've been here for nearly an hour, and I bumped that stupid ball once. I wouldn't even call it a hit. That was it. "This is hard."

Caden taps the bill of the pink cap. "No one gets it the first time. Hell, even experts have good days and bad days."

" _You_ never miss."

He grins. "That's because I'm good."

I roll my eyes. "Show off."

"Come on, grumpy, give it another shot." He takes up his usual post behind me, his large palms warming the top of my hands as I arch my back and straighten my elbows like I'm supposed to – at least, Caden insisted that was the proper position. "Just picture the face of someone you can't stand on that ball, then hit it with all your strength." His nose skates down the side of my neck once, planting a light kiss just above my collar.

Bumps that has nothing to do with the early morning chill burst along my skin.

I wait until he's in his safe spot, then position the club to the top. Birds swoop by, cheerily tweeting to call out the serenity from each nurtured tree. Shoulders back. Arms stretching. Muscles preparing.

_Visualize_.

Sparse clouds flit by the mild sun, but my eyes are shielded beneath the new protective cap.

And smack the ball as hard as I can.

_Clunk_.

My jaw drops as the white ball sails in an arch over the peaceful lawn. The visor effectively shades my view, and I admire my own fortitude when it lands nowhere near the hole.

There went Cindy Allegore's fake boobs.

"You did it!" Caden's lips are on mine, smiling even as he's congratulating me without the words. Beaming, he proudly adjusts my cap. "You whack that sucker like there's no tomorrow."

"I did, didn't I?" I'm hopping up and down in elation, completely thrilled with myself, the club clutched against me like a dear friend. "I'm going to do it again! Come on!"

The sound of male chuckling follows me as I sprint out to find my white boobs... I mean ball.

"Slow down," Caden calls out even as I'm dashing down a small mound. "We have a cart, you know."

"You need the exercise," I retort back and swallow the giggle at his growl. Both he and I know he doesn't, but it's still fun to yank his chain. "Golf is a sport, not a leisurely cruise on grass. You've got to— Caden!" I squeal in alarm when I find myself staring at the back of Caden's navy polo shirt, my ass over his shoulder. "Put me down!"

Completely ignoring my cries, he tows me about effortlessly, not even a break in his breathing. "You're right. This is good exercise. Op, I think I see your ball, baby."

"Oh my God." Mortified I'm half mooning the golf course in the hiked up mini skirt, I bury my face against the cotton of his shirt, the club clutched in my hand bouncing along with each step. "This is not happening."

"No worries, pretty lady. I've got your ass covered." So saying, a large palm drapes over my rear end. "We wouldn't want to get kicked out for lewd act on this well-respected establishment. After all, I would like us to come back."

A groan hangs out of my throat. "Caden Martini, you put me down at once or I will never golf with you again."

He sighs as though granting me a massive favor. "Very well." The big hand stays on my behind as he gently slides me down his chest. Grinning, he tugs at the bottom of my scrunched-up skirt before refitting my cap. "Better?"

I sniff, just a bit haughtily. "That was childish and uncalled for."

There's a mischievous gleam in those amazing blue eyes that I can really get lost in, but I know I should try to resist falling for his charms so easily. There's a part of me, a boulder-size part, that can't forget that no matter how much he wishes it isn't so, how much he's pushing to get it over and done with, how much fun we have together, he's still legally attached to another woman.

It's terrible enough that I had sex with a married man, but to hand him my heart would be utterly disastrous.

"Ashley." Clear gaze lowers until it's eye-level with mine. "You still with me?"

With knees bent to accommodate our height difference, he's close, so close I can count the flecks of yellow in his eyes. Tugging the corners of my mouth back, I try for a cheeky smile. "I'm planning my own attack, so you better watch out."

When he only continues to watch me, a tad perplexed with a dose of concern, I know he's not completely buying my act.

Instead of calling me on it, he pulls to his full height, half turning to gaze over the vast green field. "Wait here. I'll go grab our stuff."

By the eighteenth hole, I can honestly say golf isn't half bad. We spend most of the morning at the immense and serene course, probably because it takes me multiple attempts to get the darn thing rolling a few inches. It's still touch and go between me and that stupid ball. I wouldn't rouse myself at the crack of dawn to do it. But then again, if Caden looks at me the way he did every time I made a connection with that disdainful orb, I just might crawl out of a warm bed to play with him once in a while.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Caden

"Are you sure he wouldn't mind? I mean, you haven't seen each other in a while. You guys have a lot of catching up to do without a third wheel." She pouts, a most adorable and sexy pursing of a bottom lip I've ever seen. "I've never met him. I wouldn't even know what to say to a stranger over lunch."

Reaching over, I seize her fidgety hand, tugging her with me so she wouldn't change her mind and bolt at the last minute. I wouldn't get it pass her to do something silly like that.

"Ryan isn't a stranger. I told you I already gave him a heads up. He's expecting both of us," I remind her as we're led towards the rear of the bustling restaurant by the hostess. My senses are assailed with the aroma of fresh garlic, gourmet cheese, and various spices. "I've known him for a long time, and believe me when I say he's eager to meet you in person."

"Hmm..." is all she allows, not sounding one bit convinced.

I give her fingers a squeeze just as I spot Ryan, his tall figure making it easy to find among the packed establishment. He rises as we approach, casual in jeans and a sweater, his observant gaze dropping to mine and Ashley's linked fingers before veering back up. A grin flashes and he offers a hand to me with a quick back slap.

Knowing Ryan doesn't like to touch if at all possible, I'm flattered he didn't mock fist-bump me and called it an embrace.

"Good to see you, old man."

I shake my head, suddenly reminded of our college days when he used to taunt me endlessly about taking life too seriously. Pulling Ashley close, I switch her hand for her back. "Baby, this is Ryan Bailey. Ryan, Ashley Evans."

"Pleasure to meet you."

We take our seats at the square table, and I try not to lament over the foot of dead space between me and Ashley.

"So what have you two been up to this weekend?" Ryan wants to know as the server fills two more glasses with mineral water.

"Nothing much," I say, picking up the menu. "Just taking a few days to relax. Do you have tea?" I ask the server before he can turn away from the table.

Ryan's eyes widen at my question.

"Caden took me golfing this morning," Ashley chimes in even as she's giving me a small, appreciative smile. "I've never done it before. I wasn't very good, but Caden was so patient. He made it fun."

I almost laugh out loud at Ryan's expression. He knows as well as I do _patient_ is not a characteristic anyone else would use to describe me.

"Baby, you were a natural."

She gushes at the praise. "The only reason why I even connected with the ball was because I had a great instructor."

We've only been here for a few minutes, and already I'm wishing Ashley and I were alone. Leaning closer, I watch her pretty brown eyes twinkling at me. "The way you were holding that club, you won't have to chase any balls," I murmur.

I wasn't referring to golf. From the pretty flush gushing up her cheeks, she knows it.

" _Caden_." Her little teeth worry her lower lip, eyes darting shyly to Ryan.

I can never get enough of my name on her lips. There's surprise and amusement from Ryan when I reluctantly tear my gaze from the exquisite woman next to me. "What?" I say blankly at his knowing look. "Like I haven't put up with you hamming it up with Victoria." As soon as the words are out, I realized too late I shouldn't have mentioned Ryan's former fiancée. Sheepish, I straighten. "Sorry, man."

"Old news." He waves off the apology and turns to Ashely, hiking a thumb in my direction. "How did you meet this guy?"

"Well..." Nervously, she fingers the white cloth napkin on her lap and looks away. "I work for MOI. In corporate compliance. But then Caden needed an assistant, and I was temporarily reassigned."

Ryan's quiet gaze lands on me. "I see."

I want to tell Ashley it's nothing to be embarrassed over, that she'd only be my assistant for another month or so, and even if that's not the case, I would hurt anyone who dares to make her feel less for sleeping with her boss.

The last thought has me freezing for a beat... because that's what she's doing. Sleeping with her boss.

Sweet, innocent, trusting Ashley Evans with her proper shoes and meek skirts, fucking her boss.

In a million years, I wouldn't guess someone as naïve and modest as Ashely would end up horizontal with someone like me, much less her direct superior. Respectable, polite women, women who aren't after money or prestige but a nice, fulfilling relationship, think I'm a grade-A scumbag. Those who work for me just don't say it to my face. Actually, some do, but that's beside the point.

Not Ashley.

God, she's dazzling, I think to myself as I watch her study the menu, laughing softly at something Ryan commented on. Hooking the loose hair behind her ear, she glances up as though sensing my focus, her delicious lips curving intimately as her eyes meet mine.

She stares at me, a question in those pretty brown eyes.

What are you doing to me?

I want to ask her that. Ask her what she sees in me.

"What looks good?" is the question that makes it out.

There's a dazzling sparkle in her eyes as though she knows exactly what I was thinking, as if she enjoys having me a slave to her every whim.

"Chicken marsala."

That sounds even more scrumptious when she says it.

You are _fucked_ , Martini.

A male clearing of throat. "I'm having eggplant parmesan," says the sardonic voice. "Thanks for asking."

I only slant a look at Ryan's smug face. "Eat it, Bailey."

"That's the plan."

The server returns with the peppermint tea. It's while I'm explaining my preference of gorgonzola to marinara sauce to him that Ashley's phone rings from inside her purse.

"It's Bryan," she tells me after checking the screen. "Please excuse me. I'll just be a minute."

My eyes follow her as she leaves the table, zigzagging through the crowded restaurant and other patrons with the phone pressed to one ear before vanishing from sight.

"She's beautiful, friendly, down to earth. Not at all what I expected."

I sit back, a little self-indulgently, but I'm feeling like I can hang out here forever. Introducing my baby to an old buddy on a relaxing Saturday afternoon, unwinding, and just enjoying being with good people, that's what life should be about.

"That makes two of us. She's not like any woman I ever met or like anyone I ever expected to meet."

"Definitely not your usual type."

"No." I can't argue with the truth. "She isn't." And I can't be happier about it.

"Was that by design?"

Cautiously, I let my brows rise. "Meaning?"

Ryan Bailey certainly isn't my oldest friend, but he has known me since my freshman year at Stanford. Since I'm in Orange County and he runs his tech firm in Palo Alto, we occasionally look each other up when we're near each other's vicinity. Lunch in a quaint Italian restaurant in Monterey Bay is where we ended up.

Tall and lean, Ryan's hand dwarfs the dainty coffee mug as he lifts it for a quick taste. Leaning forward, he meticulously sets it down in the precise brown ring it'd left on the white tablecloth.

He glances at the main entrance where Ashley disappeared a few minutes ago. "She's sweet, Cade."

"Why am I hearing a _but_..."

"But she's your assistant."

I lift a cool shoulder. Let it fall absently. "Your point?"

Discerning, calm eyes settle on me. "Have you thought about how this would be perceived by others in your company?"

"I can care less about others."

"That's your dick talking right now." He flings out a dismissive hand at my immediate reaction. "Ashley's a nice, harmless girl, Cade, and probably exactly what you need in your life. She balances you out, there's no question about that." His face turns grave. "Be that as it may, this can't be something MOI tolerates lightly, not to mention your professional image. The whispers, the speculations. Accusations. Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"There's nothing to be concerned about." To contradict my own words, my jaw tightens. "Darren is aware and doesn't have a problem with it. That's all that matters. I got this."

"You? I have no doubt." His chin tips toward the front door. "But what about her? I might've just met her, but I can see that her skin is quite flawless, probably not thick enough to withstand the petty gossip."

"Ashley's too naïve to think the worse in people. She won't even hear the gossip." My gaze cuts to Ryan's. "I won't let her."

"Now who's being naïve?"

My jaw is so rigid, I fear it might be stuck in that position forever.

