"Extras? Sounds like somebody didn't get as much action as he anticipated," I gibe.

  "Hey, I buy in bulk. Come on, there's nothing like a good fuck to take the stress off." He looks around the bar. "And I can see some women here who won't mind if you take them to a room upstairs. What's your type? Blonde? Brunette?"

  Stella's face pops into my head, her brown hair cascading over her ears with a few strands stuck to the corner of her voluptuous mouth.

  "Tall? Petite? Slim? Curvy?"

  I remember how she looked in that thin white blouse, how her breasts seemed to pop even more with that black bra she had underneath.

  Was she aware of how hot she looked? Did she do it on purpose?

  No, I don't think so. That's the thing. She's not aware of how attractive she is, which makes her even more so. She's never tried to seduce me, and yet I can't stop thinking about having sex with her.

  But I have to.

  "Leave him alone, Asher," Ryker says.

  "What?" Asher turns to him. "Would you like me to pick a woman for you instead, little brother?"

  Ryker frowns. "Stop calling me that."

  I finish my Scotch. "Cut it out, Asher."

  "Fine." He lets out a sigh. "But promise me that the two of you are going to have some fun in Switzerland."

  "Sure," Ryker says.

  I don't answer because I don't make promises I can't keep. I'm going to Switzerland with one goal in mind - to make sure this acquisition goes through. Then again, who knows? Something tells me things will be more interesting now that I've decided to change my plans a bit.

  I just have to let Stella know on Monday.

  ~

  "Come in," I tell Stella after she knocks on the door to my office.

  She steps into the room. She's back in her usual attire - crisp gray dress with a thin black belt around her waist. The strands of her hair are confined in a bun.

  Too bad. She really does look better with her hair down. But maybe this is better. Maybe this way, I won't have a hard time remembering that she's my assistant even though I know more about her now.

  I listen as she informs me about my schedule for the day. As always, when she's done, she puts the tablet down and meets my gaze.

  "Is there anything you would like me to change about that, sir?"

  "No. It's fine."

  Even though I want to take it easy, I still have a lot of things to do to prepare for the trip to Switzerland. Also, I need to take care of some things so the company doesn't fall apart while I'm gone.

  "Anything else I can do for you?" Stella asks next.

  "Yes, actually." I lean forward on my desk and keep my eyes on her face in anticipation of the change in her expression. "I want you to pack your things."

  Her eyebrows arch and her jaw drops. Disappointment spreads over her features.

  "Am I... getting fired? If this is because of what happened last..."

  "No," I cut her off. "You're not getting fired. In fact, I'm giving you a raise."

  Her eyes grow wide. If she's surprised and thrilled now, I just know she'll be over the moon when I give her my next bit of news.

  I draw a breath. "The reason I'm asking you to pack your things, Stella, is because I'm taking you with me to Switzerland."

  Chapter Three

  Stella

  Ethan is taking me with him to Switzerland? I can't believe my ears.

  He's never brought me along on his business trips before. Why now? Why all of a sudden? If he was planning on bringing me along, he could have told me weeks ago. I've already made all the arrangements. He didn't think of it then, so why think of it now? What made him change his mind?

  "I know it's a bit sudden," Ethan tells me. "But I've realized that this trip is even more important than I thought. I've never handled an acquisition this big. I want to be prepared for anything, so I need you there."

  Perfectly understandable, but I still can't bring myself to believe it. My fingers clutch the edges of the tablet in my hands, afraid that like this dream come true I've just been handed, it might slip away and shatter.

  Can this be real? Is it really alright for me to go to Switzerland with Ethan? I mean, we'll be traveling together and we might find ourselves alone together. What if I lose my composure again like I did last Friday? What if he notices that I'm attracted to him? What if I make a mistake and embarrass him?

  "Of course, if you don't want to come or if - "

  "I want to come," I blurt out as I find my voice.

