“All right. I better have a full report by five o’clock.”

Exhaling, he plucks the Bluetooth piece from his ear and sets it on the desk, and mumbles, “Fuck,” under his breath. That little word causes my stomach to clench.

“You had sex in here!” I say incredulously.

“What?” Guilt slices through his face.

“That’s why you gave me a buttload of errands to run, you got some booty.”

He sits on the edge of his desk looking like sex in a suit. Men wearing suits were never my jam—I always had a libido for guys from the blue-collar crowd—but the way the suit hugs his biceps is making my vagina jump for joy, and the way his ironed black slacks look around his waist with a leather belt makes me want to melt in a puddle.

“If you’re not next in line to suck my dick, I suggest you stay the fuck outta my business.” His voice is cold, and I swallow hard. I bet you a whole dollar my cheeks turn fifty shades of pink.

I tilt my chin in the air, inhaling. “You smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“It’s me slapping you with a sexual harassment suit.” My threat is as dead as a doorknob, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“The moment you sue me is the day hell will freeze over.”

“How so?”

“Because under your hateful glares, you’re starving for my dick.”

I want to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. “Whatever. I wouldn’t touch you if you were a cure to a disease I had.” The lie rolls off my tongue, and I twirl the strand of hair that floats in front of my forehead with my index finger.

“Liar.” His gaze clings to mine. “I fucked enough women to know when one wants my cock. When you look at me your eyes are begging for it.”

He twitches his lip and folds his arms across his chest.

I stare down at the carpet. What can I say? I can’t lie anymore. Every time I’m around him my ovaries are on fire, ready to explode.

“If you got fucked properly on a regular basis, you wouldn’t walk around with a stick up your rainbow ass.”

He rolls his eyes and his face bleeds boredom.

Gunner doesn’t have any filters. I’m not offended because he’s the type to tell you if your poop stinks and if he doesn’t like you.

That’s just part of his personality. Last week, he asked Mason, during a business lunch meeting, if he dipped his toothbrush in crap because his mouth smelled like butthole.