But I haven’t even made it to the desk when a double knock on the door makes me jump. With no early appointments on today’s schedule, there’s only one person who would drop by unannounced.

I dump my briefcase on the desk and wait for another heartbeat. Maybe, if I pretend not to be here, Shrek will go away.

“I know you’re in there,” Lucas’ voice calls from the other side.

He’s so pretentious. I really can’t stand him.

I take a deep breath, fuel my inner rage, and throw the door open. “What?” I say witheringly.

I was aiming for cold and haughty, but, gosh, does he have to look that good every single morning? Does he never get a bad hair day? Freshly shaven, in one of his usual impeccable suits, and with his smoldering blue eyes, he takes my breath away, melting all my coolness. His sandalwood scent finishes the work, destroying the last of my safeguards.

Unaware of the effect he’s having on me, Lucas raises a pink paper bag, saying, “I come in peace and bearing donuts. We need to sit down and have a conversation.”

My mouth waters a little, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the donuts or thanks to the thought of sitting on top of Lucas—I mean, sitting down with Lucas. No one is sitting on top of anyone. Not in my office. And just like that, an image invades my mind: Lucas carrying me to the desk, clearing off the clutter with a sweep of his arm, and placing me on the hard, flat surface to kiss me until we’re both breathless and dizzy.

Lucas’ voice brings me back to the present. “Vivian?”

The way my name rolls off his tongue makes me shiver. I’m going insane. It’s the only possible explanation.

Fighting to cool my spirit and tone, I ask, “Is it really necessary?”

“Yes.” Lucas pushes past me, uninvited, into my office.

He lays a paper napkin on my side of the desk and places a perfectly glazed pink donut on top. Then he sits on one of the clients’ chairs and bites with gusto on another equally pretty donut.

And never in my life would I have imagined being jealous of a pastry.

Without much of a choice, I sit at the desk, eyeing the fried treat suspiciously. A single bite would be enough to sell my soul to the devil, I’m certain. But, honestly, the glaze looks delicious—as does the devil—so I give in and relish the sugar rush. Then, since the anxiety is killing me—is he here to talk about the kiss?—I ask, “What is it you wanted to discuss?”

Lucas is sitting with an ankle resting on his knee as if he owns the place.

“Us,” he says nonchalantly.

A simple word that causes a void to form in my stomach.