“The two of you are the best of the best here. You do solid work. You have experience and you’re well liked in your respective fields. Over the next few months, a review board and outside personnel will determine who’s the best fit. I know you work in different specialties, so they’re looking for success rates, feedback from clients, and adaptability to your environment. Among other things.”

Holy shit.

“This is such a high honor. Thank you for the opportunity.” I manage to get the sentence out without sounding like a complete idiot.

“An unaffiliated, unbiased board is going to select the best candidate. We’ll schedule a couple of formal interviews soon. This isn’t a competition. We want a good fit, whoever that might be. And please, keep this confidential for the time being. I’m going to make an announcement soon. That’s all for today.” Wallace turns his attention to his phone, ending our conversation. Resisting the urge to sneak a glance at Henry, I stand, hurrying to the exit.

I’m halfway down the hall before I hear Wallace’s door snick closed. I beg my legs to move faster, determined to reach my office without sprinting. Henry, however, has other plans, his long limbs taking half the time to cover the ground I’ve scurried from, blocking my door and facing me as I reach for the doorknob. My hand grazes his hip as he mercilessly impedes my path.

He peers down at me, a youthful smile that shouldn’t belong to a man in his early thirties overtaking his face. His chocolate brown eyes crinkle in the corners, the only indication of his age.

“Not so fast, Emma,” he purrs.

Goosebumps erupt on my arms from the poisonous and deadly prose. My body despairingly seeks an antidote for the salacious, sultry way my name sounds tumbling from his treacherous lips, a mix of friendly teasing and heated authoritativeness lacing the words.

“Can I help you with something, Henry?”

The wobble at the end of my question isn’t intentional, but my brain is scattered. I feel an overwhelming sense of confusion staring at the man in front of me.

I don’t want to scream. I don’t want to yell. I want to listen, gnawing on my bottom lip and adjusting my footing as I wonder what the hell he has to say.

The thought might plague me until the end of time.

Leaning back against the wood, in no rush to leave, Henry crosses his arms over his chest, taking up far too much of the diminishing free space around us.

He wears business attire extremely well. The navy-blue suit accents his stormy eyes, and I have to look away to avoid being sucked into that cataclysmic gaze. He must tailor the material to hug his every curve, flaunting what I imagine is an obnoxiously perfect physique.