There are a thousand things I should be thinking about right now, and none of them are baked goods or the rugged line of Galen Onasis’ jaw. I’m not paid to moon around after my boss, damn it, I’m paid to make his life easier.

“You have a meeting at ten thirty, Mr Onasis, and Casting sent up more suggestions for your final approval. Also, Titan magazine called again, and they really want to do a profile on you. They promised the front cover and a six page spread.”

Galen rolls his eyes, and I press my lips together, fighting a smile. He hates doing magazine spots, even though they raise the profile of the studio. Says he feels like an idiot getting dressed up and told to pose.

Galen Onasis doesn’t admit things like that to anyone else. He saves those pieces of himself for me.

“You think I should do it,” he says flatly, and I shrug. My cardigan sleeve brushes against his shirt, but I still don’t step back, not even as warm tingles race over my skin below the fabric.

He touched me first. He started it.

And I’m testing my luck here with this unspoken game, nudging a toe across a line, but Galen doesn’t send me away. If anything, his desk chair creaks as he wheels a fraction closer.

“It’s a major magazine,” I point out. “And you wanted to find new ways to market the streaming division.”

“Alright, alright.” Galen dumps milk into his coffee, expression sour. “I’ll do it, Kara.”

My laugh is nearly silent. A choked puff of air. We’re still so close together—so near that if someone walked in right now, they wouldn’t know what to think. “You don’t have to do what I say, you know. I’m not the boss, Mr Onasis.”

Blue eyes flick to me, then away. “Sure you are.”

And I have no idea what that means, but I float all the way back to my desk, warmth swirling through my limbs. Galen ate my muffin, and he agreed to the magazine feature. He called me the boss.

See, everyone on the lower levels may be frightened of this man; they may whisper about him in the break rooms and scuttle away when they see him coming.

But I know what he’s really like behind closed doors.

And the big, scary boss? He’s a pussy cat.

Two

Galen

“Quarterly figures look good, and we’ve brought on a lot of new talent. By this time next year, we could be looking at…”

I frown down the length of the meeting table, letting the updates about my company fade into a steady drone.

I know all this. Do they think I’m completely ignorant about my own business? There’s no analysis to these words; no fresh angle I might not have considered. It’s basic, and these overpaid managers are like eager school children, bringing scribbled reports to their teacher and hoping for a gold star.