“Only because you’re forced to.” The hostility in her voice pulls me from staring too long and before I can ask what she means, the elevator car jerks.

We both jolt in reaction as she falls forward onto a package before grabbing onto the railing to catch her fall.

“Jesus,” she blurts as panic flickers through her eyes, her knuckles white as they grip tight.

“He is the reason for the season,” I say, trying to calm her some, but get a glare instead. And I hold it, so very curious about Jules Jilliland and her Docs. “Hey, if you’ve been fired, why are you still carrying packages?”

She grits her teeth and temper fires in her eyes. If you’d asked me five minutes ago if she was sexy, I would have told you she’s more the adorable type—button nose, full lips, innocent eyes—but that spark in her eyes and the set of her chin changes my opinion. She’s definitely sexy.

Who knew you had that in you, Jules?

“Because my boss told me even though I was fired for being late, if I deliver these packages, he’ll pay me through the rest of the week.”

“Ah.” I nod and purse my lips, already making a mental note to check with Barney in the mail room to see why he fired her. Jules pulls the hem of her sweater down on her hips and, of course, it makes the V of her cleavage that much deeper.

You’re just not someone who notices a girl like me

Her words ring though my mind and pull it back to what she said before the elevator moving interrupted us. “You said I’m forced to notice you. What’s that supposed to mean?”

She holds my gaze for a second before shaking her head and averting her eyes down only to notice that when she fell forward, her knee crushed a box and the contents have spilled out on the floor.

Lacy things. Thong underwear in an assorted array of colors. Bikini briefs made of lace. Boy shorts in sexy satin. Each piece with the Garters & Lace logo stitched on them. Every one of them I immediately imagine her wearing beneath that sweater of hers.

Can you blame me?

Her laugh fills the car for the first time but it’s not exactly warm. “Exactly,” she says with a nod. “Fifteenth floor.”

“C’mon, Jules. What in the hell does that mean?”