But no one at Red Warren needs to know a single shred of truth about her feelings for Malcolm. None. Nada. Over her dead and cold body. Hers is the kind of workplace secret you take to the unemployment line after promising to keep in touch even though you know that won’t happen. Because you’ve had and left enough jobs to know better than to make false promises.

“I had a feeling.” Megan nods. “Do you know what’s up?”

“I don’t,” Joy lies. There are perks to moonlighting as an executive assistant. All signs point to Malcolm planning something big for the weekend. “Anyway”—she gestures to the contract—“this is fine. Everything is fine. Even if I have to go old school, pay them a visit, and remind them who they’re dealing with. I’ll take care of it.”

“Knock, knock.” Malcolm stands grinning in the doorway. Tall, dark, and ever handsome—in the literal sense. None of that thinly veiled colorist propaganda. Rich brown skin, black curly hair cut short, and deep chocolate eyes.

Joy unconsciously gives him a bright smile in return, just like she always does because she can’t help it. Her brain recognizes him and there’s an instant hit of dopamine to all the receptors that make her happiest.

He asks, “Joy, can I borrow you for a second?”

“Wow, I am popular this afternoon,” Joy jokes to quiet her sudden nerves before looking at Megan. “Consider it handled, okay?”

Back down the hall in her office, Joy sits at her desk. Unlike Megan, she hasn’t bothered with personal touches, preferring to keep her office sparse and clean. The cool grays and bursts of navy blue have a soothing effect on her. Something she relies on when she’s forced to hop on one too many phone calls and her daily avalanche of emails start pissing her off.

All six feet and two inches of Malcolm collapse into the chair in front of her desk with a thud. The chair and his temperamental knees are probably swearing at him in a pitch only dogs can hear. “What are you doing this weekend?”

In case she was wrong about Malcolm’s intentions, Joy had made a backup plan to visit her sister, a quick ninety-minute flight away. “My usual. A little of this, a little of that.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not?”

Malcolm’s grin escalates to devastating. A true weapon of mass destruction, it has an impact radius of twenty paces and a ninety-seven-percent fatality rate. He’s always wielded that perfect face of his like a formerly shy and gangly boy who just discovered the right side of puberty: completely earnest and unaware of how handsome he is.

Even after all this time, it still shocks Joy how much he can affect her. A quiet thrill ripples through her bloodstream, making her heart flutter. It’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening.