It’s Kara.

She’s dressed in a burgundy pinafore dress and black silk t-shirt, her hair smoothed into a low side bun. A laptop rests on her knee, a takeout coffee cup on the fold-out table next to her chair, and though she doesn’t glance over from her spot by the wall, I know she knows I’m here.

Those shoulders tense. Her plump lips purse.

Kara taps away at her laptop, frowning.

“Our editors have picked out several outfits for you to choose from, Mr Onasis. If you’ll follow me—”

“One minute, please.”

Every step toward Kara, my brain screams at me to turn around, but I can’t help it. I’m drawn to her, pulled on invisible strings.

Was it really only a week ago when I felt her pressed against my body? When her vanilla scent filled my lungs and made my head spin?

“Mr Onasis.” My beautiful assistant glances up, then back to her lap. The split second her eyes are on me is a gut punch. And I was hoping for her usual warmth, her frank appraisal, the twinkle in her eye that says the two of us share a big secret.

Instead, she’s cold and distant. A consummate professional, but nothing more.

“Kara,” I rasp.

“The temp you requested got stuck in traffic. I’m here to fill in.” Though she directs her words at her laptop screen, her voice is brittle with hurt and anger. “Hopefully we can manage.”

Ah, shit.

I didn’t think about how this would look—how badly it would hurt Kara to find out that I requested someone else, anyone else but her. She must think I blame her somehow for the line I crossed. That I’m holding her responsible, though the fault was all mine.

And there’s no excuse for an oversight like that. No excuse for any of the bad decisions I’ve made lately.

I’m losing my touch. They shouldn’t do a magazine profile on me: they should write an exposé.

“Kara,” I say again.

“I brought a packet of your more urgent mail. The rest I’ve summarized in an email. Others have been asking when you’ll be back in the office, but I’ve explained to them that I don’t know.”

She shoots me a glare. I deserve that. This whole situation must have been embarrassing for Kara, but nothing prepares me for her next words: “I won’t be available on Monday. I have interviews all day.”

The floor drops out from under me. She’s leaving Onasis Studios?

Fucking hell. I want to slam my head into a wall.

“Don’t go,” I say, then wince at myself. At the mixed signals I’m sending. Why am I so desperate to keep her with me when I won’t even allow myself in the same room? When I’m calling in temps instead of letting her do her job?

Kara clearly has the same question. Her mouth presses into a hard line. “The Titan team are waiting for you, Mr Onasis.”

“Kara—”

“I need to make a call. Excuse me.” She stands quickly, placing her laptop on the rickety table, and she doesn’t even take her phone as she strides from the room.