“I should probably warn you that my office is more like a dark hole I’ve claimed as my own,” he said. He still had her hand firmly in his—and had no intention of letting go anytime soon. At her look of surprise, he released a gruff laugh, “I’m the guy they send out to the front lines, Sophie, not some goddamn executive. Between July and October, I’m lucky to sleep in my own bed for more than a week at a time. And the season can last through the end of the year if they loan me out to California, which they almost always do.”

“I know, but you said—”

“I lied.”

“Well, that wasn’t very nice of you. I was hoping for a quickie on your desk. You implied there would be a quickie on your desk.”

He’d just lied. He’d just admitted that for six months out of the year, he was practically nonexistent. And Sophie’s only disappointment was that she wasn’t going to get tossed over his desk?

“Oh, there’s not going to be anything quick about what’s about to happen to you,” he promised, and hoisted her over his shoulder.

Bubbles took instant exception to this action with a bark of protest, but Harrison wasn’t about to unload such a delightful burden. Sophie’s upper half hung over his back, her ass in the air and right on level with his head. She kicked ineffectively at him, laughing and protesting to be put down, but Harrison only tightened his hold.

“I’m getting really tired of the two of you telling me what to do,” he said. He tried to keep his voice authoritative and stern, but it was impossible. He’d never felt less authoritative or stern in his life. He lowered himself—and Sophie—just enough to scoop Bubbles into his arms and carried the pair of them to the far end of the hall. “For the next hour, you’re both going to do exactly as I say.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a laugh that made it impossible for him to buy her obedience. She proved it two seconds later when he set her down and tugged at a cord dangling from the ceiling. A pair of seldom-used stairs floated down, beckoning the pair of them into an open panel above their heads. “Wait—are you about to lure me into an unused attic where no one can hear me scream? I should probably warn you…I’ve read that horror story. I know how it ends.”

“It is pretty dark up there,” he admitted, suddenly feeling unsure. “And dusty. And not…glamorous.”

“Hey.” Her hand touched his arm. “You don’t have to do that. What is it? Some kind of storage?”