A deep voice from across the room jolted Liza. “You found my office.”

She turned to find Dorsey staring at her with those unnerving dark eyes. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop.” She was surprised. This was not the largest office on the floor, or the flashiest. There was a smooth dark-wood demilune desk with a pony-skin upholstered armchair that begged you to sit. He had a vintage apothecary cabinet installed on the wall with tiny undecipherable words written on the drawers. On an adjacent desk, there was a bronze statue of galloping ponies.

This probably wasn’t even his primary office, but Liza imagined it must have taken thousands to outfit it to his specifications. On the other side of the small office was a floor-to-ceiling window. It seemed to Liza that Dorsey’s taste leaned toward the supple and sumptuous—another surprise. What did this austere man know of sensual pleasures—the feel of leather and lace and feathers, the smell of freshly ground coffee, the taste of deep red wine? What could he know about feeling first, then thinking?

What his office lacked in space, it made up for in location. It was the best spot positioned to see the entire cubicle space. It also had the best view of the city. She turned her back to him and admired the impressive vista again.

“I didn’t take you for the corporate espionage type,” Dorsey said, crossing the small room. He looked at the light but did not turn it on, gazing instead at the view as well. He stepped closer to the window—closer to her, until his spicy, woody cologne snaked around her.

Is that a joke?

“Thank you for finding the . . . that bottle,” Liza said, still facing the window. She didn’t dare turn. Why did she bring that up? Now she was thinking of the icy pads of his fingers on her warm skin. Thankfully, he didn’t respond. But his silence was neither rude nor oppressive. She saw his arm rise over her shoulder as he placed his palm on the window. Suddenly, she could feel the heat of his body directly behind her. She didn’t even want to take a full breath for fear that her back and his chest would touch. Her breath tightened. She would hyperventilate if he got one inch closer.

Dorsey pointed to a spot in the distance. “Do you see that church over there?” His voice was slightly above a whisper.

Liza nodded.

“My father was born there. My grandparents were on a trip to talk to President Eisenhower. They got into an accident and had to stop at the church.”

“Wow, on a casual trip to see the president, huh?” Liza teased. She wondered if those same church steps had held many less fortunate 1950s babies.