After a few minutes of discussion, we decided that I’d bring my laptop and that he’d buy a scanner before Tuesday. “A good one,” I said.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said, his voice teasing. He moved around the front of the car to the street, and I followed him.

  I had one more thing to ask, but we were both distracted by an electronic beep. The trunk of a car across the street popped open, and a moment later a tall, thin figure jogged up to it, not noticing us as he passed. I recognized the person at the same time I recognized the car. Brad, getting something from his parents’ dark blue Altima.

  We watched as he pushed aside an assortment of suitcases and emerged with a wrapped box with a bow. In a matter of seconds, he was going to close the trunk, turn around, and see us.

  And I just couldn’t deal with him tonight. Not now. Not after it had been such a good night. He’s spent the whole week with his parents and with Stephanie—Mrs. Harper had let that slip before—and I didn’t want to be his poor pathetic ex again. The girl who was cheated on. The girl who lost her boyfriend and her best friend at the same time.

  I took a step back and bumped into Nick. I’d almost forgotten him. I looked up and saw that he’d recognized Brad, too. I tried to push past him, to melt into the darkness between the two cars, but he was blocking my way. He gripped my arm, looking into my face. And I’m not sure what he saw there, but it couldn’t be good. I didn’t want to see Brad right now. I didn’t want to talk to him. And above all, I didn’t want to have to field any more questions about my supposed relationship with a man I wasn’t allowed to date.

  And then I didn’t have to, because Nick brought his hands up to my face, cupping my head, tilting it up. And then he dipped his head and kissed me.

  For one endless moment I froze, paralyzed by surprise, but then I melted under his kiss. Feeling me relax against him, Nick wrapped his arms around me, and I responded in kind, looping my hands around his neck.

  He slid his tongue along my warm lips and teased them apart, gently, playfully at first. But as I clung to him, my fingers grasping at his hair, he deepened the kiss. I gave myself over to the sensation, and everything else faded. The party. The night air. Ex friends and boyfriends. It all went away until the only thing that existed for me was this incredible man.

  When he finally released me, I leaned against his car, panting. Processing. Lifting my hand, I ran my fingers over my bottom lip, feeling how swollen it was from his mouth on mine. Finally, I looked up at him.

  He had a faint smile on his lips. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, Cassie.”

  I nodded, and he squeezed my hand as I walked past him, heading back toward the house. Brad was nowhere in sight.

  One thing was for certain. No matter what happened, this was going to be one hell of an interesting part-time job.

  Chapter Six

  “WILL THIS DO for a workspace?”

  I was in Nick’s home beautiful home. I’d thought our house was big, but his was even bigger. It seemed like a really large place for one person, but I knew it used to be his parent’s house.

  “It’s great,” I said. He’d set aside an area for me at the end of his formal dining room table. The large dining area seemed way too big for one person, but I’d seen a smaller table in the kitchen when he’d given me a tour. “Are there extra outlets nearby?”

  Nick led me around to the other side of the table. A power strip was hidden behind the scanner and printer he’d set up. There was also a large monitor for me to plug my laptop into, file folders, paper, scissors and everything else I could possibly need. He’d really gone all out.

  “And over here are a few of the boxes. I figured it was enough to get you started.”

  Five ancient-looking cardboard boxes sat in the corner of the room. The top one had packs of photos in envelopes or rubber bands, but the rest were unopened. “Yep, that ought to keep me busy.”

  “Good,” he said, slapping his palms lightly against his thighs. He had on blue jeans today and a short-sleeve t-shirt that said Key West on it. “So, umm, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. But he was my employer now, so I responded cheerfully. “Sure, what’s up?”

  “Well, it’s just us now. We don’t have to pretend we don’t know each other in front of your parents or pretend we know each other really well in front of your ex. So I was thinking we should start over. Start fresh.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, and he gave me a half smile.

  “I mean this,” he said. “Here goes… Hi, I’m Nick Conner, your dad’s boss.” He stuck out his hand, reaching to shake mine. “And you’re Cassie Davis, my employee’s daughter.”

  Automatically, I raised my hand to meet his, but then I pulled it at the last moment. “That’s a little patriarchal, don’t you think?”