Ryan exhales. "Look, I know how it is. A young, attractive, single girl catering to your every need, every day. She's the first person you see when you get to work and likely the last person you see before you call it a day. Not to mention the occasional late nights, just the two of you. Sometimes that can mess with our mind – makes us want more."

I've been called demanding, callous, heartless even, but Ryan beats me by far. He's notorious for going through executive assistants like some people go through toilet paper, most of them getting fired before the ink was try on the job offer. By my estimation, he's on his third EA this year alone. Considering he works from home, and his assistant is based out of his remote office, that can get sticky.

Though I can't see it, I counter, "Speaking from experience?"

It's his turn to shrug. "I won't deny it's crossed my mind a time or a thousand. My point is, regardless of how tempting it might be, how much we think others would get over it, it just complicates things. If she's just a rebound girl, is it worth the trouble?"

The fact my college bud sees Ashley as nothing more to me than a dispensable female body goads me. "There's no need to complicate things. Ashley knows I won't let anyone interfere with us. Not from a personal level, and certainly not anyone from the company." Deliberately, I level him with a look. "Ashley isn't a rebound, and we aren't fuck buddies. It's the real deal, man. At least for me."

I know the instant she's back inside the restaurant. It's like a part of me is tuned into her, just waiting for her to return and be near me again. My gaze lifts, and I see her hurrying over with an apologetic smile.

"I'm so sorry," she utters as I get up to pull her chair out. "My cousin was having a crisis." She rolls her eyes. "Or so he declared dramatically."

"Don't worry about it." I brush my mouth on the top of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of her cucumber infused shampoo before taking my own seat. "Food should be here soon."

*****

_Oh fuck_.

Yes. That's it.

Fuck. She's good at this.

"Baby."

Her swollen lips slide back down, her slender throat working to take in the breaching girth, swallowing time and again.

I groan, long and loud. "Baby," I moan again, my tense fingers gripping back her hair. "I'm gonna come."

Big doe eyes peer up at me through long lashes, but she doesn't let up, feverishly working me over with her mouth and tongue and hand. My hips piston off the sofa, blasting off like a rocket even as I explode into her waiting throat.

" _Fuuuuuck_."

_I'mdyingI'mdyingI'mdying_.

_Soooo fucking good_.

It takes me a full five seconds to realize I'm crushing her face to my dick, ramming it into her mouth as I clasp her in place for every last drop of me.

"Ashley." Contrite, I help her up to straddle my lap, cupping her face with still wobbly hands and taking in her chafed lips, flushed cheeks, and teary eyes. "Oh, baby, did I hurt you?"

She blinks. My stomach clenches when a tear glides out of the corner of her eye.

"Shit!" Then I'm wrapping her up in my arms so tightly I can feel her wild heartbeats against my chest through my shirt and her sweater. God, I didn't even bother with our clothes. When she offered to suck me off, I was too eager to free my dancing dick. "I'm such an idiot. I lost myself for a moment. Don't cry," I babble like the idiot that I am. "I won't do it again. Just don't cry. Won't do it again."

I feel like a fucking ogre who just ravished the unsuspecting and innocent girl in the woods hopping along looking for wildflowers.

Palms push against my chest, but I don't want to let her go. I don't want to see her cry. Can't.

" _Umden_."

It's a muffle against my shoulder.

"What?"

" _Emmefmbe_."

"Huh? Ow! You bit me!"

She eases back when my arms slacken, frowning. "I couldn't breathe."

I rub at the sore spot on my upper chest. "Why didn't you just say so?"

Perfect fair skin pinken, her gaze dropping to my throat. "That was amazing."

"What was?"

Instead of answering she reaches down, palming my passed out, blissed-out junk.

It's my turn to blink at her. "You're shitting me. I mean," I correct at her reproachful look, "you're pulling my leg."

"I think the leg needs a few minutes before I can pull on it again."

_Wtf?_ "Did you just... did you just sass me?"

Her shoulders go up in a little impish giggle. "Uh-huh."

I can't help but smirk. "You," I begin, gathering her close once more. "What am I going to do with you?"

"You have all night to figure it out."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Ashley

Staring disbelievingly at the email from HR, I'm not sure which part of me is winning the battle. I knew the day would arrive, sooner or later, I just didn't think it would happen so quickly.

From: Tricia Cates

To: Caden Martini

Cc: Ashley Evans

Re: Executive Assistant, Operations

Caden,

At her request, arrangements have been made for Erin Jimenez to return to her regular duties earlier than originally anticipated. Ashley Evans will be expected to resume her role with Corporate Compliance in two weeks. Please plan accordingly.

Tricia

Vice President of Human Resources

Martini Oats, Inc.

The message was sent last Friday right after I left the office. Caden hasn't mentioned it, nor did he reply to Tricia, though I can see from his inbox that he's read it already. It's eight-thirty Monday, but the COO isn't in yet, never mind that he has the management meeting in an hour. That's not surprising considering he rashly zoomed out of my apartment at seven this morning to race back to his own place, both of us having snoozed past the alarm from the relaxing yet exhausting weekend.

God, was it only yesterday that we lazily lounged around the resort suite, not a care in the world, including anything to do with MOI? Teasing each other like teenagers, messing around with an Xbox we discovered in the cabinet under the TV, no doubt for the family vacationers who desperately need something to amuse the children at night.

During the entire trip back, in the air and on the road from the airport to my apartment, he held my hand as though he couldn't bear to let go.

Did he know then that Erin was coming back in only a couple of weeks?

I'm so engrossed in my own musings I don't hear the approach until he's steps from my desk, fingers dangling a lidded paper cup in front of me. My gaze travels up to the familiar, quiet blue eyes smiling down at me.

"Milk tea latte," he provides for the unvoiced question no doubt written on my face. "Almond milk, that is." He grins the grin that comes so much easier. "Figured you can use the caffeine."

My eyes dart about, feeling the heat rush to my neck as a few curious gazes shoot our way. "Um, thanks." Accepting the cup – what choice do I have? – I set it on my desk. "And good morning."

"You said that already." He lowers his voice so that only I can hear. "Right after I woke you."

And right before he planted a kiss squarely on my shoulder. My neck. Between my breasts. "Right..." I spring up to my feet. "I'll bring you some coffee."

_Escape_. That's what I need to screw my head back on. When Caden is around me, I feel like there's not enough air, not enough space. Too many people around. Too many eyes. Too many furniture in the way. _Just too many_.

His lips twitch as he holds up the cup in the other hand. "Got that covered for now. Why don't we go over the day's schedule?" he suggests and starts for the direction of his office, not glancing back to see if I'd follow.

Of course I would. It's my job to keep him prepared and on time. It's what we do every morning. Why should today be any different just because we shared an extraordinary weekend together?

By the time I gather some sense back and grab my tablet after him, he's shed his jacket and bag, rolling up his white shirt sleeves and plopping down in his chair.

"Caden."

He glances at me from the computer monitor, all business as usual. "Yeah?"

"I saw the email about Erin." Not sure what I want to say after that, I gnaw on my inner cheek for a second. "I guess this means I'll be going back to CC soon."

Unfazed eyes land back on the computer, fingers flitting over the keyboard. "We knew that was coming," he throws out casually, then scowls. "I hope she doesn't expect special treatment now that she has obligations at home."

That's it? After three months of slaving over his every demand, that's all he has to say about my leaving his division? I wasn't expecting a going away party, but a simple _thank-you for helping out_ would've been nice.

What am I thinking? That's not Caden's style. I'm reminded of why the staff calls him Callous Caden. Suppressing the reflexive sting, I glance around his private workspace. I'm going to miss this office. Miss the big jerk who rules it with an iron fist.

"Is there anything you want me to take care of before I go back to CC?"

He looks pointedly at the guest chair across from his desk, and I take the hint and situate myself in it, crossing my legs with the tablet on my lap.

"Just your job, Red. Nothing more. Nothing less."

Glancing away with the pretense of scheming through the tablet, I try my hardest not to let him see how much his detached words and cutting attitude affects me. "Okay, then. You have the management meeting at nine-thirty today. I flagged the agenda in your email from Lisa Washington." Stick to work. That part I know and can't hurt me. "Basically, just a recap of the progress of the RHR project. Mr. Oats would like you to share the state of the Nevada office workload with the others. There's also the annual MOI museum gala. Mr. Dorskey will review the finalized schedule at the meeting. Speaking of which, Mr. Oats wants me to remind you about your speech. Approximately five minutes, nothing yo—"

"Go with me."

My insides freeze at his unexpected words. I don't have to ask where.

The annual museum gala is much talked about, but the special event is only opened to upper management and select clients. Regular staff isn't invited, not that I can begin to imagine me in something like that.

Without glancing up, though I can feel his intense gaze heating me, I conjure up as much airiness as I can muster. "That's probably not a good idea."

"Why?"

"For one, it's not opened to employees."

"I'm an employee."

"You're a shareholder, not an employee."

"A shareholder that's expected to bring a companion," he counters easily. "And I'm bringing you."

It's so like him to not ask for a date but demand it. As much as I'd like to be with him, I know it's not wise. I meet his expectant gaze. "No, Caden. But thank you for asking," I add softly, not wanting him to take offense. "It's best if we don't."

There's that scowl.

"Don't you think it's a little late for that?" He flicks a finger between me and him. "This? There's no going back, Ashley. So why hide it?"

"It's not about hiding anything. It's just not... the timing isn't right."

"Then when is the timing right?" he bites out. "Next month? Next year? Next gala? Give me an ETA."

"When you're single."

Shoving out of the chair, he stalks to the wall of windows, staring out with his hands solidly on his hips, rigid back to me.

The silence is heavy, accentuated by his choppy inhales and stiff huffs.

"I want that more than you," he finally manages, tone low but no less severe. "She fights me for every little thing not written in blood, and I think, _why should I give her what she wants?_ _I wasn't the one fucking someone else._ Then you came along." The words halt as though they need to gather, need oxygen themselves. "Then you came along, and suddenly I don't care about fighting my so-called wife as long as she signs. Every day I wake up, hoping that's the day I get that call from my attorney. I start my day, thinking maybe, just maybe..." He turns then, jamming his fists in his pockets as he faces me with quiet reservation. "I walk into the office and see you at your desk, with your big, pretty eyes and easy, innocent smile, giggling at my stupid remarks and shielding my asshole behavior. And I don't think about it anymore. Don't think much of anything. Because all I can think about is you."

Stunned, touched beyond expectation, I don't remember getting up. Moving across the room. Somehow I'm standing in front of him, no longer assistant to boss. Somewhere along the way my palm is against his warm, sturdy chest, feeling the lulling rise and fall of his precious life.

And he is precious. So precious.

Despite the rough, cruel exterior, underneath the stony quips and seemingly dispassionate front, Caden Martini is the most sincere, reliable, and affectionate man I've ever met.

His hand whips up and covers mine, pressing it in place against him, not letting me go. Not letting _us_ go.

This man. He's magnificent and flawed all at once. Real but gentle. And he's exactly what I want.

Eyes so blue it's like gazing at the infinite sky. The raw earnestness of his confession binds me to him yet helps me soar. My breaths even with his, and it's as though we're standing as one.

"That was more than I ever thought I'd hear from you."

"It was nothing short of the truth."

I nod, knowing it in my heart as well as from the nakedness of his gaze. "It's just that there's one thing I have to consider."

Wide shoulders straighten, bracing themselves. "What?"

"I have to look for a dress for the gala."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Caden

_Ashley makes the best coffees_.

It's not sexist. Things just taste better when they're prepared by someone who actually cares about you. Maybe it's because she always brings me a cup with her pretty, bashful smile. Or perhaps it has to do with watching her slim, dainty fingers wrapped around the mug that reminds me of them around something else, something with more life-boost than caffeine can ever replicate. Whatever it is, it just won't be the same once she's back with compliance.

