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“Well, well, and you are?” I lift my head from my computer to find a cute guy walking toward me.
“Gemma Ackerman. Mr. Dreygon’s newest assistant.”
He snorts, looking toward Damon’s door, where my boss now stands, eyes narrowed at this newcomer who’s leaning on my desk.
“You make your people call you Mister?” The guy smirks at Damon who rolls his eyes.
“Ms. Ackerman, this is my overly annoying friend, Matt, who will now get off your desk.”
I laugh. “It’s okay. Nice to meet you, Matt.” I extend my hand, and he takes it.
“Likewise . . . are you single?”
I’m taken aback by his question.
“Matt,” Damon warns him with the purest look of evil as if he invented the word itself.
His friend backs off right away, but not before he flashes his pearly white smile. They head to his office, and he closes the door, preventing me from hearing what they’re saying.
Not that I care. I have no reason to care. I should be finishing this summary so that I can go home to Harvey.
Yes, Harvey. Who’ll be in his room when you get back. Who will ignore you.
I reread my work several times, hoping to avoid any mistakes for Mr. Everything Has To Be Perfect. This morning, he chastised me for a missing comma in a document that I’d drafted for him.
I hear them laugh inside Damon’s office. I wish I knew Matt’s secret for making Damon laugh.
I’m done revising when I knock on Damon’s door, telling him that I sent him the brief.
“Fuck off, Matt,” he says.
“The game’s on, dickhead.”
All Matt gets in return is a severe look from Damon while I hold my breath, unwilling to add fuel to the fire. Seeking a distraction, I finally notice the flatscreen TV hung on the wall of his office. Matt leaves, and my heart thumps fast against its surrounding flesh from being alone with my boss again.
Damon sits and starts typing on his laptop, and I use this opportunity to drink in the sight of his jaw with a stubble a few days old, and it takes everything for me to look away.
Then his eyes lock with mine, and I’m frozen in time with rosy cheeks.
I can’t breathe.
His looks are so intense—it’s as if he wants to sin with me. I stare elsewhere, unable to keep hold of his glare.
Is it because it’s been so long since I’ve had some? My hormones are acting up?
I try justifying it in my head, several times over and over, as I wait for him to finish.
“Thank you, Ackerman.”
I wait for him to say more, to let me know if it’s good or not.
“Is it okay? Any changes?” I pry, hoping I’ll get to leave. I’m exhausted.
“No changes.” He refuses to say more. He stands, as Matt walks back into the room, heading for the couch.
I leave Damon’s office, shut off my computer, and gather my things.
“Need a cab back home?” Damon asks me, his body leaning in the doorway. God, he shouldn’t be allowed to look this good in a suit. It’s disconcerting.
