My head startles. “Yes, it did.” I point to the label on the front. “Your name is right here. I messed up,” I confess though I know I did not have a single package for Archer McMasters yesterday.

I freeze when he leans closer and the subtle scent of his cologne fills my nose. “Jules.” His voice is low, the heat of his breath hits my cheek. “I did it on purpose.”

I twist my face toward his, which is only inches from my own. My breath hitches and my heart races because yes, I screwed up but hell if every part of me didn’t just react to all parts of him. “You what?” I ask although I know I heard him correctly.

“I wanted to see you again.”

If I thought my pulse was racing moments before, my heart just flip-flopped in my chest. “Why?” My voice is barely audible.

“Several reasons.” He reaches out and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind my ear, a gesture that seems so natural and intimate. When he’s done, he runs the back of his hand along the line of my jaw and I fight the innate want to turn my cheek into his hand.

Desire streaks through me like I’ve never experienced before but with it is an anxious edge. A sharp awareness of who he is and who I am and why in the world I’m sitting here with him.

My eyes flicker to his lips and then back up to his striking blue eyes.

“Reasons?” I ask when I finally find my voice.

“Mm hmm. Reasons.” His tongue darts out to lick his lips while his arm rests on the back of my chair, his thumb now running up and down the line of my spine much like it just was on his highball glass.

“And?” My voice breaks over the simple word as he turns toward me so that his knees bump mine.

“First of all, I lied to you. I’m on the twentieth floor, not the fifteenth.”

“So says the label on your package.”

“And I still think Red Vines are better than Twizzlers.”

“Then you won’t like your package. It’s full of Twizzlers,” I lie but melt when that soft smile slides up one corner of his mouth.

“Two can play that game.” He winks.

“Noted.”

“You were right.”

“Naturally,” I murmur and garner a laugh from him that pulls my own smile up.

“I want you to come work for me in my design department.”

“What?” My voice rises in shocked pitch because that is the last thing I ever expected to fall from his mouth.

“You heard me. You were right. I went through all our products. Curves are sexy. They deserve to be celebrated—admired and adorned properly—and I know you have no problem speaking up to those on the fifteenth floor.”

“Hardy-har-har.”