Forgive me, I look. I can’t help myself, but I instantly regret it when blood rushes to my cock and I grow thick beneath my desk.

  Dangerous. Wrong. That’s what this is, but I’m strong and will fight it. “Good afternoon, Miss Young.”

  Her face shows the disappointment she feels, but her lips are still curled up slightly at the ends like she’s saying . . . Good move, but there are a lot of rounds left in this particular bout.

  “Thank you, sir. Have a good day.”

  She turns, strutting fiercely toward the door, her hips swaying left and right. It might be a side effect of her anger, but she might also be doing it on purpose because each sharp step makes her ass clench and quiver slightly. I can easily imagine it doing the same in response to a good smack. Either a hand . . . or my hips driving my dick into her.

  That’s what she needs, I muse, a strong hand.

  I must make some noise of distress because she freezes, her hand on the doorknob. She doesn’t look back at me, but I see her spine straighten and her shoulders square down and back as she opens the door. With a whiff of air from the closing door behind her, she’s gone.

  Once again, I resort to eavesdropping as Billy asks her, “You survive Stryker, girl?”

  Infinitely curious to what she’ll say, I strain to listen, but she must shake her head or shrug her shoulders. Something silently communicative, because I don’t hear her answer.

  “No worries, Tiff. You can check out my gains another time.”

  I grip the armrests of my chair so tightly that they squeak beneath my palms. Dammit, Billy.

  He’s my friend.

  He’s my nephew.

  He doesn’t mean anything by it.

  He doesn’t know what his words are doing to me.

  And I have no right to her.

  All good reminders, but that last one hurts.

  Chapter 10

  Tiffany

  This training session is the best idea I’ve come up with in a long time. For a multitude of reasons.

  For one thing, it lets our staff show off their unique skills, duplicating them throughout our team.

  Today is Vanessa’s chance to shine. She’s excited to show off her expert spreadsheet skills, and several assistants from all over the building are eagerly scheduled to come learn. I even got a ‘preview’ lesson so that I could pick up the skills without needing to be there. I think some follow-up sessions might even be in order on other topics. And I don’t just mean Vanessa putting on master classes in executive assisting. A lot of my staff have skills and experience to share, and we would all benefit from the continued training.

  Secondly, we can’t let balls get dropped during these sessions, so I’ve scheduled myself to cover Vanessa’s desk while she’s demonstrating the custom commands and macros she’s created.

  So I’m sitting at Vanessa’s desk with plans to learn something altogether different—what makes Daniel tick. Being around him these past years, I’ve learned a lot, but most of that has been filtered through Elle or come from interactions where Elle was present.

  I don’t want to know Daddy Daniel, as much as I’ve teased Elle about that over the years. I want to know Daniel, the man. Deep down and personal, all the nitty-gritty, dirty details. And what better way to do that then serve as the person who knows those secrets firsthand, his assistant?

  I’ve tried to do it ‘cleanly’, keeping my eyes on his schedule, listening to him work, or surveying what’s already on Vanessa’s desk. But after a bit, I dig deeper, scanning through Vanessa’s computer looking for contacts that sound more personal than business oriented and calendar appointments that look like dates.

  I find an alarming lack of anything romantic. I do learn that he orders lunch from the same salad place at least twice a week, has annual physicals, and the closest thing he’s had to a vacation in years is stretching work trips to England by a day or two. He doesn’t even take personal days when Elle comes home to visit.

  I’m worried about him based on that alone and can think of multiple ways to help him relax. Ways that I definitely would love to participate in.

  Daniel comes out of his office, not in on today’s events yet. “Vanessa?”

  He stops when he sees me, and I give him a totally innocent look. “Good morning, Mr. Stryker.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  I keep my voice level, as if I don’t have a single unprofessional thought in my pretty little head. “Vanessa’s giving her class to the others. So, I’m your assistant for the day. Here for anything you need.”