I lift that white mug now, listening to Darren go on and on about the museum gala as I take a healthy dose. Over the aromatic joe, the mild scent of morning pastries at one corner of the large conference room, and that appalling cologne Dorskey favors, I can clearly distinguish Ashley's enticing cookies and cucumber scent, though she's at the other end of the table, busy tapping away on her laptop as she takes notes. It's like my nose can detect its mate even in a roomful of people.

Not that I mind having Erin back. She was adequate, if not quite as efficient or together as Ashley, but even I can admit I'm bias. As much as I'll mourn not having Ashley on my team anymore, I can't wait until we can finally be ourselves. The coy looks, sly touches, and the swift, flirtatious smiles in the office are all good, but there's nothing like being out in the open, having the liberty to take our relationship to the next level.

"I shouldn't have to remind anyone to be on his or her best behavior this Saturday." Darren flashes a warning look my way before continuing. "This is MOI's night to shine." He pauses, catching the rapt eyes of all his executives in the room. "And my last one as CEO."

Shocked, there's a collective hush as the group at large digest the revealing implication.

This isn't unexpected. In fact, Darren has been telling me for several years that he plans to retire soon. Though in his mid-sixties and sharp as a tack, ever since his daughter took off without a word, he's slowly lost his heart in the business. With each year she hasn't been in contact, he seems to be getting more frail by the day.

"The board has accepted my six-month phased retirement," he continues. "I'll still be around, so don't party too hard yet."

There are a few polite chuckles, but the disappointment of the somber announcement is palpable.

"What's going to happen when you're gone?" asks Carly.

That's when all eyes, some sober, some with coolness, while others with suspicion, turn to me. Carefully, I set down the cup, not giving two shits what these losers think of me. I know my place. Know my destiny. If they don't like it, they can look for a new job.

Darren sits back, cool and collected as the high-back leather chair accommodates his weight at the head of the table. "Caden is more than capable of running the company. He's been trained for this role for as long as he's been here. To be frank, he was born for this and is practically doing the job now."

"That doesn't mean that's what's best for the company."

Dorskey the Donkey Fucker.

"Don't we have a say in this, Darren? I mean, we've all invested a lot of years with MOI. None of us wants to see it lose its edge, or worse, go in a direction no one wants to support."

"If you don't like the direction, Dorskey," I toss out breezily, "perhaps you should consider employment where you wouldn't be lost."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Running the show any sleazy way you see fit without anyone calling you out on it? Not going to happen, Martini. I won't let you run me out of this company. I have the same right to be here as you – and I do it without the advantage of the name."

I smirk. "I got a name for you."

"Gentlemen," Darren sighs. "Must we resort to locker room antics once again?

"The board can't possibly allow someone who clearly doesn't respect the management team to head up the company," Dorskey pushes, palms planted on the table. "Surely, there are more logical options."

Darren throws up a hand before I can retort.

"The board has voted and unanimously agreed with my recommendation. Caden has my full and devoted support. When I step down, he will officially assume the position of CEO."

Dorskey's nostrils flare, but at Darren's disapproving eye, he's smart enough to zip his big mouth, albeit grudgingly.

It's while I'm distracted by Dorskey's cheeks flaming with fury, strained fists clenching and unclenching, that I catch it. The subtle yet weighty, accusatory look he shoots down the long marble table.

At Ashley. _My_ Ashley.

Somewhere in the vicinity of my mind I know Darren is talking once again, but I'm incapable of taking in a single syllable. There's a loud buzz in my head, pulling my gaze and my entire center to the other side of the room.

To Ashley, dipping her head in what can only be guilt as Dorskey glares at her from a distance of fifteen feet, shoulders hunching as if warding off whatever condemnation is attacking her.

What the fuck is going on?

My wary eyes strain back to the piece of steaming shit Dorskey. The motherfucker is up to no good. I don't know what it is yet, but I mean to find out.

"I trust all of you to champion and support Caden the way you've done for me throughout these years. It's important now more than ever to present a united front. With my impending departure from the company, the public will need to see for themselves that everything is under control, and MOI will continue to thrive under Caden's leadership. Is there anything you'd like to add, Caden?"

"I don't expect unconditional devotion," I begin with hardly a breather from Darren's spiel, not taking my gaze off the motherfucker who will crash and burn under my watch. "You know by now that's not my style anyway. What I do expect is effectiveness, efficiency, and above all, honesty." I bare my teeth in a smile. "Time will weed out the weak, those who can't or won't stand with MOI and its mission, value, and strategies. The good will be rewarded. The deficient and the frauds will need to move on."

There's uncomfortable shifting of bodies, a hush murmur bouncing among the team. A glimpse at Ashley reveals she's gaping at me wide-eyed.

An awkward clearing of throat. "Thank you, Caden," Darren pipes into the stifled air. "And thanks, everyone. I think that about covers it for this meeting. Caden, if you have a few minutes, let's chat about this Saturday."

Dorskey is the first to stomp out of the conference room, spine so ramrod straight I wish absurdly it would snap. I don't hate the guy or wish he would drop dead, but he needs to learn his place. That place is far, far away from Ashley.

I stay in my seat as everyone around me files out.

Just another fucking day in the office.

Ashley is the last to get up, diligently closing out the laptop and gathering her things, her gestures dexterous if not a little shuddery. Silky auburn hair sways down one side as she retrieves the case from the empty chair next to her, and my fingers itch to brush that off her smooth cheek.

"Good morning, Ashley."

Her gaze jerks up at Darren's cheerful – and gauging – greeting. At his wayward smirk, I know I've been caught happily ogling my assistant at work by my boss.

"Good morning."

"I trust you had an enjoyable weekend."

Fingers hook back hair behind her ear, those smooth cheeks pinkening adorably. "Yes, thank you."

"Katie and I are looking forward to you and Caden's visit, hopefully soon. Right, son?" Gray brows join the lines on his forehead as Darren baits me in his usual subtle way. "Perhaps this weekend. Before the gala. Come over for drinks. We can go to the museum together." His mischievous gaze swings between me and Ashley, who's hovering ineptly by the end of the table. "You will be joining him this Saturday, won't you?"

"Darren," I growl in warning. It's like I'm an inexperienced fourteen-year-old all over again, with Darren and my dad tormenting me about some pretty girl I was found clumsily chatting with at the mall.

Unperturbed, he says, "Yes, Caden?"

I sigh, because this is Darren, my dad's stand-in, and he takes that job very seriously. _Fuck off_ is reserved for others who don't mean well. "Ashley and I do just fine without any meddling."

Unoffended, he chuckles. "It was a straightforward invitation."

"Straightforward, my ass. You're meddling and you know it."

"Caden." With the laptop hugged against her chest, Ashley gives me a reproachful look. "That wasn't very nice." To Darren she says, "I think we will join you this Saturday, can't we, Caden?"

"But, baby, we're not going to have a lot of time. We still have to get you a dress."

" _We_ need to get me a dress?" Pretty brown eyes narrow at me. "Who's _we_?"

The scowl pulls at my face before it actually forms. "What do you mean? _We_ are me and you."

An indignant huff. "I don't need you to buy me a dress, Caden. I'm perfectly capable of shopping on my own."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm taking you to the event. That means I'm getting you the outfit."

"Why? Are you afraid I'm going to embarrass you with some bedazzled burlap?"

"Of course not!" I don't even know what that is, but I'm sure it's not good.

"Then what?" she presses.

Frustrated, I rake at my hair, shooting an amused Darren the evil eye for starting this shit. Air deflates out of me. "Can we talk about this later?"

By the look on her face, I can tell she isn't ready to drop the issue. Manners prevail, as it usually does with Ashley, and she nods reluctantly. "Fine. I'll be at my desk."

A brief smile to Darren, then she's gone.

"Thanks a lot," I grumble sardonically as soon as Darren and I are alone.

He only shrugs. "I like her, son. She's like chicken soup for your tired soul."

"You would get a kick out of this." Suddenly restless and needing something to do with my hands, I snatch at the pen abandoned in front of me only to toss it back with aggravation. "Now what? Ashley can't afford anything appropriate for a formal event. I don't want her to throw away an entire paycheck just to prove some stupid, feminist point."

"So don't let her."

I manage to sling an incredulous look. "You heard her, Darren. She doesn't want me anywhere near her when she looks for that fucking dress."

Shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, he pulls out his phone from his pocket. A second later, he says, "Hey, honey. I have Caden here with me. You know that girl he's seeing? The one I told you about?" Pause to listen. "That's right. Ashley. She needs a dress for the thing this Saturday night. I was thi—"

A chuckle. "That was exactly my thought. I'll let Caden know. See you tonight. Katie will take care of it," he explains after ending the call. "She's going to invite Ashley out for a girls' night and get that taken care of."

Skeptical, I eye him. "How does that change anything? She still can't afford it unless I give her a bonus before then, and I know that's not what you're suggesting."

"You just leave that to my wife." There's repressed sadness as he sets the phone down. "To be honest, this will be good for Katie. She used to take Jane out shopping all the time. Now that she's gone, Katie doesn't find much joy in doing that anymore."

I can't imagine what that's like, going through the motions of life knowing their only daughter doesn't want anything to do with them. The devastation is beyond words, so heartfelt that I long to be able to do something to help. Even with the PI reporting back her every move, it's not the same. "How is Jane?"

"Nothing new, or so I read last week." He stares at a blank point on the marble surface. "Working as a junior accountant. Temporary work, mostly. Making ends meet."

"Darren." I wait until he lifts his weary gaze. "Let me go to her. Talk to her. Bring her home."

He shakes his head. "She needs to find her way back on her own. No one can force her, or she'd just leave again."

CHAPTER THIRTY

Ashley

My eyes roll back in exquisite pleasure.

God, he feels so good. Every time. No matter how long or how many times we've been at it, each time seems to get better and better. And maybe that's one of the advantages of a monogamous, committed relationship. We discover each other's likes and dislikes, then we blow the other person away with what we learned and honed.

Except we never discussed exclusivity. Caden hasn't even hinted at it. To be fair, neither have I.

Caden's large palm runs up my back to my neck, a signal he wants my hips higher, my rear end impossibly exposed, as he lazily slides into me from behind. I don't hesitate, because it feels amazing to have him moving deep inside me. My cheek is mashed against his bedsheets, my tense fingers clutching at fistful of cloth with the plan to stuff it against my keening mouth.

When a hand snakes around to rub at my throbbing flesh, I give up the task entirely. My bent body quakes uncontrollably as he picks up speed, slapping against me with the force of each hammering thrust. The fingers increase their expert torture to fuel the cataclysmic eruption.

Somewhere in the back of my bewildered mind I process Caden's seductive male groans, chased by his frantic breaths, then he's curled over my back and spasming against me.

I don't move. Can't. It would take too much energy.

Lips press against the back of my shoulder, then the notable weight is off of me. I hear his light footsteps heading in the direction of the master bathroom, then the running of the faucet a few seconds later.

Snuggling into the insanely smooth bedding, savoring Caden's scent all around me, I sigh in content. His appealing bed is so much better than mine.

"You want something from the kitchen?"

There's no warm body stretched out against me, no voice whispering intimately in my ear. My head lifts up off the cozy pillow enough to catch Caden standing by the bedroom door.

By now I know his routine. After a few minutes of recovery after our climax, or climaxes in my case, he plants a kiss on me and saunters off to the bathroom to relief himself of the condom. He washes his hands and climbs back into bed to curl up with me. Sometimes we find ourselves all over each other a second or even third time, and other times I would be so worn out I'm not conscious until the sun is slanting through the windows.

