“That’s all,” I confirm. “Honestly, men are nothing but irritating. Once or twice, I thought I found a decent one and officially started dating him. Sure, it starts out great. Then suddenly I’m required to check in all the time. Let him know where I’m going, when I’ll be home. I have to be available for daily phone calls. About nothing. Why do women subject themselves to this?” I gesture at the row of incredibly good-looking men, wondering in the back of my mind if I have a screw loose to turn down their offer to worship me. “Showing up at my office like this doesn’t really give me casual vibes. It feels like a trap. I’m not getting sucked in by the promise of orgasms. Then suddenly I’m picking up three pairs of dirty socks on my floor. Uh-uh. Nope.”

“Elise, I’ll eat your pussy like it’s the last slice of chocolate fucking cake,” Tobias deadpans. “You know how I do it, love.”

“I should punch you in the face for talking to me like that,” I manage, using all of my control to hide the fact that my legs have turned into gelatin molds. Chocolate. Cake?

“Why don’t you?” Tobias winks at me. “Is it because I’m too pretty?”

“Once again, I am asking that you please shut up,” Banks bites off.

Tobias holds up his hands in surrender.

“If you said yes…” Gabe begins, slowly unzipping his hoodie, taking it off and laying it on the kitchen counter that runs along the wall to his left. Beneath it, he’s wearing a white T-shirt that is so thin and ancient, I can see right through it. To the maze of tattoos on his beefy chest. The colorful patterns of ink run all the way up the right side of his neck. They take up every inch of space on his thick arms. I start to question why he’s taking off his hoodie when he is moments from leaving the building, but…it becomes very obvious why.

Everything south of my belly button is melting like hot wax.

I can’t help but envision that powerful body on top of me. Behind me.

Gabe’s hoodie removal is effective. Even more so when he comes closer, hitting me with soulful eye contact and the smell of sawdust. “If you say yes, I promise not to expect phone calls from you,” he says gruffly, working man’s fingers flexing at his sides. “But I can’t promise I won’t be happy when I get one.”

“Same,” Banks says, his voice an octave lower.

“Make that three,” Tobias sighs.

“We’re not…” I sputter, pressing my back tighter to the door. “This is not a negotiation of terms. I’m saying no. Hell no, actually.” My rapidly dampening underwear is calling me a liar, but I ignore the barb. “Are none of you going to address that I lied to you about being a reporter? No one is going to point out that, in reality, I’m a sandwich delivery person?”