I include myself in that analysis. Perhaps once upon a time, I’d have been quick enough to give her a run for her money, but that was before she joined me in the penthouse office. Before everything in my brain reoriented toward her, my thoughts tilting toward her like sunflowers tracking warmth and light.

Fuck.

It’s a good thing these assholes can’t hear my thoughts. No one would be scared of me anymore, that’s for sure. I’ve gone soft since meeting Kara.

And this isn’t the best room to hold my focus, anyway. In between the huge windows and the panoramic view over the city, large mirrors dot the walls. Everywhere I look, there she is, taking notes and smiling at a private joke. Making my heart skip and my stomach tighten.

“Let’s wrap this up.”

I want to steal Kara away back to our private floor. Want her all to myself, where she might stand next to my desk again and tease me with that soft voice. Where I can watch her stride through the olive trees to the copy machine and back, her hips swaying with each step.

So maybe my assistant should be afraid of me, just a little. Because god knows I’d never hurt her, but this hunger I feel near her, this buzzing, heightened awareness, this obsessive need to watch her and cater to her every comfort…

That can’t be normal. Certainly, I’ve never felt this way before.

“Of course, Mr Onasis,” someone says.

Kara Onasis. The name floats across my brain, unbidden, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. Why would I think that? Why would I even let myself go there? Fucking hell.

She’s a beautiful, clever, sweet young woman, and suitors must surely fling themselves at her feet everywhere she goes. Meanwhile, I’m a notorious asshole and nearly twice her age. Never mind that I’m also her boss. Thinking of her like that… even letting myself think it…

Pathetic. I might as well doodle her name on my notepad.

“Sir?”

My chair scrapes against the floor and I stand quickly, smoothing down my waistcoat and tie. “Forget it. Send me the rest by email. Reach out to Kara if you have questions.”

Several men stiffen in their chairs, affronted by the idea, while the female managers purse their lips but nod. Less fragile egos.

And I don’t care about wounded pride—Kara can handle any issues these people raise. She knows the company inside out, and she can predict my decisions with eerie accuracy.

“Kara?” Her name comes out clipped, my tone strained, but only because I choked back a dozen other names for her first. Sweetheart, princess, darling. They all come so naturally to the tip of my tongue when I’m looking at her. HR would have a field day. “Let’s go.”

Despite my frazzled mood, Kara rises gracefully, tucking her pen into her notebook’s spiral binding. Her black hair is smoothed back into her usual bun, but two shiny locks have been left free, curling against her cheeks.