  Daniel’s jaw moves up and down like a fish for a moment, but he quickly snaps back into action. “Fine. Get me the Colt report. I want to take a look at their R&D again before I have a video conference with their division chief tomorrow.”

  “Of course,” I tell him serenely. “Is there anything else? Vanessa noted that you normally have a coffee around this time.”

  Daniel blinks, then nods. “And a coffee.”

  I get to work, taking advantage of Vanessa’s filing system. Her organization is the key to her efficiency. If she doesn’t have it within arm’s reach of her desk, she knows exactly where to get it.

  Thankfully, she showed me the basics of her system, so I’m able to find a copy of the Colt report and take a few minutes to look through the R&D portion while the coffee machine brews a fresh pot.

  Less than ten minutes later, I come with both the report and a mug, setting them on Daniel’s desk. “Here you go, Mr. Stryker. I put a Post-It where the R&D section of the report begins.”

  “Thank you,” Daniel says before picking up the mug and inhaling deeply. “This is new.”

  “I added a little pinch of cinnamon to the mix,” I tell him, giving him a smile. “It adds antioxidants and increases cognitive function. Plus, it gives it a bit of spicy sweetness.”

  “Spicy sweetness, huh?” Daniel echoes. For a health-conscious man, he totally ignored those benefits and went straight for the sexier sounding ones.

  “Yep. It keeps things interesting,” I explain.

  Of course, I’m not just talking about his coffee. Daniel takes a doubtful sip and savors the flavors for a long moment before nodding. “Okay then. Did you happen to look at the report as well as stick the Post-It in there?”

  For some executives, this would be a trick question. A test to see if you can keep your nose out of places it doesn’t belong. But I don’t think that’s Daniel’s style at all. Inquisitiveness is more of a desirable trait to him.

  “Just a quick glance. While waiting on the coffee.”

  “And?”

  “Quick impression?” I clarify, and he nods, waving a hand to give me the floor. “The designs are solid, but it’s because they’re nothing new. They’re not fresh and exciting enough to grab your attention and make you open your wallet.”

  “Do things always have to be fresh and new to open your . . . wallet?” Daniel’s face stays even and impassive, but that was flirty, right?

  I take a step closer, cursing the separation of the desk between us. “Oh, no. Sometimes, the best option already exists, so there’s no reason to settle for a weak imitation when you want the real thing. Quality is worth working for.”

  “Interesting,” Daniel says, taking another sip of coffee. “Thanks, Tiffany.”

  Daniel gives me a half smile and then opens the report to dig in, so I excuse myself back to Vanessa’s desk to let him work. For the rest of the morning, he’s buried in it, occasionally calling me in to find another piece of information or to send a message to someone.

  I can tell he’s still not quite sure how to handle this . . . mutual attraction, so for now, I let him focus, keeping my actions and words as professional as I can while occasionally slipping in another double entendre or comment that can be interpreted in multiple ways.

  There’s a time to press forward and a time to back off. Right now, I want Daniel to feel comfortable with me, to know that including me in his life isn’t going to wreck the professional career he’s worked so hard to achieve.

  I want him to understand that I can make his life better, and for a workaholic like Daniel, that starts in the office.

  By the time the afternoon gets underway, I sense that I’m getting through to him. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but when I brought in his lunch salad, he apologized for not being able to eat with me, and later, on his way back from the restroom, he checked to make sure I’d eaten too. And when he finished with the Colt report, he didn’t yell for me to come get it but rather brought it out to me.

  “I looked through the designs again, and I think you have a point,” he’d said with a nod of praise before asking for another project file.

  At around three o’clock, Vanessa comes back, a brilliant smile on her lips. “Well, you’re still here. That’s a good sign.”

  “Of course, easy-peasy,” I reply. “How was it? I’m guessing a huge hit if your smile is any indication.”

  “Half the executives in this office owe me a big ol’ bouquet of appreciation. Or maybe a spa day,” Vanessa says, only slightly bragging, I bet. “Seriously, though, there were a lot of good questions and practice time.”