I frown as he stares at me expectantly from across the room. "Why are you not in bed?"

"Kitchen?" he reminds me with raised brows. "You want anything?"

I shake my head. "We had dinner less than two hours ago."

There's a shrug. With a few purposeful moves he's got on a pair of dark gray sweats before he disappears.

I wait.

And wait.

There's no need to worry, I lecture myself after twenty minutes and there's still no Caden. This isn't some ploy for him to kick me out. Caden is more direct than that. Besides, if he didn't want me to stay in his bed, we wouldn't have stopped by my place beforehand to pick up fresh clothes for me to wear to work tomorrow.

So what's taking him so long?

Confounded, I slink out of the warm, cushy bed, snatching on his shirt that he'd negligently tossed aside, loosely buttoning it as I pad out in search of him.

I find him still in the kitchen, a half-filled glass of water on the counter in front of him as his busy thumbs agitatedly tap out something on his phone. Only the ambient light beneath the cabinets shine on the otherwise dim and undisturbed house.

Hot tension radiates from him like toxic odor.

"Caden?" He doesn't look up. "What are you doing?" I ask quietly.

"Working," he snaps. "Go back to bed."

"Everything okay?"

He visibly takes in a breath. "Stuff at the office."

Poor guy. The man works way too hard and way too much. "Can I help?"

Steely gaze tears away to take me in, the erect body stilling as his fingers hover over the glowing device. "You want to help?" His voice is hard and incredulous.

And angry.

I'm familiar with this voice. It's the demanding, don't-mess-with-me tone that he often uses to whip the Marketing Director.

Suddenly uneasy, my throat constricts involuntarily. "I do work for you." I try for a small, appeasing smile, but I have a feeling it doesn't quite make it. "I'm happy to help."

Slowly, cautiously, he sets the phone on the counter. Physically he's only a few feet away, but the short distance feels like miles.

"That's right. You work for me, Ashley Evans. You work for me even when you're back with compliance. You work for me no matter what anyone else tells you. That means I'm your number one priority."

I wonder if he can see the constriction lumping in my neck. "You _are_ my number one priority," I remind him softly. Does he have reason to doubt that? "Caden, what's wrong?"

The vibrating silence lazily ticks to what feels like an hour.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough, as though it doesn't want to be heard. "Have you been completely honest with me?"

"I..." I shake my head, in dread, in denial. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then let me help you out." Hostility exudes, a destructive radiation, as he closes in and forces me to take an anxious step back. "Andrew Dorskey," he spits out.

Frozen dread scales down my staggered body, utterly immobilizing me.

_No_.

He can't know. There's no way. I was promised that Caden would never find out. That was the only reason why I agreed to it in the first place.

"Caden." The hand that lands on his chest in plea isn't at all steady. Tears blur my eyes, but not before I saw him flinch at my touch. "It's not what you think. It can't be."

"You know I can't stand that ass-licking motherfucker, yet you kept it from me all this time. Why?"

It's my turn to cringe. It wasn't just the furious accusation but the underlying betrayal camouflaged behind the outraged bark. I shake my head vehemently, not caring that hair messily clings to my wet cheeks.

"It's not like that, Caden. You have to believe me."

"What's it like then?" he probes softly. Too softly. "Tell me the fucking truth, or so help me, Ashley, you will not like the consequences." His stiff chest pumps cruelly against my palm before it's heatedly fling off. "Did you fuck him?"

I'm sobbing so hard I can't process the violent claim immediately. When it belatedly does I'm gawking at him in absolute disbelief and horror.

"No! I didn't," I insist harshly when he only stares at me. "Why would you say that?"

"I warned you about lying, Ashley."

"I'm not lying!"

"Tell me the truth!"

"That is the truth!"

We glare at each other, rough breaths sawing out of both of us.

How can he think that of me? Does he really believe I can spend all my time with him, give him my all, body and mind, while juggling someone else? I suppose I should be flattered if I'm not so consumed with taking mad offense.

The worst part? His inherit distrust of my motives and my actions are the most galling of all. This only goes to show that maybe he's too damaged right now, and I'm too fainthearted and unsophisticated to handle being in love with Caden Martini.

In love with Caden Martini.

Bryan always told me I was a fool for love.

Wearily, my shoulders slump. The day was long, and the night is all wrong. I just don't have the strength to fight with him.

Stepping back, I swipe at my cheeks with despair. "I'm sorry you won't believe me. I know it's not easy for you. It's not easy for me either." I glance away, not wanting him to witness the wound gaping. "I... care about you, Caden, but I guess it's not enough. I'm afraid it's never going to be enough, and I'm just too tired to fight it right now. To fight you. I'll let you be," I assure him on a painful inhale. "It's okay, really. At least this time I have my car."

He doesn't say anything. Why I pause to hope for something, anything from him to ease the ache inside me is beyond me.

A fool for love.

Yet I do, dawdling like the idiot that I am for a man who refuses to move on from his mental prison. Once in a while he might feel the urge to break free, but at the end, it's safer to run back to the familiar rather than anticipate the unknown.

With nothing more to give, I swerve around for the bedroom.

A surprised gasp surges out when my palms slap on the wall, wrists firmly shackled on either side of my head as the overpowering male body presses against my back.

"What are you doing?" I huff out at the paint.

No words come from behind me. My arms are jerked above my head and cuffed by one large hand.

Seconds. Minutes. He's pressing possessively against me, yet he's not doing anything beyond that. My world is surrounded by his immense heat, his choppy, maddened breaths, and the male body that refuses to let me free. Then my wrists are no longer held. Wide hands rip open the front of the shirt and roughly, greedily fondle my breasts, all the while he's grinding against me like it's a race to the finish.

And maybe it is. Maybe this is the end.

I don't push away, don't push him off. I know he would let me, but it's not what I want.

I want him to rut against me and drive us both past the horrible thoughts and suspicions plaguing us. It might only be a physical release he's after, but at least he'll be shoving out whatever is stuck in his system like poisonous fumes.

"You don't touch anyone else," he pants next to my ear. Greedy fingers squeeze my breasts and hold. "You hear me? You don't even look at anyone else."

Frantic air gushes in and out of me and burns my throat. "You don't own me, Caden Martini." I'm pushing him. I know I am, but it's what we both need.

"Oh, I own you, all right. The minute you walked into my office, I owned you." His nose skims down my neck and back up. "I won't let you forget it," he murmurs against my ear and squeezes me. Hard. "Not for a fucking second."

"You can't control me." It's a whimper rather than the verbal punch I was hoping. "Not with sex or anything else."

The silence that follows is only broken by frantic, urgent hammering of our hearts.

"How about love?"

"You don't love me," I argue, arching against him, desperate for him to do more than surge against my lower back, needing him to just get it over with. I want him to take us both home, take us to where we're safe.

He's panting fiercely against me. "The hell I don't."

"Now who's lying?"

"Goddamit, baby!" Without warning he shoves off me and whirls me around, glowering. "Stop being a pain in the ass. I love you, for fuck sake. So deal."

"You can't talk to me that way!" Ignoring the slickness sliding down my inner thigh, I snap at the sides of the abused shirt over my breasts. "I'm leaving."

He huffs out a derisive chuckle. "Good luck with that."

The jerk! "And I won't give it hoot if you run out buck naked and get arrested and have your penis swinging all over the morning news. In ultra HD!"

By the look on his face, he thinks I've lost my mind.

"Such naivete, it's almost sad." He shakes his head, all mocking indulgence. "What makes you think you'd make it outside this time?"

I've never been so tempted to take a wild swing at someone. The only reason I don't is because I have a sneaking suspicion he'd enjoy it.

So I go with something he would never expect from me.

"Fuck off, Caden."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Caden

I think I'm having that dreaded cardiac arrest.

Surely that is why my brain isn't computing the heated, vile words with the sweet mouth, or why I'm standing here ass naked gaping at a fuming Ashley as she scowls at me, fingers fisting her shirt – my shirt – like a lifeline she wants to choke.

I confessed my love, and she called me a liar.

This isn't how I pictured it would play out when I at last put her out of her misery and declare myself all hers. She's supposed to fall all over me with great emotion and gratitude, then proceed to heartily suck me dry like no man has ever been sucked before, not tell me to fuck off!

I use my height to my advantage and tower over her. "You take that back, Evans. I will not tolerate that kind of language from you."

Only she's not that easily intimidated, pushing to her toes to attempt at nose to nose with me. "Fuck. You!"

Oh. Hell. No. Such ugly words should never come out of that exquisite mouth. Before I can voice just that, she twirls around and stomps to the bedroom, looking like an angry but sexy pinup, her magnificent ass doing fantastic things to my rumbled shirt.

God help me, I love this woman. I love this woman so much, I'm even willing to overlook whatever she had going on with Dorskey before, so long as it's over. As much as she denied it, there had to be something to what Miles Jameson discovered. Why else would she have gone to his apartment? Her name was bold as day on the guest list Miles sent to my personal email. From the looks of it, Dorskey likes to play with the female staff at MOI. Ashley wasn't the only employee whose name was found in the database.

At least hers was merely there one time. Months ago.

The finding explains why I was constantly catching Dorskey hanging around Ashley. I'm more pissed that she never told me there was something going on with her and that motherfucker.

Whatever Miles Jameson uncovers moving forward, it can't be worse than this.

"Baby," I call out into the darkened house, knowing she can hear me clearly from down the hall. "I love you." I wince as something with weight crashes to the floor. "You hear me, Ashley Evans? I love you."

"Go love your penis and leave me alone!"

I can't help it. I throw back my head and laugh.

Who would have thought this was possible? I can be pissed off my rockers one minute and ready to kiss the breath out of her the next. And who would have thought I can have so much fun with a woman outside of bed?

Shaking my head, I make my way to the vexed voice in the bedroom. She hadn't bothered with the lights, but there's enough illumination from the partially shielded windows for me to make out the scene. Her back to me, she's busy clasping her bra behind her, her motions jerky with irritation. The matching blue panties are already covering her.

Sneaking up behind her, I snake my arms around her middle. "You're adorable when you're mad," I murmur against her temple, not centering on the fact the enticing body has gone stiff as a board. "Which just proves how much I'm in love with you, because there's no way in hell I would find anyone else adorable while she elaborately murders me in her head."

"That's because you're loony."

The soothing scent of cookies and cucumber assails me as I nuzzle behind her ear, sliding my palms over the soft skin of her abdomen and taking comfort in her delicate shudders. "Umm... stay here and be loony with me. Come on, Evans," I push when she doesn't say anything right away. "Throw caution to the wind."

"I did," she counters with little heat. "And look where that got me."

"You mean here? With a man who's crazy about you?"

"With a man who claims he loves me but doesn't trust me."

With a drained sigh, my chin drops to the top of her head. She's right. I know it. She knows it. "I'm working on that, baby. It's... it might take some time, but I'm working on it."

She's quiet for a spell, no doubt contemplating her options, where to bury my body probably one of them. Her hands cover mine over her stomach, nails lightly sifting my skin.

"There isn't anything going on between me and Andrew Dorskey. There never was. I might've been foolish enough at one time to be enamored by his looks, but that ended when you and I got to know each other. Nothing ever happened with him. Thank God."

Enormous relief rushes through me and I tighten my arms around her. I believe her. Now that my head isn't ready to implode with revolting images of her with Dorskey, I know that Ashley wouldn't lie to me. It's not in her considerate and softhearted character.

I turn her around and press my mouth against hers. She's soft and yielding, accepting my apology without words.

I need to see her face, search for genuineness when I ask her the one question I desperately need to voice. "Do you love me?"