  “What?”

  “To define a woman by her male relative.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” he said, looking flustered.

  But I was on a roll now. I was in college. I’d taken the Women’s Studies class. “If you want to define yourself by your relationship to your employee, go right ahead. But I am an adult woman, independent of either parent. So hi, nice to meet you. I’m Cassie Davis. I look forward to working with you.”

  Now I did stick out my hand, and after a long moment, he shook it. “Nice to meet you, Cassie. I’m, uhh, looking forward to working with you, too.”

  Now that that was settled, I moved past him and started to set up my laptop.

  * * *

  “Nick?” I knocked at the open door to his office, feeling a little strange to have been wandering around his house alone. But he told me to come back if I needed anything.

  Hearing his voice, I entered into the room, only to see that he was on the phone. I hesitated, but he smiled at me and gestured to a chair in front of his desk.

  I looked around while he talked on the phone. His office was modern but masculine-looking. The bookcases were made of dark wood, and the colors scheme ran toward black, gray, and burgundy. His desk was huge, made of some kind of dark wood—maybe cherry? He had two monitors set up, and he was looking at one as he spoke. From his end of the conversation, I gathered he was talking to the assistant principal.

  His focus on his computer meant that I could look at him without getting caught. I loved to watch him when he wasn’t looking. He looked so intent with what he was doing. His brow furrowed in little lines as he frowned at something on the screen. The sprinkle of white hair at his temples surrounded by the darker brown tousled hair around it made me want to run my fingers through it.

  He was typing on the keyboard now, his phone wedged against his shoulder. He was all business as he tapped away, and somehow it was so hot. I wanted to walk over there, shove his computer out of the way and sit on his desk, facing him. I wanted to see if he would still look that intent when it was me in front of him, not a machine.

  Finally, he disconnected the call. “What’s up?” His smile made my thighs clench.

  “I opened all those boxes you had downstairs, just to see what’s in them. Most of them are pictures, from the last couple decades. There are a few of a cute little brown-haired boy,” I said with a wink.

  He laughed, leaning back in his chair and watching me. “Perhaps I should have made you sign a nondisclosure agreement. I’m going to be very unhappy if a photo of me dressed as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle appears on the school’s Facebook page.”

  I laughed. I knew he was kidding, but he was looking at me with a mock sternness that I found very sexy. “Very unhappy,” he repeated, and his tone brought mind all kinds of delicious punishments he might dole out if I disobeyed.

  “Your secrets are safe with me,” I said with a wink. Running my fingers through my hair, I stared right back at him.

  His eyes were on my hand, on my hair, and if I wasn’t very much mistaken, also occasionally on the white tank top I wore on top of my cutoff jean shorts. “One box had a bunch of old papers and letters. You joked before about privacy, but it’s a legitimate question. Do you want to look through those things before I do?”

  “No,” he said. “But thanks for thinking of it. Nothing in there is recent, and if you discover any skeletons in my relatives’ closets, I’m okay with that. Though as I said before, please don’t go spreading my family business around.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Do you have an idea of how you’re going to organize that stuff?” We’d spoken earlier about what he wanted, namely, a video of family photographs like I’d made for my parents, and electronic copies of important family records and documents.

  “Well, I was thinking. I’d really like to know what all is there before I dive in. For example, are those boxes the only ones with photos or are there ten more? Are there more boxes of papers? I’d really like to see the scope of the whole project before I figure out how to proceed.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, and he stood up, stretching as he got to his feet. Wow. Seeing him stretch was a sight I was going to be replaying in my mind quite a bit.

  He showed me to dimly lit back bedroom that didn’t seem to get much use. Most of the surfaces were on the dusty side.

  “I don’t come back here often,” Nick said, seeing me looking around.

  He opened a door and revealed a walk-in closet piled high with boxes. He pulled a chain dangling from the ceiling and a small amount of yellow light illuminated the small space.

  “Wow,” I said, taking in all the boxes. There had to be at least twenty of them. “You do realize I have to go back to college in August, right?”

  He chuckled. “I suppose it is a pretty big project. How about I start pulling boxes out, and maybe you could look inside and group them by content?”

