Galen wrinkles his nose at the muffin I baked him, his doubt clear. Yep, I want to die.

“Forget it.” My desk chair clatters as I shove to my feet, hurrying across the tiles to his side. I snatch the muffin so fast, crumbs spray over the desk. “Shoot. I’ll get those in a second. I’m just—hang on.”

A strong hand wraps around my wrist, holding me in place, his skin bare against the sleeve of my cardigan. Such a big hand, with strong, squared knuckles and a sleek watch clasped beneath his cuff. As my boss watches me closely, the pad of his thumb dips beneath my sleeve, resting against my brown skin and tracing circles over my pulse point.

My traitorous heart pitter-patters so fast. I’m a rabbit caught in a snare.

“Sir?” I squeak.

“Where did you get the muffin?” Galen’s frowning at me, suspicion etched on his brow. This is his lie-detector thing. He might as well hook me up to a polygraph.

And god, I should extricate myself, but he’s so handsome when you get this close—his face is made up of such clean lines, it’s like he could be etched from stone.

Blue eyes narrow. “Kara?”

It’s no use. Galen sniffs out lies better than any bloodhound. “I…”

What can I tell him? I baked it for you. You work so hard, Mr Onasis, so I wanted you to have some sweetness in your life. And I ate so many muffins myself that I made myself sick, all because I wanted to taste what you would taste.

Even sitting down, Galen’s face is level with mine. His hand is so warm and steady on my wrist.

“I baked it,” I whisper, radioactive with embarrassment and shame. Because who does stuff like this? What kind of executive assistant brings her all-powerful boss squishy baked goods from home? Maybe HR should have me on some kind of watch list.

“Thank you.”

Just like that, Galen releases my wrist, and I suck in a shaky breath. What is he thanking me for, exactly? My humiliating confession, or my ill-considered gift? I move to step away, but he plucks the muffin from my hands—and it’s even more misshapen now. Lumpy and tragic.

“You really don’t need to—”

Galen takes an enormous bite, holding my gaze. He’s eaten half of the muffin in one go, his strong jaw shifting as he chews, and I’m so mixed up right now. So embarrassed, so nervous, so thrilled. “Is it… okay?”

Galen swallows and nods, then eats the rest of the muffin in one bite. And I guess that’s my answer, though it doesn’t tell me what I really want to know.

Like: should I bring him muffins for breakfast every day now? Did he actually enjoy it, or was that a pity bite? Did he feel my pulse going crazy when he held my wrist?

Is my boss as desperate for these stolen touches as I am?

No.

Meetings. Agendas. Notes.