It's shadowed in the room, so I can just see the flush shoot up her neck to stain her cheeks.

Even the clock seems to stop ticking as she chews on her lower lip for a beat. I hold my breath, not sure what to expect, because at this point, she will either order me to love my penis again or tell me she loves me.

Then her gaze lifts and, with more nerves than thrill, she nods.

The anxious air deflates out of my stopped lungs and I crush her to me.

*****

By the time Friday rolls around, I'm ready to pack up mine and Ashley's things and haul both of us away from the chaos of MOI. One would think that with the way the staff is chasing and yapping at each other around the office and the museum, this is our first gala. There are capable event coordinators comprising of mostly the marketing team, but the frenetic energy is spreading its vicious arms to every division in the building.

I'm at my desk in my relatively sane sanctuary. Or I thought it was until Darren showed up and made himself comfortable on the chair across from me.

"Katie came home with two arm loads of shopping bags, and she couldn't stop talking about how lovely Ashley was and how they hit it off right away, so I'm going to guess the dress mission was a success. By the way, the boutique will be sending you the bill."

A grunt is my response. Ashley was out and about with Darren's wife for over four hours, jetting out of here at exactly five and not going home to her apartment until nearly ten o'clock last night. Not that I'm keeping taps on her, but fuck it, I missed her. She refused to come over to my place or allow me to hang out at hers, arguing that she wanted the dress to be a surprise for me, and she was just too tire to make the trek over to my house. I nearly went over anyway, but the thought that it would make me look like a complete besotted sap stopped me. This morning was the first time this week I didn't wake up next to Ashley.

I missed her scent. Missed her warm, feminine body lazily stretching out, her small foot smoothing down my shin as she cuddled next to me.

Stupid dress.

Then as soon as I walked into the office, I wanted to grab her for a long, gratifying kiss. Except there were people around, and we're not supposed to indulge at MOI. No sooner had I dumped my crap on the sofa in my office than I got a call from HR, requesting the help of my assistant with Marketing to get everything ready for tomorrow night.

And she's spending the day with the donkey fucker.

Stupid work.

"You have your speech ready for tomorrow?" Darren wants to know when all I can do is glare at dead space. If air can die, there'd be oxygen carcasses all over my desk.

"Same shit. Different year."

"I see someone woke up on the wrong side of bed today. What's the matter? Is Ashley mad at you again?"

I laser the glare at Darren. "Nothing's the matter. I just have a shit load of work to do."

Darren smirks and make a show of tossing a deliberate glimpse over his shoulder. Through the glass wall, Ashley's desk sits empty.

"We need all hands-on deck, son. Sometimes you have to sacrifice your raging hormones for the greater good."

_Fuck you_ is on the tip of my tongue before I grudgingly reign it in. _See, I can control my foul mouth_. "If you're done busting my balls, I'd like to get back to work," I tell him instead and flash him a mocking grin. "Not that I'm not enjoying your visit."

Not at all offended, Darren sits back, eyeing me meaningfully. He's got the _look_ \- the one he wears when he's about to get sentimental. _Where is that box of tissue..._

"Your father would be so proud of you. You were always the apple in his eye." He releases a deep breath. "He would have liked Ashley. Sincere. Uncomplicated. And pretty as a picture."

Don't I have a meeting or something?

"He would've wanted someone like that for you," he reminisces, oblivious to my crossed eyes. "And she's crazy about you, son. Make no mistake about that. You know, she reminds me of the first girl your father fell for. And I do mean fell for. I didn't think he'd ever let her go."

That causes me to consider. "Clearly you didn't mean my mom."

He waves that aside. "He loved your mother as much as he could, but this girl? She was different for him. Made him irrational and invincible at the same time."

Curiously, I know exactly what that feels like. "What happened to her?"

"They got into an argument, if memory serves. He did something asinine and was too proud or too immature to try and resolve it, and she ended up transferring to another college in a different city not long after that. Brokenhearted, if you ask me. By the time he realized he was an idiot, it was too late. He never did see her again."

"Huh." It's hard to imagine my dad young and in love, much less foolish enough to let a woman he cherished so deeply go over something reparable. "He never told me that story."

"I didn't figure he would, considering it was a long time ago, and he probably didn't want to disrespect your mother. In any case, Ashley reminds me of her. If I know Leo, he's up in heaven right now giving you a wink and a thumbs up."

The smile that blooms on me is slow and significant. "I did good, didn't I, Darren?"

"Son, you hit the jackpot. She's exactly what you need."

Ten minutes later I'm plowing my way through the frenzied staff in the open office to Marketing. I have to dodge some maniac with a cart hastily wheeling stacks of product boxes, sidestep an agitated woman flipping through a spiral notepad while witlessly muttering to herself, and hop out of the way of the bad-hair-day society as the group speed-walk down the hall with bags of our logoed products.

I might not have woken up next to Ashley, but I can whisk her away for an hour for lunch. Even busy people have to eat.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Ashley

"Oh my God. You can't be serious." I plant my fists on my hips, frustrated beyond my patience and not willing to budge an inch. At this rate, we'd all be here until midnight. "There's no way. We'd have to make at least two trips."

Andrew's lips flatten. "I can be serious. And I am." He flicks his hand at the gaping rear doors of the white van. "There's room in there. Make it work."

I want to smack the Marketing Director upside the head. His team and I spent most of the morning trying to figure out the logistics of transporting crates after crates of MOI products to the museum, where the staff of both MOI and the event center will finish by prepping five hundred gift bags for the guests at tomorrow night's gala. Time is of the essence, and we need to maximize all our resources without compromising the end result.

Forcefully jamming boxes stuffed with breakable bottles into the back of the van would jeopardize that.

Meanwhile, Andrew saunters out to the loading dock in his perfectly crisp suit, not a single blonde hair out of place, bearing nothing helpful to our endeavor. He did bear coffee in a paper cup. For himself. He then proceeded to spend several minutes criticizing all our hard efforts and demanding recklessness in between decadent sips.

God, and I was having such a great week until now. After the silly yet vital fight with Caden on Monday where we acknowledged our pent-up emotions, our relationship has taken to a deeper, much more gratifying level.

Caden would deny it until his face is blue, but he's a romantic at heart.

Not with overt, cliché deeds, but with much more understated, considerate gestures that never fails to melt my heart. He's making a habit of tenderly massaging cream onto my skin after I wash my hands. His kitchen is fully stocked with my favorite tea. Every time he had an offsite lunch meeting, he always brought back a thoughtful and delicious treat for me, just to let me know he was thinking of me in the short time we were apart. The way he made sure I got home safely after spending the evening shopping with Katie Oats, all the while cursing up a storm because I wouldn't budge on letting him come over to my apartment, was both amusing and endearing.

To top it off, I have a new friend in Katie Oats.

The week had been nothing short of bliss and nothing I would have ever thought was possible.

And now, reality is a nasty, short-tempered ogre.

"You are not being reasonable," I accuse, stepping aside as one of the men carts over another stack of cases held together by plastic wrap. "We need to secure the boxes in there, not stuff them in like sardines. They're fragile cargoes."

"They're moisturizers."

"They're moisturizers in delicate sample bottles. Are you going to stand there and tell me you'd want to take the risk of ruining them to save time?"

"I'm the boss here," he snaps, flinging aside the empty cup. "And I want all these boxes in the back of this van in a half an hour. You're here to help, not slow us down."

"Don't be difficult, Andrew," I try to reason with the lazy tyrant. "If we secure the boxes properly, it would only require two trips. The museum isn't that far. There'd still be plenty of time to get everything done."

Irate ocean blue eyes narrow. Obviously, my tactic at logic didn't work.

"What happened to you, Ashley? You used to be pliable, did what you were told without hesitation. Ever since you started with Martini, you've changed."

My arms drop to my sides as I pull to my full height. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm doing the job the best way I know how, and if you don't like it, then I'll let you have at it." _It's not like you're busy anyway._

"And scurry back to Martini like a good little assistant. My condolences to your honor." He shakes his head in mock sorrow. "You could've gone somewhere at MOI if you'd just done what I asked, but who knows? Maybe Martini will throw you a bone and take care of you... like buy you a card for your birthday or something."

It's the malicious, vindictive glare more than his taunt that has me putting distance between us, taking a step back from the vicious ugliness of Andrew Dorskey.

Why hadn't I seen this in him? Was I so unreasonably infatuated with his good looks that I couldn't see past that?

"I don't know why I ever thought you were a decent human being. You don't care about MOI or anyone that works here. It's obvious you're only out for yourself." Another step back, but I make sure I keep my gaze on the seething man in the gorgeous suit. "For your sake, I hope you go elsewhere, because Caden won't stand for your narcissistic antics."

He laughs, an ugly, hateful sound. "You think because you're under his department that he's going to protect you? I've got news for you, Ms. Evans. If I'm going down, I'll make sure you go further down than me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"No?" The loathed head tilt. Pure, unfiltered condescension. "What do you think the proud Martini will do when he finds out you're only in Operations to do my bidding? Hm? You think he's going to shrug it off because you turned out to be this great assistant to him, wave off your spying on my behalf, the one person he detests the most in the company, because you make a mean cup of joe? Wake up, Ashley. Your transgressions are far more despicable than mine."

Something squeezes painfully in my chest, obstructing any air. My mind blackens for a second in a poor attempt to shunt away the brutal accusation.

"I didn't do anything." The desperate words spill out of my mouth.

"Failing the mission doesn't negate the purpose."

"Because you tricked me."

"Tricked you?" He tips his head to the other side. "Did I make false promises to you? Did I mislead you?"

The jerk knows he did. He used my known affection for him and manipulated me into doing what he wanted, what he was too cowardly to do himself, but if I voice that, it would make me look like a bigger idiot than I feel.

"I don't want anything to do with you, Andrew. You can find a way to cram that van all by yourself."

Done with him and all his revolting exploitation, I round the van, heading for the ramp back into the safety of the building.

And come face to face with Caden.

Like a statue, immobile and stone cold.

The knee-jerk joy at seeing him unexpectedly instantly dies with one look at him. The hard soundlessness is more telling than any shout or mindless outrage.

Raw pain and betrayal.

He heard everything.

That thing that was squeezing my chest is now icing me in agony from the inside out. A freezing fire so potent I can't speak or move. I did that. I hurt him, put that utterly shocked and devastated face on him. I'm ravaging the strong yet caring man who loved me.

I can only manage to form one word as tears run down my cheeks unchecked.

_Caden_.

Please. Say something. Do something. Anything. I can't take this savage anguish.

I can't deal with knowing I hurt you.

None of those galloping thoughts make it beyond my ravished head. He doesn't speak for a long time, just stares at me as though his whole world has just been violently flipped upside down and he's desperately trying to figure out the surface to find lifesaving breath.

Then his hard gaze drops only to swing back up the next instant.

"You're fired."

"Caden..." Ruthlessly I firm my trembling lips, but there's not enough strength in me to harden my quivering voice. "Please hear me out."

He stalks away without so much as a backward glance.

*****

I've never been terminated before now. If this is what it feels like, I don't want to ever attempt to work again.

Tears gush down my face, but I don't care that other drivers are shooting odd looks in my direction. I'm sobbing in my drive home and don't even know if I'm going the right way. For all I care, I'm driving off the planet and veering into oblivion.

Just like that, I'm out of a job.

One second I was dancing on happy, fluffy clouds in love, the next I was cruelly dumped, unemployed, and choking on my own fierce sniffles.

I didn't have a lot of things on my very interim and definitely fleeting desk. With the exception of my handbag, what I did have I abandoned it on my shocked and hasty flight out of the building where I spent almost a year getting to know the industry and the people. So involved was everyone on preparing for the gala that no one had time to spare me a curious squint as I dashed out of there with my heart in tatters.

