When will Galen Onasis allow himself small pleasures? When will he finally relax the iron grip on his self control?

I bite my bottom lip, placing my personal addition to the breakfast: a bran muffin on a small, white plate, fresh from my oven at home. Galen didn’t ask for this, but I’m offering it. Trying to tempt him.

No, it’s not healthy, but it’s still bran. The softest possible fall from grace.

As the elevator doors whoosh open, I scurry back across to my own desk. This is an open plan office, with the whole sun-drenched top floor reserved just for Galen and I. Well, us and the dozens of olive trees Galen keeps in huge planters. They grow beside the huge windows and under the skylights, leaves curling in pleasure in the golden sunshine.

Every morning when I come up here, it’s like the elevator doors part and I step into a dream. A mythical kingdom, or a fairy tale lair.

But when Galen steps off the elevator, he huffs loudly and marches across the tiled floor, tugging at his shirt cuff.

“Morning, Kara.”

Even in Galen’s stormiest moods, he still greets me warmly, and every time it makes my head spin.

I grip the edge of my desk and offer him a smile. A normal smile, with an appropriate amount of excitement to see my boss. You know: none of the tragic yearning I feel for him on display.

This is why I like advance notice that Galen is coming. Why I listen for the elevator. I need to batten down the hatches; get my stupid crush under control.

“How did the meeting go last night?”

Galen grunts.

Oookay then. Not great. “Well remember, you’re the one with everything they want. You hold all the power, Mr Onasis.”

A faint smile drifts over my boss’s handsome face as he passes my desk, crossing to his own and sinking into the leather chair. He’s in a tailored gray three-piece suit, his waistcoat hugging his trim waist. Galen’s old school. “You’re right. What would I do without your pep talks, Kara?”

Ha! Um. How about: become a titan of industry. Try: build an award-winning film studio and amass a huge amount of wealth. Galen Onasis was a legend long before he ever met me.

Meanwhile, I’m a twenty-six year old assistant getting paid to lay out this man’s breakfast, and I burned a whole batch of bran muffins before I made the final version on his desk. He didn’t say it in a mean way, but I sink down behind my desk all the same.

Me, giving Galen Onasis pep talks. Can you believe it? So ridiculous.

“What’s this?”

My boss nudges the bran muffin an inch away with the tip of his finger, his mouth flattening in distaste. Sudden regret is a stone lodged in my belly.

“Uh.” I clear my throat, and my cheeks are on fire. “I thought maybe you’d like something different this morning. A treat.”