  What's wrong with me? I've been waiting for an opportunity like this ever since I started working here. I've been wanting to travel to Europe ever since I can remember. Why am I hesitating now? What am I so afraid of? So what if Ethan and I are going to Switzerland together? It's a business trip. We'll be busy. If ever we're alone together, we'll be working. And I won't lose my composure again. I won't make any more mistakes.

  I clear my throat and hold my chin high as I regain my bearings. "I mean, if you need me there, then I'd be happy to go with you and help you in any way I can... sir."

  Outside, I'm trying my best to stay calm. Inside, I'm bursting with excitement. Fireworks have gone off in my head. My heart is leaping out of my chest, as if wanting to get to Switzerland ahead of me. My toes are curled inside my pumps. My feet are itching to propel my body off the floor, my shoulders yearning to do a little dance.

  I can't wait to go to Switzerland.

  "Good." Ethan leans back in his chair. "I trust you'll make the necessary changes."

  "Yes, sir."

  He nods. "That will be all for now."

  I turn and walk out of the room even though I feel like skipping. As soon as I'm back at my desk, I sit down and clasp a hand over my mouth to hold back a scream. Then I do my dance in my chair, unable to contain myself any longer.

  I'm going to Switzerland!

  ~

  "I'm so happy for you!" Jess, my friend from marketing, sounds almost as excited as I am as she gives me a hug during lunch. Beside her, my other friend, Randy the IT guy, is still gaping, speechless for the first time since I met him.

  "Thank you," I say. "I really am thrilled."

  I actually want to go home and start packing - I already have a list of all the stuff I'm bringing in mind - but I know I can't.

  "I know you'll be there for work," Jess says. "But promise me you'll go around when you have the chance. I want to see nice pictures."

  "I will," I tell her.

  Hopefully, I can get some time for sightseeing.

  "I don't care where you go," Randy says, finally getting his voice back. "Just make sure you don't come back here without a box of chocolates with my name on it."

  Jess raises her hand. "Me, too, please."

  "And remember, I don't like chocolates with nuts," Randy adds. "Or nougat. Raisins is fine, but nothing citrus. I don't like a coconut filling, either. But I love caramel. Also, I love white chocolate."

  Jess snorts. "Talk about picky."

  Randy's eyebrows furrow. "Which is wrong because?"

  "White chocolate with raisins or dark chocolate with caramel filling," I speak up before they start arguing. "Got it."

  Randy rests his head on my shoulder. "You are such a good friend."

  "I'm just glad you didn't ask me to pack a Swiss male model inside my suitcase," I tell him.

  His eyebrows go up. "You can do that?"

  Jess shakes her head. "Don't."

  I was just kidding anyway.

  "Speaking of gorgeous males, you know why I'm so envious of you right now?" Randy asks me then answers, "Because you're traveling with Ethan Hawthorne."

  "Of course she is," Jess says. "She's his sidekick."

  "I bet you'll be riding in his private jet," Randy says.

  I pause a moment to think. "I think so."

  That's why I didn't have to book tickets.

  "And you'll be staying at the same hotel, right? Are you sharing a suite?"

  "No," I tell him. "We're staying at the same hotel but separate rooms."

  Though they are right next to each other.

  "I'm still envious," Randy says. "I mean, you're in the same hotel in a city far, far away where no one knows you. Anything could happen."

  He gives me a broad wink.

  "Oh, stop it," Jess tells him. "Stella isn't like you."

  "Yup," I agree. "Not gonna happen. You know Ethan is my boss. Our boss, actually."

  "So if he wasn't your boss, you'd let him fuck you?" Randy asks me.

  The question takes me by surprise and I struggle to answer. No. I know the answer. I just don't want to admit it.

  "You're blushing," Randy points out. "Which means you would. Don't be bashful, I would too. For that matter, so would Jess."

  "Hey, I'm not like you, either!" Jess complains.

  "But he is our boss, which means I wouldn't," I say firmly.

  End of topic.

  "And I have to go," I add as I glance at my watch. "You know me. I have a ton of things to do."

  "We know," they answer at the same time.

