“Yes. You.” She shakes her head. “You may not work here but you push the shit they—Garters & Lace—sells. What about selling something to women that makes them feel good? These”—she shoves the handful of panties toward me—“only fit size zeros. They’re sexy and pretty and dainty. Do you actually think they’d fit a body like mine?”

I take one from her and hold the red lace thong from the tip of my forefinger. Our eyes meet over the top of it and I can’t help the smirk that plays with the corner of my lips. “We’ve got time. You could always try it on?” I lift an eyebrow and get a scowl from her.

Brilliant, Archer. You worry about sexual harassment of employees and then you just up and say that.

Ah, but she’s not an employee anymore.

At least there’s that.

That and the image of her in these sexy panties.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. These fit models and teenagers. The ones you sell to everyday women—the norm of America that’s a size fourteen to sixteen—are ridiculous. Pussy cats on underwear. Donuts on panties. Drab colors. Ill fitting.” She sucks in a deep breath. “And we know what day of the week it is. We don’t need to wear them on our panties as a reminder. I bet you the size zeros don’t have the days of the week on them.”

My laugh reverberates around the tight space. Days of the week? Donuts on fabric. “So because I’m going to the fifteenth floor, I’m the reason your panties have pussy cats on them?

“Of course, you would focus on that.” She huffs and puts her hands on her hips from where she kneels on the floor.

“Well”—I move my head from side to side as my eyes trace her hands on the swell of her hips—"that word does catch a man’s attention.”

“So do the words equal opportunity lingerie,” she asserts. “Sexy comes in all sizes.” She rises to her feet and I hold my hand out to help her, surprised when she takes it. “The jerk who runs this place seems to forget that. Curves are sexy.”

“They sure are,” I murmur, her hand still in mine as my eyes run over hers before meeting her eyes. Her lips part, her eyes flutter . . . and fuck if I don’t want to kiss her right now. Step back. Step the hell back. “I’ll make sure to relay your thoughts in my marketing meetings from here on out.”

I half expect her to snort at the comment, but she doesn’t. Instead, our eyes hold as the tension thickens around us. As my mind already has us stripped bare and lying atop these packages.

“Jules?” I ask the question but it’s for so many things and I’m not sure which one to pick.