He hates me. And really, I can't blame him entirely.

I deceived him. All that grumble about him not trusting me. Why should he, when the whole time I was inclosing our lives around a lie?

But I was trying to do the right thing, wasn't I?

What does it matter now?

Whatever we had, whatever we were on the way to building together, it's over.

The most devastating part was that he didn't even try to talk to me, didn't attempt to get answers to vague things he overheard. He tried and convicted me within minutes, wrote me off with two precise, annihilating words. I should be angry, and I am. I'm angry and wounded and dejected and bitter and remorseful and so many other emotions vying for prominence that I can't even begin to make sense of the battling and contradicting chaos inside me.

With a few voice commands, my phone is dialing Bryan's number, the piercing ring in the car no rivalry to my uncontrollable, pillaging sobs.

"Don't tell me. You're knocked up and now you're marrying your prince at his castle in Italy," Bryan begins without preamble, snorting at his own dry wit. "And I'm to be your man of honor."

"He fired me."

A heavy pause. Then, "Why?"

I sniff. "He thought I was snooping on him to report back to Andrew Dorskey. I wasn't, Bryan," I protest in agony. "I love Caden, why would I do that?"

"Well, did you tell him that?"

"He didn't give me a chance. He fired me on the spot." Snatching up a forgotten napkin jammed into the compartment at the car door, I blow my nose before continuing. "I don't want to talk about him. What am I going to do about a job? I can't be without income for too long. I'm going to be homeless."

Bryan sighs. "Darling, your dramatics are surfacing again. You're _not_ going to be homeless. Big Bry will take care of it. You're going to go home, pour yourself a cup of soothing tea, then you're going to update your resume and send it to me."

"What for?"

"I know this attorney in Portland. He and his partner have a small firm. It's growing, and he's looking for an office manager."

I blink back the moisture clouding my vision. "In Portland? I don't know, Bryan. I'm not looking to relocate."

"Hey, it's only a short flight away. It's not like you'll be at the opposite side of the country. Besides, it beats eating canned soup and dry toast until you land something else, and Portland is cheaper than here with plenty of opportunities. He owes me a favor, but that's not even going to be an issue because you would be perfect for the position, Ash."

My cousin is right about that, and of anyone in the world, I trust him the most. If he thinks this is a prospect worth considering, I should at least learn more about it.

An instinctive part of me rips apart at the thought of leaving Caden, but that can't be helped.

He doesn't believe in us.

And I'm tired of battling his ghosts.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Caden

"Son, you might want to ease back on the Jack. You don't want to be slurring your speech." Darren's calm, always kind eyes skim over me with scarcely masked concern. "You can indulge yourself when it's over, but now is not a good time."

Why should I?

The childish comeback vibrates in my head to ruthlessly compete with the drilling ache tattooing my brain. I can't stop. If I do, the determined and pitiless thoughts come crashing into me and all I want to do is hurtle back and howl at my own stupid, stupid self. The irksomely jovial band thumping away in the corner, the merciless chatters bouncing like a million annoying ping pongs in the open space, laughter heckling me from all around, undercover skanks in short dresses and push-up bras accidentally-intentionally brushing up against me all make me want to pummel someone bloody until this coldblooded throb is only a bitter memory.

I'm thinking Dorskey is a good candidate for that.

It's all her fault.

Ashely fucking Evans, with her sweet smile and big, candid eyes, who's probably now laughing at my dumb ass for ever being gullible enough to fall for her.

Well, the joke's on her, I decide and toss back the rest of the murky brown liquid in the tumbler. I bet she didn't think I had it in me to fire her conniving ass, probably figuring I'd grovel and beg for her to love me anyway. Well, _fuck her_ and fuck Dorskey.

I have to tip my hat off to her, though. She was the best. She had me so fooled with hearts in my eyes I didn't see the fucking truck careering at me until I was crushed. Marianne had nothing on her.

A light hand settles on my arm just as I'm signaling for a refill. Slowly, my relentlessly unforgiving head swivels to peer over at Katie, fetching in a sequined blue dress, as she considers me with what can only be understanding and compassion. Even in my somewhat inebriated state, I can see her distress. Someone – for the fuck of me, I can't remember his name – is taking Darren's attention, yakking away about how great the event is and how MOI has outdone itself once again and blah blah the fucking blah.

Why did I decide to come to this ridiculous gala? It's not as if I'm required to make an appearance. Darren is still the CEO, and whatever is expected tonight, he can handle it and handle it with grace and competence.

Why can't everyone just leave me alone?

Soft fingers on my tuxedo-clad forearm squeeze once before dropping. "Whatever it is," she begins as she leans close, ensuring any nosy party-goers wouldn't overhear, "it'll be okay."

I hadn't shared what happened between me and Ashley with Darren or anyone else. No sooner had I sent her packing that I left the office. Excuses were made to Darren about Ashley not feeling well and canceling our pre-gala visit to the Oats', but Darren is sharp, I'm sure he figured out something wasn't all skippity-down-the-rosy-park.

The fact that I'm growling and barking at anyone who dares to saunter over to the bar to greet me only solidifies his suspicion.

"It's nothing," I snap and gesture for one of the harried bartenders. Ashley Evans is nothing. I won't let her be anything more than that. Not ever again. "Can't a man enjoy a drink without the fucking pitying looks and inquisition?"

Like Darren, Katie hardly takes offense to my many moods, most of which are not good to begin with, much less when you mix in a thirty-five percent alcohol content times five.

Again with the sympathy. I feel like a pathetic stray dog at the pound.

"I'm here if you want to talk. Whenever."

"Talk? Talk about what?" I huff out a sad laugh. "How fucking stupid I am? How I clearly can't trust my own judgement when it comes to women, because I seem to be the biggest loser in that department? You tell me what you want to talk about, Katie, and I'd be happy to verbal-vomit all over you."

She opens her mouth as if to respond, only Darren halts her before she can. "Darling, Mrs. Villanueva would enjoy your expertise on that new Troudeau piece the museum acquired last month. I confess, I bragged about your love of art."

He passes a look with his wife before she nods in quiet understanding and leaves.

Whatever.

A clank sounds in front of me, and I make to snatch up the fresh glass.

"How are you planning to get home, Caden?" Darren holds up a pacifying hand before I release the mother of all snarls. "Katie and I will be happy to chauffer you, but I don't think you're worried about that right now, are you? You're too busy feeling sorry for yourself."

"Fuck off, Darren."

Exasperated, he sighs, taking a moment to survey the growing crowd. "Is Marianne still fighting you over the divorce?"

"Fuck Marianne."

"Is there anyone you wouldn't like to fuck?"

At that I glare at my mentor and father figure. "I'm not in the mood for jokes."

"Well, I'm getting tired of this petulant nonsense. If Marianne is being a pain, pay that bitch off and be done with it once and for all."

I might not be in the mood for jokes, but the laugh prattles out of me, a little sad and a whole lot of disgust. "I signed. She signed. The judge signed." I drain the tumbler in one greedy gulp and slam it down on the bar. "It's done. Got the news yesterday afternoon." Hours after I found out about Ashley's malevolent betrayal. Sour irony is a venomous, sadistic beast pouncing in joy, and I meet Darren's surprised gaze without bothering to diminish the biting hostility. "You're looking at a single guy. Want to ditch this ludicrous shindig and round up some strippers?"

Because the thought of being with any other woman besides Ashley makes me actually want to vomit, and not just verbally, that only pisses me off even more.

"I'd say that's cause for celebration," Darren says cautiously.

I hold up the empty glass in salute. "Got that right."

"This isn't about Marianne, is it?" Casually, his gaze dances over the room, zeroing in on someone. "Is it Ashley?"

"Fuck Ashley. I fired her lying ass."

Stunned eyes collide with mine. "What? Why the hell did you do that?"

Just the reminder alone has me sucking in infuriated air, my jaw clenching so hard my head is about to blow off. "She was in cahoots with Dorskey, trying to find dirt on me. Well, I showed her dirt, all right. Right out the fucking door."

It takes me a while – I'm not sure how long because my sense of time is failing me – before I realize there's been nothing from Darren for some time. No shock. No shared outrage. No instinctive denial.

My eyes dart over. He's no longer looking at me with worry and exasperation. He's gaping at me, eyes blinking as though he can't believe his ears.

Yup, what happened was deplorable. No doubt about it. Even Darren can't comprehend how someone so outwardly harmless can be so devious and deceitful.

His gaze drops, and my whirling head is trying to decipher that weird expression on him. Confusion? Regret? Hunger?

"Caden." When he looks up, it's with trepidation and guilt. "Son. There's something you need to know. About Ashley. God." Nervous fingers tug at his bowtie. "Is it getting hot in here?" he mutters to himself.

I've never seen Darren anxious. In a room full of difficult board members or bungee jumping off a bridge off of Mexico, Darren always seem to have it under control.

"Ashley was helping us out," Darren blurts out. "Tricia, to be exact. She..." Throat clearing. "She told Tricia about Andrew Dorskey sending her to Operations in hopes of sabotaging you. Tricia told her not to discuss what she revealed to anyone until she's had time to conduct an investigation."

It takes my alcohol fueled brain precious seconds to process that. Floored, I'm blinking back greedy haze and goggling at the same time. "When was this?"

"That time you barged into the ladies' restroom and Tricia summoned Ashley to her office. Tricia thought Ashley was going to file a complaint against you for what you did, but instead she divulged on record about Andrew. Tricia was obligated to relayed the investigation to me but made me swear I wouldn't share it with you lest it compromises the situation." This time when his gaze flies back to something – or someone – in the huge room behind me, it hardens. "We might just have enough to nail Andrew now."

"You knew?" My brain, already half smashed, is reeling from the implication. "You. Knew." Without thought I'm in Darren's chagrined face. "You fucking knew, and you made her lie to me?"

Heads swivel in our direction, but all my focus is on the one man in the entire world I thought I could trust. The one man I thought would never deceive me.

"Calm down, son."

"I'm not your son." I'm so livid I can't think or reason or feel or move. "I'm not your fucking anything. If I were, you wouldn't have done this!"

"Now is neither the time nor the place for this, Caden. We still have our duties as hosts, and it's not like MOI to neglect its duties."

That was Darren Oats, Chief Executive Officer.

Of course. How can I forget my duties?

"And here's one of the hosts leaving."

*****

The car slows to a stop at the curb in front of Ashley's apartment building. From this distance, I can't see her front door. Not that it matters, because I haven't figured out how to properly play this scene during the twenty-minute ride here.

"You gonna do anything other than stare at it?"

That would be the not so happy rideshare driver. Not only did he refuse to deliver the service when I first got into his miniscule imitation car, but he had the nerve to ply on the attitude, moaning and cursing about not driving another drunk asshole. It wasn't until I pulled out a Ben Franklin did he grudgingly concede, though evidently the bill didn't include zipping on the unrequested lip service.

Ignoring his irritable disposition, I kind of stumble and trundle out – okay, maybe I'm not that steady on my feet – out of the toy vehicle. I barely have the back door shut before the jerkoff is peeling away.

For some deranged reason the bizarre image of me hefting a boombox over my head while blasting Peter Gabriel in front of Ashley's apartment flashes absurdly in my head – some chick flick Ashley made me watch with her one night. The outlandish thought has me roaring with uncontrollable laughter, draping over the stair's handrail for support.

_Martini, you've truly lost it_.

Since it's there – not that I actually need it – I haul myself up with the help of the rail.

Who moved the second floor so high?

By the time I make it to the landing I'm sweating profusely. I hope Ashley appreciates this. I'll just knock on her door and wait for her to wrench it open and throw herself at me. Swaggering down the walkway... or am I staggering? _Whatever_.