  “You think it’ll stick?” I ask, and Vanessa shrugs.

  “For some of them, sure. I think everyone will be a little better, but not everyone uses spreadsheets every day, and that’s what it takes to keep the skills growing.” She taps her temple, and I’d bet she has all the spreadsheet tips and tricks stored away right there, just as organized as her filing cabinet.

  “Thank you again for teaching the class. I’m sure everyone appreciated it.”

  She shrugs shyly. “I hope so. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to stick to our deal and sneak out a few minutes early. Teaching a workshop is not my norm, and I’m beat.”

  “Of course. Have a good night.”

  Vanessa pauses, her hand on the door. “Oh, get out of here by five-fifteen or so if you can.”

  “Five fifteen?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. “Why? Don’t EAs normally stay until they’re sent home or the boss leaves?”

  Vanessa chuckles. “I guess, normally. But in case you haven’t noticed, Daniel Stryker isn’t normal. If you wait for him, you’ll be here until ten o’clock, and not because he’s being a jerk. He’ll just be grinding away, oblivious to the passing hours until Mac comes by for a security check.”

  “That’s . . . not healthy.”

  Vanessa scoffs. “You’d think, but that man’s healthier than someone half his age. Anyway, get out of here at the end of the day. He’s self-sufficient, can make his own coffee if he needs it. Sometimes, I’ll find a blender cup in the executive coffee room from one of those gross smoothies. But he’ll make his own copies or send emails or whatever.”

  I hum, nodding.

  Vanessa looks like she’s about to say something, then closes her mouth. “Okay, I’ll leave things in your capable hands then. Thanks again for the chance to do this. I wish someone had taught me instead of learning things the hard way—out of desperation at the eleventh hour.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  Once Vanessa leaves, I consider my next step. Sure, chances are that Daniel’s going to work late like usual. But what if I get another opportunity to get him out of here for dinner?

  Just in case, I make a quick run to the restroom to freshen up. A quick fluff of my hair, a swish of mouthwash, and a makeup retouch, and I feel ready.

  When I get back, I call down to Megan and Stephanie to check in. “How’d it go with Arnold today?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.

  Stephanie sighs heavily. “Well, we had one last package that had to go out and he was bobbing and weaving to dodge it, heading toward the door like Richard Simmons himself was cheering him on.”

  “Ugh, I’ll grab the package on my way out and run it by the store so it goes out.”

  “No need, Boss. I’ve got some bobbing and weaving skills of my own, and I held him up long enough for Megan to run ahead and block the door. With the package in her hands. He wasn’t getting out of here without it. We weren’t going to let you down like that.”

  I try to picture Stephanie playing guard and Megan skedaddling across the lobby, and best of all, Arnold’s pinched face. “Great job,” I tell her with a laugh. “I really appreciate that. And I’ll smooth it over with him tomorrow so we don’t have to deal with it all week.”

  I’ve barely set the phone into the receiver when Daniel’s door opens and Ricky and Billy come out, closing the door behind them. “Oh, hey, Tiffany!” Billy says, pleasantly surprised even if he’s not offering to let me touch his bicep again. Stepping several steps away from me, he asks, “How’s it going?”

  I wonder if Ricky said something to him or if Daniel did.

  “Not bad. You guys heading out?” I inquire, trying to make it sound casual.

  Nothing to see here, folks. No big deal or drama. Just a woman hoping for a bit of office delight.

  Ricky nods. “Yeah, I’m meeting Miranda downstairs and going home to make dinner for the munchkins.”

  It’s probably the funniest thing about Ricky. He looks, talks, and in so many ways, acts like a total badass, but he and my former boss, buttoned-down conservative Miranda Carter, are a total thing. They’re polar opposites in a lot of ways, but Ricky’s head over heels for her and her two kids.

