I tiptoed my way to the small desk just outside Mr. Cavenaugh’s office. I tried peeking under the door to check for signs of life. If there were any, I couldn’t tell.

So, for now, I waited.

It was well past lunch before I heard any noises coming from the opposite side of the door. Since I hadn’t planned on staying beyond morning coffee, my belly was rumbling something fierce, and I was hopped up on so much caffeine that I thought I might catapult into space the second I heard the crashing noise coming from the large office next to me.

Had I slept through his arrival? Or had he come in so early that I’d missed it?

Either way, Mr. Cavenaugh was here, which meant our inevitable encounter was forthcoming.

I just hoped it happened sooner rather than later. At this point, with no breakfast and only liquid fuel to keep me going, even the desk furniture was starting to look appetizing.

Forty-five minutes and five games of Solitaire later, he finally emerged. I’d been on pins and needles since hearing the first inkling of him moving about his office, and the second the door handle began to turn, I jumped.

Feeling my face flush almost automatically, I closed the tabs on my computer, realizing the action was fruitless in my current predicament. Dressed in a similar dark suit with matching tie, his appearance seemed to match more closely to the gruff, short tempered man I’d briefly met yesterday afternoon.

The smell that followed him though?

Definitely the other guy.

The one I’d slapped right across the face a split second before realizing he was my boss. My very attractive, scary boss.

Crap.

The cool, collected demeanor he’d had in spades was gone, and instead, I found myself completely befuddled as I watched him stagger out of his office, tripping over his own feet, as if taking a single step was a monumental event.

If I’d had as much alcohol as he had, it probably would be.

Why hadn’t he taken a sick day, like a normal person?

And was he ever going to notice me sitting here?

As I was finally gathering the courage to speak up, the words forming in my mouth, he turned. Our eyes met, and I saw it.

The exact second he recognized me.

First, his gaze tightened, and a bit of annoyance seemed to sweep across his features as he remembered Bethany’s departure. Then, like a two-by-four had smacked him across the back of his head, his expression lit up like a Christmas tree, and that was when everything hit the fan.

“Motherfucker!” he cursed as his hand flew up to his face, grazing the skin where my palm had hit him.

What do you say to the guy you slapped across the face the night before, who also happened to be your boss of the past twenty-four hours?