There's a light coming from the interior of her living room filtered by the blinds. I lift my fist and rap against her door.

_Goddamn! Somebody stop that banging_.

Footsteps approach the other side of the wood. Smoothing my hands down the front of my tuxedo, I paste on a ready smile.

Then there's Ashley.

Her stupefied gaze slowly rakes over me from head to toe. I know I look pretty good in a penguin suit, even if I do say so myself.

"Hi, baby. Did you miss me?"

There's a slam where my nose meets solid wood.

"Baby?"

"Go away!"

Perplexed, I thump at the barrier again. "Open the door, baby. I want to talk to you."

The sound of a deadbolt smacking into place is the response.

I stand there in stunned disbelief as the light in the living room flicks out seconds later.

Now what?

Plowing into my pocket, I yank out my phone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Ashley

Ugh!

Motherjerker!

If that creep thought I was going to invite him in, drunk off his sorry butt and reeking like a liquor store exploded on him, he sucked on too many bottles. If he's here looking for me to load him up with caffeine, I just as soon kiss a smelly pig. And was that bile on his wrinkled white shirt or just really nasty food?

God, what a joke I've been.

So what if I'm still in love with the boor? That won't go away overnight, but what we had did. Love doesn't fall apart at the seams, even if the guy looks like a hot mess. Only relationships disintegrate.

Stuffing a pair of sweats into the overnight bag, I keep my ears open for any noise coming from the front walkway. My apartment isn't that big, so I can usually hear someone at my front door even from the bedroom.

I'm not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed to find silence.

"Screw him," I vehemently remind myself, deliberately rejecting the useless tears that are never too far away. "He was the one who threw away what we had."

_Threw me away_.

I bet he's thrilled that at least this time, he doesn't have to spend a small fortune on a lawyer.

My hands pause with a pair of socks, my ears suddenly perking up at a strange noise.

What is that?

Sounds like music... is that... is that Peter Gabriel?

My brows hike up as the famously recognizable song faintly penetrates the windows and walls. Who in the world is rocking to an eighty's ballad?

It's probably Mrs. Freedman. She loves those oldies but goodies.

Shaking my head, I jam the socks into the side and zip up the bag. There's no use thinking about what could have been with a man I thought I knew, a man I thought was worth all of me to love and care. Evidently it was only one-sided.

*****

I flew north for nearly three hours to Portland on Sunday, renting an inexpensive room in a nondescript motel nowhere near the bustling city. Collins and Bale was located in a revitalizing part of downtown, and I was awake the same time as the sun Monday morning before heading to its low-key office. I was lucky Robert Bale agreed to see me in such short notice. I'm sure my helpful cousin had a lot to do with it.

Bryan also may or may not have been the instigator in the worthwhile job offer extended to me late that afternoon.

Black letters run together, scurrying ants on a screen. I stare at the monitor until my eyes hurt – or maybe the excruciating ache in my heart is spreading.

I walk into the office and see you at your desk, with your big, pretty eyes and easy, innocent smile, giggling at my stupid remarks and shielding my asshole behavior. And I don't think about it anymore. Don't think much of anything. Because all I can think about is you.

Is Caden thinking about me now?

With a ruthless shake of the head, I order myself to focus on what needs to be done.

Collins and Bale is a decent firm with about fifty employees in one office. It's nothing like MOI, the craziness or the rewarding challenges, though the pay offered is reasonable for the position. Like Bryan said, I wouldn't need much in Oregon. The standard of living is lower than SoCal, and I've always been frugal. My potential new boss seemed nice enough.

After being Caden's assistant, I'm pretty sure I can handle almost anyone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Caden

"Out! Everyone out!"

Wobbly hands frantically scoop up everything within reach. Notebooks, pens, tablets all clear off the round table in record time. Hurried footsteps beat down a worn path straight out of my office, a few of the staff wiping sweat off their brow. It would be comical if I'm not about to blast fire right out of my incensed nose.

Fucking team meeting. No one takes the initiative to do any fucking thing around here unless it's spelled out with a picture pop-up. If one more person stare at me with that shit-filled brain look one more time, I'm going to detonate on the spot.

Still cursing, I go back to my desk and wake my computer. The twenty-minute meeting even put my monitor to sleep. Speaking of snoozeville, I need coffee. With only two hours of restless sleep last night, I can't function properly without the added pep. Ashley knows exactly what I need.

More peeved than I can remember, I stab at the button on my desk phone only to stiffen painfully.

She's not here anymore.

Because I fired her last week.

And she refused to talk to me.

I'm the asshole everyone accuses me of being. I'm the asshole who fired the woman I love, the woman who changed my outlook in life and made me want to be better, because of my demented pride. For as long as I live I'll never forget that look on her face, tears streaming freely down her cheeks as she begged me to listen to her, to let her explain.

Then, being the ambitious fucker that I am, I up the assholeness by showing up at her apartment, staggering with reckless stupidity and plenty of whiskey. The only reason I remember that was because I woke up in the middle of the night, sprawled on the cold ground against her bolted front door. I'm only grateful Mrs. Freedman didn't call the cops.

My fingers fly over the phone keys. Just because I let my assistant go doesn't mean I should go without for long, and it's HR's job to ensure that's the case.

"Good morning, Mr. Martini," Tricia answers with clear sarcasm. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I need an assistant. I needed one yesterday, so quite filing your claws and get to finding me one."

There's a sound like she just shot air out of her nose. Or she passed gas. "I'm surprised you waited this long to huff and puff about it. After all, it's been a day and a half. How did you survive yesterday?"

"Don't waste my time with your psycho. Just get me an assistant. Preferably an amazing one."

"You had an amazing one, Caden, yet you terminated her without discussing it with me," she reproaches harshly. "Due to your hasty action, we're on damage control. Now you'll have to do without for a few more days until Erin Jimenez returns on Monday, because absolutely no one here wants to work for you in that capacity."

"What are you talking about? What damage control?"

I can practically see her brain turning, considering how much to disclose.

"First of all, you terminated an employee without providing her with her final pay on her last day. That's against labor regulations in this state. Secondly, we were in the middle of an investigation with Ashley Evans, who was our key witness. She can very well claim her termination was a retaliation for her participation in the investigation."

"Ashley wouldn't sue the company, if that's where you're going with this." That, I would bet my life on it. It's not Ashley's style.

It seems the head of HR is aware of it, too. "Be that as it may, you should have come to me first when you had concerns about Ashley. Luckily, we're able to take action against Andrew Dorskey with what we have. He'll be released from his post with MOI this Friday." To my surprise, her voice softens. "I'm here to help, Caden. Not everyone has to be an enemy."

Disheartened, I rake my hair back with rigid fingers. She's right, of course. I reacted like a jackass. I know that now, but hindsight is full of helpless penitence.

"I received a reference inquiry for Ashley yesterday," Tricia reveals gently into the dense silence. "From a law firm. At least she's moving on. I'm glad for her."

There's packed lead in my stomach. Surely that's why it just dropped through the floor. "Which one?"

She hesitates. "You know you can't disparage her or in any way interfere with this, right?"

"She was the best assistant I ever had," I tell her adamantly. It's the total truth. "I wouldn't bad mouth her if you held a gun to my head and demanded it."

Still she dawdles. "It's a small firm. Not local. I gave her a glowing reference, so hopefully she'll get the job."

"What do you mean _not local_?"

"It's a firm in Portland."

*****

_Fuck no_ she's not moving out of state. She's not going anywhere. Over my dead body. Even then, my lifeless fingers would be clutching stubbornly to her ankles. She'd have to drag my clinging corpse with her to wherever she goes.

I can't believe she would even consider it. She loves it here. Is she that desperate to get away from me that she'd settle for anything, anywhere?

All because I fired her? What? She can't take a joke?

The Jag bullets into a vacant parking spot and I waste no time bursting out. With a quick call to Miles Jameson, I knew exactly where I to find her.

It's not quite lunchtime yet, but there's already a small crowd gathered at the tables set out near the food truck. Ashley is alone at a bench, staring at a small red and white checkered paper tray in front of her. Not eating. Not drinking. Not even picking up a napkin. Just staring. It's not my intention to sneak up on her, but she doesn't appear to be paying any attention to her moderately busy surroundings.

As I approach, I notice that her shoulders are drooping down, her chin low as though she's deflating before my eyes.

Normally cheerful and optimistic, the sight of her so dejected and forlorn breaks something in me. I want to kill whoever made her look this way. And if that person is me, I'd kick my own sorry ass.

Not wanting to startle her, I deliberately, quietly take the empty place next to her. When her entire body stiffens, I know she realizes who's joined her.

"Ashley." I lay a stilling hand on her arm when she made to bolt off the seat. "I'm sorry."

She doesn't say anything, her gaze mulishly straight, but I can feel her arm trembling beneath my fingers.

"I'm so sorry," I try again. "I... panicked when I heard you talking with Dorskey. There's no excuse for it. It was knee-jerked and stupid." I stop. I have to, because talking about it brings up things that's neither the time nor place to deal with it. Right now, it's about Ashley. That's all that matters. "I know you wouldn't do something like that. You're everything good and pure. Honest. Bright. Everything I'm not. Everything I want to be. That's just one of the reasons why I love you so much."

Big, doe eyes blink rapidly, stubbornly resisting the attack of emotions I know she won't want to show me.

My fingers tighten on her arm, desperately holding on to someone I know I'm losing. "Baby, please look at me."

Auburn hair slap against pale cheeks as she shakes her head, dislodging the tears she refused to release.

My chest hurts, constricting breaths. Life. "Why?"

Taking her time, she sucks in choked air. "Because if I look at you, I'll forgive you. And I don't want to."

For some reason, Ashley condemning herself for forgiveness nearly shatters me. More than her silence, more than her anger, unyielding to her tender nature brings to harsh light just how much I damaged her.

"I love you so much, Ashley Evans."

Her cheeks are saturated, tears chasing one after the other. "Stop saying that."

"You asked me once..." I swallow the clogging lump in my throat, hating that I can't get through to her. Was this how she felt when I refused to accept her explanation? "You asked me once to never lie to you. I love you. That's me not lying to you."

She looks at me then, beautiful eyes brimming with hurt and disbelief. "How can you claim to love someone you don't want to love?"

"That's not it at all." I face her fully, shifting a leg over to straddle the bench, willing her to understand. "I do and _want_ to love you. It's not you I don't trust. It's me."

"That's a cheap cop out."

"No, baby." I cup her jaw gently. So treasured. So beautiful. How can someone so vital, so rare, see something good in me? But she did. "I wish it was. You're the best thing that happened to me. Don't you know that? The best." When my own eyes horrifically moisten, I don't try to hide it from her. She needs to see all of me. "I'm only a man, Ashley. A flawed one, at that. I've made too many mistakes to know I'm not perfect, but I feel that way when you look at me."

She's sobbing, turning away from me, but I won't let her. With my thumbs, I swipe at her smooth, damp cheeks. "Come back," I plea with her, not a little distraught. "Come home with me. Come back to MOI."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. You won't have to work with me," I reason urgently. "You can be with compliance."

She shakes her head. "No, Caden. I accepted another job. I'm moving."

My veins instantly ice over, my body a frozen, breakable figure. I stare at her, at the conviction and sincerity of her decision. Slowly, I release her.

It's my turn to look away, my desolate gaze falling on the lonely taco gone cold in the greasy paper tray. Abandoned and neglected, soon to rot away in the trash bin until some underpaid soul empties it and takes it to a piling landfill overflowing with other unwanted.

My gaze cuts back to her. "I'm going with you."

Stunned, she gapes at me with beads of moisture clinging to her lashes. "What?"

