***---Harper---***
I woke up the next morning with mascara on my cheek and a dream I couldn't look in the eye. You know the kind. The ones that leave you breathless and mildly offended at your own subconscious. I stared at the ceiling for a full minute while my brain replayed a montage of hands, a mouth, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like the CEO of my company telling me to be good.
Cool. Love that for me.
Coffee helped. Barely. By the time I got to Bannen Media my soul had thawed enough to fake a smile. I slid behind the front desk, woke up the computer, and tried not to think about the app sitting on my phone like a loaded gun. I'd signed up. That bell couldn't be unrung. Now it was just a waiting game.
The elevator dinged. My body went traitor before my brain could catch up. Heat curled low in my belly. My thighs pressed together and slicked with need. I knew, even before he stepped off the elevator, who it was.
Garret Bannen. Dark suit and darker hair. He walked in like the building belonged to him. It did. That wasn't the point.
"Morning, Ms. Lane." His voice was smooth enough to pour over ice.
"Morning, Mr. Bannen." I tried for professional. My ovaries wrote fan mail.
He stopped at my desk with a folder in one hand and his phone in the other. The scent of him hit me. Clean skin. Something woodsy. Something that said he probably didn't buy his cologne at the pharmacy like I did.
"There's a ridiculous email in my inbox." He said. "Forwarded from Events. Subject line is 'URGENT: fire dancers?' Please tell me it's a prank."
I blinked. "Sadly it's real. They want to hire a troupe for the shareholder gala. It's very Cirque du Please Don't Sue Us."
His mouth ticked up. "Tell them no flames inside the building."
"Even metaphorical ones?" I asked. "Because that's ninety percent of our brand."
He gave me a look that should've made me behave. It didn't. I smiled back. I had the survival instinct of tinfoil.
"No pyrotechnics, and tell them to stop using the word 'synergy.' If they say it around me again I'll cancel the gala."
"Consider it done. I'll replace it with 'vibes' and 'girlboss.'"
He stared at me. Damn, he was trying to decide if I was funny or fireable. His eyes dropped to my mouth. Just for a second. My lungs forgot how to do their job. He cleared his throat first.
"Good morning, Harper." He said again, softer.
"Morning." I echoed, way too breathy.
He walked away and the lobby air shifted temperature. I let out a shaky exhale and pretended to answer a call that didn't exist. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I fished it out like a guilty teenager and checked the screen under the desk.
Velour: Background check cleared. You're verified. Awaiting match.
Well. That was fast. I swallowed. My heart did a little drum solo. I shoved the phone back into my pocket and hugged my clipboard while my brain screamed at me to be normal.
Another buzz hit a second later. I didn't need to look to know it was my mother. She had a sixth sense for drama. I glanced anyway.
Mom: Morning, baby. Your cousin's pregnant again. When am I getting grandbabies? Call me.
I locked the screen and pretended that message had been sent to someone else named Harper who made better choices and had a savings account. The ghost of my dream caught up with me. Garret's hands on my hips. The way he'd say my name if I let him. I pinched the bridge of my nose and thought about taxes. That helped for three seconds.
Clients came and went. I printed badges. I mediated a turf war between two VPs who both wanted Conference Room B. I watched Garret stalk through the lobby twice. Every time, my body heated and my thighs clenched. Down girl, or there'd need to be a cleanup on aisle me.
My phone buzzed again. I didn't pull it out. I didn't need to see my mother's follow-up text with a photo of a baby in a knitted hat to know it would make my eye twitch. I forced myself to focus on the lobby cameras. A courier tripped over a rug. Paula walked by, frown first.
At two, I got an email. Garret Bannen requested a reminder sent to all staff about professional email etiquette. I drafted it with the petty joy of a woman who knew exactly how to skewer a problem and still keep her job.
Subject: Reply All Is Not A Personality
Body: Keep your flames for the shareholder gala we're not allowed to light. Use CC with intention. Please do not send memes to the entire company, even if the cat is very cute. Regards, Management.
I hovered over send.
"Let me see it first."
I jumped, whirling and clutching my chest. Garret stood there, smirking. Bastard.
I turned the screen so he could read it. He huffed out a laugh. It was a small sound, but it felt like sunshine anyway.
"Add 'do not mark every email urgent.' And remove the cat line. I like cats."
"Noted. CEO is pro-cat. Anti-flamethrower."
"Anti-lawsuit." He corrected. Then his gaze flicked to my mouth. "Send it."
I hit send, and flicked my eyes up at him. He nodded and headed back to his office. I pressed my palms flat on the desk until the urge to sprint after him and propose a lifetime of HR violations passed.
Twice. That was twice today he'd actually stopped and talked to me. Usually it was a grunt. Maybe a shrug or two. But twice, we had an actual conversation.
My phone lit up once again, pulling me away from my thoughts. I finally gave in. Not Mom this time.
Chloe: How's the lobby? Any brooding CEOs for lunch?
Me: He stopped by twice. I'm fine. My thighs are not.
Chloe: Bless. Update. Julian says your verification went through. You're in the system. Now we wait for your perfect perv.
I choked on air and typed with my soul leaving my body.
Me: Don't call him that!
Chloe: Fine. Your perfect gentleman who will rearrange your insides respectfully.
Me: This is why we can't have nice things.
Chloe: This is exactly how we have nice things.
She wasn't wrong.