  I send them a smile before picking up my tray. I deposit it in the appropriate cart before heading to the elevator. After a quick stop at the restroom to freshen up, I go back to my desk.

  I really do have a lot to do. I have to make adjustments to Ethan's schedule. I have to print out documents to bring with me. I have to brush up on my French and German, too, and do some research on the best sights around Zurich. And the best chocolate shops.

  But first, I have to go through all these papers on my desk. I don't want to go away knowing I've left a lot undone, or come back to find my desk buried under paperwork.

  When I reach the bottom of the pile, I stop. My eyes fall on a familiar-looking notebook.

  Very familiar.

  Right. I left my journal on my desk. I was going to grab it and shove it inside my purse before anything else, but I got sidetracked with other stuff. Then Ethan called me into his office, and after he told me he was bringing me to Switzerland, the journal completely slipped my mind.

  I grab it now. Once it's safely inside my purse, I let out a breath of relief.

  There. No harm done. Once I get home, I'm going to put it on my nightstand, never to leave my apartment again. Nope, I'm not bringing it to Switzerland. Definitely not. After all, I'll have better things to do than scribble my thoughts in my journal. I'll just take mental snapshots of my trip and write them down when I come back.

  A smile forms on my lips.

  Last Friday, when I was writing in my journal, I felt so alone and lonely, like my life had no meaning. Now, I feel like my life has just begun.

  I draw a deep breath as I stare at the wallpaper on my computer screen, which I've already changed to an image of the Matterhorn.

  Switzerland, here I come.

  ~

  The flight from Chicago to Zurich takes a little less than nine hours.

  I spend the first half hour marveling at the inside of Ethan's jet - well, it's owned by the company, actually, but this one is for the exclusive use of the CEO. It's a Gulfstream, or so Henry, the lone flight attendant on the plane, tells me. It's supposed to carry only eleven passengers, so I thought it would be small and cramped. Boy, was I wrong.

  Sure, it definitely looks like a dwarf on the outside compared to the gigantic commercial planes, but inside there's enough space for a kid to run and kick a ball around. And that's just the seating area. There's a dining area with a bar, a kitchen, a bathroom with a shower and a conference room.

  More than the space, it's the atmosphere of luxury that has me gasping and gaping in awe. The soft leather seats that come with neck massagers and convert into flat beds. The thick, burgundy carpet. Ambient lighting. My own 15-inch TV. Then there's the service designed to make one feel like royalty. Henry isn't just a flight attendant; he doubles as a butler and caters to your every whim. He even asked me if I wanted a bath to soak my feet in. The champagne. The chocolate and caviar.

  They all make me wish I was going on a vacation and not a business trip. It's ironic, being able to afford all these privileges and not being able to enjoy them. But hey, I'll take the business trip.

  I take my laptop out and get to work. I still have some last-minute stuff to finish. I notice Ethan has already done the same. When his fingers aren't gliding across the keys, he has a hand on his chin, his eyes fixed on his screen and his eyebrows furrowed. It's a fascinating sight, one my eyes can't seem to stop straying towards. But after Ethan catches me staring, I put in more effort to concentrate on what I'm doing. I'm here to work, not to stare like a teenager in the front row of a concert of her favorite band.

  Work. Work. Work.

  Eventually, I find my rhythm. I get so absorbed in my work, in fact, that I forget I'm on a plane. I only remember when Henry taps my arm, telling me that dinner is ready.

  Dinner? I glance at my watch. It's a little past eight now, which means we've been in the air for three hours. That much time has passed already? Frankly, I'm not hungry. Or so I think until I catch a whiff of the smells from the kitchen and my mouth waters. Okay. Maybe I am a little hungry.

  Ethan gestures to an empty chair. "Please sit."

  I obey. Ethan occupies the seat in front of me.

  As Henry pours wine into my glass, I realize this is the first time we're eating together. Alone. We've attended luncheons and dinners aplenty, but each time, the room was filled with at least twenty other people. This time, it's just him and me, which means I'll be the center of his attention for about twenty minutes, with no gadget to hide behind and no way to run.