"I'll leave MOI. We'll buy a place. I'll start my own business."

"That's crazy!"

It's not crazy. I'm all in. With Ashley. With our life together. What better time to start than now?

Tugging out my phone from my pocket, I begin tapping out a text. "I'll let Darren know right now. There'll be things I'll need to wrap up at MOI, but I'll be with you soon enough."

It has to be this way. I'm not letting Ashley go. Not ever.

"Caden. God!" She snatches the phone right out of my hands. "Have you lost your mind? You're going to be CEO in a few months. You can't just walk away."

"I can do whatever the hell I want, and I want to be with you."

"MOI is your family legacy. You have an obligation to it." When I only stare at her blankly, she throws up her hands in frustration and mounts off the bench. "You are not leaving MOI, you jerk!"

She storms away, my phone clutched protectively against her.

Did she just pilfer my phone?

"Ashley!" Several heads turn, but I don't care. "Get your ass back here." I curse under my breath and scramble off the seat. "You can't stop me, you know," I call after her even as her small sneakered feet pick up speed. "I'll just tell Darren in person."

"You're going to be MOI's CEO, Caden Martini," she hollers back at me. "Whether you like it or not."

"Says who?"

"Says me!"

To my amazement and astonishment, she takes off and heads straight for her car.

"Son of a bitch." I'm in a suit and leather shoes, but I don't give a fuck as I haul ass after her. "Ashley!"

I reach her just as she throws open the driver side door, flinging my phone across the passenger seat and slamming shut the door.

Whirling around like a tornado, she glares at me with all her might, fists clenched at her sides. "I won't let you throw away your life, Caden."

I glower right back at her. "It's my life, and you can't tell me how to live it."

"Oh, yes I can."

"In your dreams, Evans."

"You're not going with me to Portland. You're staying right here where you belong."

I laugh, because really, it's quite comical the way she thinks she can stop me. "Wherever you are, I'm there. Get used to loving it."

"Good then." Her body relaxes, gingerly straightening her clothing from her impromptu sprint. "We're in agreement."

I narrow my eyes. "What are you talking about?"

Nervous little teeth appear and worry her bottom lip. "Meaning I decided to stay."

Hopeful but wary, I ask, "You're turning down the job in Portland?"

"Yeah." She nods. "I am."

Feeling the pull of her, I close the distance between us, searching her suddenly bashful gaze. "Why?"

Shoulders jerk awkwardly. "I want to be with you."

"Why?" I repeat. When her gaze meets mine, it's unwavering. "I told you. If I looked at you, I would forgive you."

"You looked and I'm forgiven. Just like that?"

"Not just like that. If a man is willing to give up his life as he knows it for a woman, the choice is obvious for the woman."

Profound relief courses through me to weaken my knees. For the first time in days, I'm able to inhale deeply.

Cucumbers and cookies. God, I missed that scent.

"Come here." She doesn't hesitate. My arms envelope her as she wraps her arms around my waist. Tightly and eternally. "Come home with me."

"Yes."

EPILOGUE

Ashley

I'm leaning against Caden's Jag at his reserved parking spot at MOI, waiting for the man himself to come out so we can try out that new Mediterranean place a couple of miles from here. Winter is coming fast upon us, and sunlight has already hibernated as the weekend kicks off on this Friday. My own car is in the shop, but I'm not missing it one bit. I like Caden's powerful car far too much to feel it.

The last few days have been a whirlwind of activities. Between productive, diligent job searches, moving some of my things to Caden's, and interviewing eager realtors, we've hardly had time to take a breather. It didn't make sense for me to bring my things to Caden's house when he's about to put it on the market, and I argued with him until I was blue in the face, but Caden is Caden. He wanted me where he wanted me, and I admit, the arrangement is more practical since we're officially living together. Hopefully, we can compromise on that outrageously giant, "kick-ass" dream home he seems to think we need. Then tomorrow night we're meeting the Oats for the much delayed get together. Caden and Darren have some male patching up to do, and no one can plan that better than the women in their lives.

Delighted anticipation flutters my stomach the moment I see Caden approaching in his usual brisk pace. His no nonsense tackle to life also applies to affairs of the heart, I'm learning. He was ready to give up everything he's worked so hard for his whole life to be with me. I couldn't let him do it. Just couldn't. I love him too much to let him toss it away for me.

As for me, I love _us_ too much to work for MOI. I know that, no matter how much or how hard he tries to ignore it, there would always be malicious people who wouldn't hesitate to use me against Caden. It's best if we keep our personal life separate from the professional one. Besides, Caden pulled some strings with R Hotels and Resorts, and I'll be interviewing with the Vice President next week.

An arm scoop me close before warm lips press against mine. "Hey, baby," he murmurs intimately against me.

"Hi." Lovingly, I sweep back the hair on his forehead. I even love the delicate shivers racking my body whenever he's near. "How was your day?"

"Long without you."

Pleased but trying not to show it, I playfully swat at his shoulder. "And how many cups of coffee did you have?"

"Not enough." He chuckles at my frown. "One. And a cup of tea."

"Promise?"

"Always."

"Hm..." I smooth my palms down his sturdy shoulders, relishing the quiet strength. "Bannon Abagail called again about the house."

"Oh?"

"He wants the listing. Bad."

"I don't know if I want the boy you made out with to get the commission. What if he's after more than just the listing? And with a name like _Bannon_ , I'm not sure he can be trusted."

Who knew my very fleeting, very casual make out session in high school would ever come back to haunt me? "Caden Martini, I know you're not that petty."

He laughs. He's doing that more freely now. "Maybe not, but he—"

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here. If it isn't the witch and her handy broomstick."

Like a switch was flipped, Caden's muscles bunch in my arms. Carefully, I let my hands drop from his chest. Though he's gone rigid, you'd never know it as he coolly turns to confront the intruder, his voice nonchalant as though berating a pesky fly.

"Dorskey. Heard you got canned today. Better luck being a pussy next time."

"It's you who needs luck, Martini. With that one you're trying to stash away behind you. No need for that, I assure you. I've had my fill of that lying slut. She's all yours. Enjoy my leftovers."

My chin drops as hot blood gushes through my boiling veins. How dare he insinuate there was anything going on between us! The deceitful, spiteful piece of cow dung!

"Shut your fucking mouth, Dorskey."

A male cackle. "You can't honestly fault me for tapping that, can you? You certainly couldn't help yourself. She might be a timid thing during the day, but in the dark she's a freak on steroids."

My temper, locked dormant unless ruthlessly roused, rears, scenting blood. "Stop lying!" Andrew Dorskey's nasty, smug face makes me see red when I side step around Caden. I don't need him to shield me from the despicable. "Just because you can't lie and cheat your way to the top doesn't mean you should drag people down."

He only sneers at me. "What's the matter, Ash? Afraid the golden goose would fly off when he finds out about us? I'm sure he can guess. Everyone knew you had it bad for me. I didn't even have to crook my finger and you were all over me in a heartbeat."

"Fuck off, Dorskey," Caden tosses out. "Ashley's too smart for the likes of you, so don't even try it."

"Don't kid yourself, Martini. That one over there is only good for one thing, and I'm not sure that's even worth it." He flicks a wrist down the length of him. "She wanted this so bad, she did anything to get it. You don't believe me? Ask her. Ask her how she felt about me."

"You're disgusting." I'm so mad, my heart feels like it's going to leap right out of my chest. "Get out of here before security hauls you away."

"Tough talk – when you have money backing you." The sneer morphs into menacing loathing. "I should've known you were after him yourself, just not in the same way. You certainly had me fool with the innocent act. I would've never guessed you were in for a sugar daddy."

Sugar daddy?

That's it!

The piece of stinky cow dung!

I don't give myself time to think. I just react.

With a swift step, I heave back my elbow and ram my fist right at Andrew Dorskey's groin. "And you won't be a daddy at all!"

I have the sick pleasure of watching his eyes cross - literally cross - before his hands fly out to protectively cup his favorite male part, dropping to his knees on an awful howl.

Large hands yank me back and away from the wailing man on the ground. "Baby, are you all right?"

Adrenaline has taken control of my senses, heart galloping madly. My breathing is choppy, my skin flushed.

And I feel alive.

"Hell yeah, I'm all right." I spin around, grinning like a fool at the wide-eyed, flabbergasted Caden. "Did you see that? You were right. That was much better than crying."

He's gawking at me as though he's never seen me. Perhaps he hasn't. Perhaps I've changed. Becoming stronger and standing my ground.

Then he, too, is grinning. "That's my girl. Let's go get you some food, champ."

I glance over my shoulder at the writhing man. "What about him?"

Caden's gaze pointedly lands on a spot behind me, flashing a thumb up before sending me a playful wink. "Jerry will take care of it. Let's get out of here."

*****

Thank you so much for getting to know Ashley and Caden. If you enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer?

Deepest thanks!

K.C. Ale

**Other Titles by K.C. Ale**

Maybe I Lied

Maybe I Knew
**Sneak Peek at** _Maybe I Lied_

The drive back to Hollywood Hills was smooth and quiet. At this time of night, even the city snoozed for a spell. In record time I was pulling into my garage, shivering a bit as the entry lowered. Easing inside, I flipped on the lights, setting down my purse and stepping out of the flats.

And stared at the coffeemaker perched on the kitchen counter.

When did I make coffee?

Taking the few steps, I peered down at the sink. One black mug still half filled, brown contents cold. The brewer was still plugged in where I'd normally leave it disengaged, right next to a basket of oranges that I couldn't remember placing there. When did I buy fruits?

Was I losing my mind? I went to my brother's straight from Jake's. When did I have time to make coffee?

"Odd," I said out loud just so I could hear my own voice echo in the stillness. Shaking my head at my own disquiet, I made my way out to ensure the windows and front door were secured and locked. Just in case.

And shrieked so loud my bones rattled. "What the hell!"

The large figure lazily rose from the sofa. "Where've you been?"

My heart was still racing even though my brain knew there was no immediate threat. With a clutching hand over the traumatized organ – it was never going to be the same again - I glared at Jake. "What are you doing here? You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Do you know what time it is?"

"More of a reason not to sneak around a woman's house."

"Where did you go, Maddy?" The voice was low, in his don't-fuck-with-me tone. "And who were you with?"

His fierce expression more than the questions got my back up. "To dinner," I replied testily. The man thought he could frighten me to death, lurking around my home when I wasn't expecting him, then give me the third degree? "I don't have a curfew, Jake, nor do I need your permission."

"With who?"

I narrowed my eyes at the huffing beast, not liking his hard tone one bit. So I decided to flaunt the red flag. "None of your business."

In a blink he was in my face. "Say that to me again."

"Or what?" I taunted. He was rigid, spasming muscles held in check by sheer will, but I absolutely refused to stand down. Now both of us were blustering, but I didn't care. He had no right to act like my dad on steroids. I made a mental note to retrieve my house key from him now that I wasn't abroad anymore. "You going to fire me like one of your disobedient minions?"

"You wouldn't get off that easily." In blunt opposition to his simmering temper, long, gentle fingers held my chin. But the eyes. The gilded eyes could melt a lesser force on the spot. "One last time. Who. Were. You. With?"

I had two older, dictatorial brothers and long learned to stand my ground without simply backing down. Flailing his hand away, I took a step back. Deliberately, coolly, I sniggered derisively. "Wouldn't you like to know? Leave the key on your way out," I instructed and turned on my heel, needing to be as far away from the brute as possible without leaving the house, and went back to the kitchen.

The stomping trailing behind me wasn't entirely a surprise. What was unexpected was his hand on my upper arm.

"I'm not done with you."

That's it!

I had temper. I could admit it. I wasn't proud of it, but I didn't try to hide it either.