  They met here at the office, and Ricky was instantly smitten. But Miranda had been pretty gun shy after her husband passed away unexpectedly. Ricky waited patiently for her to be ready, though, and now he’s reaping the reward. Happily domesticated, though not formally so, he’s living with Miranda, her daughter, and her son. And surprisingly, he’s apparently making dinner.

  Billy, though, is still very single. “I’ve got a cryotherapy appointment tonight.”

  I tilt my head, curious. “What’s that?”

  “Well, there’s a couple of methods,” Billy explains. “Tonight, I’m going to try the booth. Basically, you put on your skivvies, dry your skin totally, and go in a booth that’s then filled with super-cold air for about five minutes. I mean super cold, like negative 200.”

  “What?” I gasp, shivering at the thought. “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “It’s really good for muscle recovery,” Billy says as if it’s totally obvious, “and they say it’s good for balancing hormones in men. There’re other ways to do it, like using ice water baths, but my guy is hooking me up tonight with the chamber. He says if he can take pics, it’ll get more clients in because they’ll see an athlete using it.”

  “Yeah . . . as long as they keep the pics from the waistband up,” I joke. “Sounds like a way to make your balls shrivel and your dick go turtling.” I pull my shoulders up, ducking my head. “Turtle, turtle, turtle.”

  Ricky laughs while Billy covers himself protectively. “Billy Junior is fine. The cold is good for him. Well, not in the moment, but later. It’s good for blood flow.”

  “I can think of other ways to get your blood flowing, but you do you.”

  Billy shrugs, unconcerned with others’ judgment, and Ricky leans against Vanessa’s desk. “So, are you staying? Uncle Dan looks like he’s going to be here for a while.”

  “Yeah, I’ll give it a bit longer,” I assure them. “Vanessa already warned me.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea?” Ricky asks. He gives me a look of concern, definitely asking about more than my staying to work for a few minutes.

  “Yes,” I answer with certainty.

  Ricky hums. “On a totally unrelated note, you talked to Elle recently?”

  He’s one overgrown, protective bruiser of a soft-hearted man. He’s looking out for his family all the way around, and I can understand what Miranda sees in him. He’ll never win the Nobel Prize, but he sticks, and he’ll do anything for those he cares about, and that’s way more important than a gold medal and a million dollars.

  “I did. She’s good with everything.”

  His lips press together as he mulls that over. It must pass some point of acceptability in his mind because he shrugs carelessly.

  “Okay,” he says quietly. “As long as you know what you’re doing, Tiffany.”

  I grin and punch him lightly on the shoulder. “I always do.”

  It’s a half-truth.

  I’ve always got a plan, a way to live a little but not go too far. That’s the important balance so things don’t become mundane and predictable but stay exciting and fresh.

  Does it always work out? No.

  But when my plans go awry, I remember that once upon a time, I’d keep my balance by daring Elle to do silly things and completing the dares she gave me in return.

  But she said something to me as she moved to London that has stuck with me, perhaps her most difficult dare of all.

  “Live, Tiffany,” she told me in a private moment as we packed up the last of her stuff for shipping overseas. “One last dare, me to you. On something really, really important to you, I dare you to let loose, live wild and recklessly, and be open to great things that aren’t necessarily part of a plan.”

  I promised her I would and that I’d tell her when I did.

  Looks like I’m about to cash in on that dare.

  I actually wait until seven fifteen to ensure everyone’s gone home before I knock on Daniel’s door and let myself in without waiting for an answer the way I’ve seen Ricky, Billy, and Vanessa do. “Daniel.”

  He looks up, his eyebrows shooting up. “Tiffany . . . what are you doing? I didn’t even know you were still here.”

  I try not to let that sting. He’s been eyeballs deep in work after all.

  “I’m assuming that means you also don’t know how late it is, so I ordered you dinner and had Mac escort the delivery driver up,” I tell him, lifting the bag that came in a few minutes ago and waving it back and forth like a dangling carrot. “It’s healthy stuff.”

  Daniel blinks but shakes his head. “Oh, I’m not hungry. I’ll grab something at home later.”