  I can feel my stomach coiling into knots.

  To make matters worse, there's a porcelain plate and far too many utensils in front of me. What was the rule again? Start from the outside and work your way in?

  I have eaten at fine dining restaurants before but again, not alone with Ethan. Somehow, that little fact is clouding my brain and making me feel like a kid on her first day in a new school.

  Get it together, Stella. It's just dinner.

  With your hot boss.

  Shit.

  "How are you finding the flight so far?" Ethan asks me.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and put on a smile. "Great, actually. It's so smooth."

  "I know." Ethan beams with pride. "She's worth every penny."

  I'm guessing she's worth a lot of pennies.

  "You've been on a plane before, right?"

  "Sure," I answer. "But I've never been in a private jet. I've only ever flown economy. And yes, the food's bad."

  Ethan grins. "Well, don't worry. I can assure you that the food here isn't bad."

  Before I can reply, Henry sets down a bowl of soup with shrimp, mushrooms, an assortment of green garnishes, and a milky orange broth. The smell of the spices from the curry mixed with the coconut and the herbs and the seafood drifts into my nostrils. I pick up my spoon without thinking, then put it down when I realize Ethan hasn't picked up his.

  "Please dig in," Ethan urges. "It tastes even better than it smells, I promise."

  I scoop out some of the broth and lift my spoon to my lips. The moment I taste the soup, my palate starts to sing. Every component just comes together like an orchestra of flavors inside my mouth. Ethan's right. It does taste even better.

  I eat another spoonful before giving him my feedback. "This is very good."

  He picks up his own spoon. "I'm glad you like it."

  I want to say more, but I just can't help but keep eating. I almost want to take that bowl in my hands and pour that gorgeous broth down my throat. Even without doing so, I finish the dish sooner than I thought, which is a tad disappointing because I feel like I could eat ten more bowls. It's that good.

  "I don't think I've ever eaten anything quite like that," I say as I dab my lips with the table napkin. "Is this what you eat all the time?"

  "Not all the time," Ethan answers. "But it's one of my favorites. The chef who designed this, he was serving his food in a small hut when I first met him. Now he has an empire not just all over Asia but all over Europe, too."

  "And he's here?" I ask with arched eyebrows.

  "No. He hates flying. But the chef who cooked for us this evening trained under him, among many others. He's very skillful."

  I put my hands up. "No need to convince me. If the next dish is as good as this, I'll be very happy."

  Ethan grins. "I think you will be."

  Moments later, the second course arrives - a pair of pot stickers with a bit of salad on the side and a dark dipping sauce. The moment I see it, my chest tightens. I grip it as I draw a deep breath.

  "Is something wrong?" Ethan asks me.

  I shake my head but fail to conceal my emotions. "It's just that this is one of the things my mom used to make. She liked working with flour, so she made a lot of pasta, pies, dumplings."

  And pot stickers were her go-to dish when she didn't have a lot of time to cook, which happened quite often when she started working again. No matter how tired she was, she would always cook for Dad and me, and no matter how quickly she made the pot stickers, they always tasted delicious.

  "God, I miss her," I whisper as I fight back tears.

  To my surprise, Ethan places his hand over mine.

  "I'm sorry."

  Two words, and yet the kindness in them frees the tears from the corners of my eyes. I lift my hand to wipe them away.

  "Thank you. And I'm so sorry I'm acting like a mess."

  What am I doing? Didn't I say I was going to remain composed in front of him? He must think I'm a big baby now.

  "It's fine," Ethan says.

  "No, it's not," I tell him as I gather my emotions. "We're eating and I'm ruining your appetite."

  "You're not," he assures me. "Believe me, I'm still hungry."

  "Then shall we eat?"

  I grab the pair of chopsticks above the plate and pick up one of the pot stickers. I take a bite and the flavors from the juicy pork filling explode on my tongue.

  I clasp a hand over my mouth. "Oh my God."