She shrugs. "I wanted to get a head start on the files Victoria gave me for tomorrow."

I study her, staring at her tits, covered in her yellow dress and sweater, for so long she nervously shifts. When I pin my gaze back on hers, I state, "You're on salary."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"There's no overtime for staying later," I point out.

"I wasn't staying to earn overtime," she claims.

Hook, line, and sinker.

"No? Then what were you staying late for when everyone else but me has left?" I ask, just to watch her squirm.

A moment passes, and it's like watching a lightbulb go off in her brain. Crimson colors her cheeks, and she stutters, "I-I told you I wanted to get a head start."

"Is that all?" I ask, enjoying every minute of making her uncomfortable. And there's no more debating. I'll have my way with her sooner rather than later. It'll be a new challenge to see what she'll allow me to do to her.

Remember HR.

I'll cover my butt.

"Well?" I ask when she continues to gape at me.

She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. I have to give her credit. A lot of interns have tried to seduce me. I'm one of Dallas's top bachelors to snag, and they all want a piece of my fortune. Yet I don't fancy those offers. What's the fun if it's too easy? I can get laid anywhere. Plus, doing it with someone on my payroll is a headache.

I'll make an exception for her naive ass though.

She reiterates, "I wanted to get a head start on tomorrow. Since it's Thanksgiving this Thursday, I didn't want to get behind due to the day off."

I almost roll my eyes. Thanksgiving is just another excuse for people not to work. I snicker. "Granny coming to town to cook you a turkey?"

Her eyes glisten and her voice shakes. "No. She died six months ago."

Now I feel like a total jackass. I add, "Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"If there's nothing else, I'll see you tomorrow," she states, not waiting for me to reply before shuffling out of the office.

I rush toward the door and call out, "Hey!"

She spins, puts her hand on her hip, and asks, "What?"

"I didn't mean to be a dick about your grandma," I claim.

"Yes, you did. Goodnight," she replies, then practically runs to the elevator.

Her response shocks me. Most people don't call me out on my bullshit. I stare at her pert ass, fisting my hand at my side, feeling a tad guilty. It's what happens every now and then—the guy who used to care about hurting people's feelings shows up.