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MACY
“Mmm.” My moan was long and loud.
This was just too good. Heaven on Earth.
I ate the last bite of the delicious, mouthwatering beignet, and moaned again. Of course, that was when my boss decided to walk in.
He’d been away for two days on a job. He was a badass bounty hunter, and he looked it too. He usually took smaller, local jobs, but occasionally, he got called in for big jobs out of state.
Because he was good. Really good.
Colton Fury was also gorgeous.
He was tall, with a muscled bod, and tattoos on his forearms. Add to that combo dark-brown hair and a neat, dark beard, and he sort of oozed grumpy, tough competence. The man was always scowling. Luckily, it worked for him.
Today, he wore dark jeans, and a Henley in navy blue with sleeves that cut into his biceps, and motorcycle boots.
It was really, really lucky that my douchebag of an ex had forced me to swear off men. It meant I was immune to the pull of Colton Fury. Mostly.
He jerked to a halt, his gaze on me. He had blue eyes, and a heavy, intense stare. When Colt gave you his full attention, you felt it.
I was currently sitting cross-legged on top of my desk. I ran his office, did the admin, paid the bills, and manned the phone. Or I should say, womanned the phone. He’d hired me as his admin assistant six months ago, but I’d changed my title to office manager.
If it wasn’t for me, everything around here would fall apart.
Colt might track down the bad guys, but I did everything else. And I mean everything. The man was allergic to paperwork.
“Hey.” I licked the last of the sugary goodness off my fingers.
His gaze zeroed in on my mouth, and his scowl deepened. “What are you doing?”
“Enjoying the last bit of heavenly goodness that is a beignet from Uptown Coffee. Best beignets in the city. I’ve made it my mission to try them all, and Café Du Monde is good, but a little overrated.”
He grunted.
“I’d offer you one, but I ate them all.”
Another grunt. I eyed his flat stomach. I was pretty sure Colt had less than one percent body fat, and didn’t eat many beignets. Me, I was lucky to have inherited a killer metabolism from my mother—God rest her soul. I didn’t have one-percent body fat, but I could eat what I wanted.
I hopped off the desk and straightened my skirt. Colt constantly bitched about my clothes, not that I cared. Today, I was wearing a flirty gray skirt that was flared to the knee, and I’d paired it with a red halter top. It was summer. I thought it gave a summery professional vibe.
Something flickered in his gaze, and his brow creased.
“How did the job go?”
“Fine.”
I didn’t bother asking if he’d caught the man wanted for several murders. Colt always caught his man.
“What are you wearing?” His voice was a deep, gritty growl.
I slid a hand down my hip. “It’s called a skirt, Colt. Professional office wear.”
He crossed his brawny arms, and I tried not to let my gaze drift over his tattoos. They were an interesting collection of objects. A house with the wordhomeinked under it. A heart withDFwritten inside it. And a few other images, the meaning of which I could only guess at.
“That outfit isnotprofessional.” He pivoted and stalked into his office.
