I did that to her.

God.

“Thank you for the muffin this morning,” I say as the elevator rumbles closer. It’s so inane, but I’m desperate. I can’t walk away with this new tension crackling in the air—I need to get us back onto familiar ground. Safe ground, where I’m a good boss and I keep my damn distance. Where I don’t make her blush, and I definitely don’t hurt her feelings.

“You’re welcome,” Kara murmurs, and then the elevator dings. The doors swoop open, the gilded box empty, and I should step in there with her, but I don’t.

It’s a long ride to the top floor.

And I’ve just proven I can’t trust myself.

Three

Kara

The next morning, Galen is cool and collected when he steps off the elevator, resplendent once again in a white shirt and blue silk waistcoat. There’s no hint of the weirdness between us yesterday; no nod to the split second that he held me, nor harsh way he’d said, “It’s personal,” right after. No acknowledgment of the fact that he didn’t come back to the office at all after his mystery meeting.

It had to be a date, right? What other ‘personal’ meetings can stretch for the whole day with no explanation?

My stomach lurches. I set my coffee mug down with a dull thump.

His body felt so right against mine. I can never unfeel that.

“Any messages?” Galen asks, his tone as brisk as his movements. He breezes past me, barely sparing a glance in my direction, the faint, spicy scent of his cologne lingering in his wake. And it hits me in one sickening go: my boss is trying very hard to show his complete lack of interest in me. He’s dismissing any idiotic hopes that might have bloomed after yesterday.

It was a mistake. Obviously.

Why did I get so freaking fluttery over it all?

Imagine if Galen knew that I touched myself while thinking about him last night, trying to remember every detail of his scent, his heat, his form. Imagine the look of horror and disappointment that would surely settle on his handsome face.

Ugh.

I’m such an idiot about this man.

“Casting called again for your final decision, and Titan magazine is scheduled for next week.” I sound like a robot, but at least I’m professional. No meltdowns here, no way. “There’s also an issue with one of the prop warehouses. I put it all in an email.”

“Thank you, Kara.”

Kind words, but in a clipped tone. Galen’s chair creaks as he sinks behind his desk, and he still won’t look at me for more than a split second at a time. Instead, he narrows every ounce of his attention on the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling each methodically back to the elbows and smoothing them into place.

Tanned forearms appear slowly, corded with strength and dusted with brown hair. Why is that sight so stirring against his fancy waistcoat?