  “Sounds good,” I said. And a few minutes later, when the muscles in his biceps and chests bulged as he carried several boxes at a time, it sounded like an even better plan. I could watch him all day.

  I poked around the growing piles of boxes at my feet. I felt a bit like an archeologist, never knowing what I was going to uncover.

  “Cassie? Can you give me a hand with this?”

  I stepped in the small closet with him. He’d reached up and placed his hands on the side of a box on a top shelf well above his head. “I think there’s something on top of this, so when I lift it down, maybe you can try to grab whatever it is before it falls?”

  “Okay.” I took a step nearer, my hands up, ready to play catch.

  But I wasn’t ready for what actually came down which was a wall of dust, pieces of lint, and other assorted bits of fluff. Hastily, Nick lowered the box to the ground, and both of us fled the closet, covered in a layer of dust.

  Coughing, we dusted ourselves off. Nick had gotten the brunt of it, and his dark hair was almost white. He looked like a ghost.

  “I think some of that was sawdust,” I sputtered. “Were any of your relatives carpenters?”

  “Possibly, but aren’t carpenters supposed to sweep that stuff up and throw it out, not save it to shower the next generation?” He gave up on trying to brush off his t-shirt and instead pulled it over his head, using it to rub his hair and his arms.

  I couldn’t help but stare as he ran his shirt over his body like a towel. God, he looked good. His pecs and abs were well-defined, and I wondered how often he worked out. It must be quite a bit. He was in better shape than most men my age, and he was nearing forty.

  Nick flung his filthy shirt onto the floor, looked up, and caught me staring at him. One side of his mouth quirked upward. I think it was pretty clear to him that I liked what I saw.

  “I’m going to go get another t-shirt. Would you like one, too? You look like you just spent half an hour inside a snow globe.”

  Looking down at myself, I had to agree with his assessment. My shirt was covered with little bits of everything. Nick moved closer. “It’s in your hair, too…”

  I reached up and brushed at my hair, but it seemed pretty ineffective. With a sigh, I bent at the waist, leaning over and plunged both hands into my hair, shaking my tresses back and forth, trying to get all the specks out.

  I was dizzy by the time I straightened up, but still aware enough to recognize the interest in Nick’s eyes. Evidently he’d liked the view when I was bent over like that.

  My hair was a little cleaner now, but messy, sticking up all over. Nick picked a few pieces of lint out of my hands and smoothed my hair down, stroking it over and over. It felt so good that I moaned involuntarily, inching closer to him.

  He kept his hands buried in my hair for far longer than necessary before he finally stepped away. “I’ll go find some shirts.”

  My scalp tingled from his touch, and I savored the sensation as he went away. So far, in spite of the dust cloud, this was shaping up to be a great job. There was enough work to keep me busy, and from what I’d seen, his family had a very interesting past. Plus, there was my hot new employer who’d already taken his shirt off on the very first day.

  This was definitely my kind of job.

  Chapter Seven

  TWO MORE AFTERNOONS of working at Nick’s place, and I’d finally gotten the last of the boxes opened. I wasn’t entirely sure what was in each one, but at least I’d pulled out all the photo albums and loose pictures. Nick and I had talked, and we agreed I’d start with the photos. That meant that I spent a lot of time cataloging, sorting, filing, and labeling them. All of that had to be done before I could make digital photo albums or a video presentation.

  But just for variety, I also took breaks to go sort through the boxes, and little by little, I discovered treasures from Nick’s past. Or his relatives’ past.

  While I did that, Nick worked dutifully in his study. When I asked, he said he was working on stuff for his school, and once he said he was submitting an article to an academic journal. My job definitely sounded more fun, so occasionally I took it upon myself to make his life more interesting. Like now.

  I’d found a journal handwritten by his Great, Great Uncle August. Unlike some of the other family journals I’d read, Uncle August had a dirty mind. Therefore, it seemed like my duty as an employee to make the boss of aware of that kind of thing, right?

  So I sent him a text: Am reading your great grand-uncle’s journal. A fascinating read! Pretty sure he’d approve of modern day inventions such as the internet and the porn that lives there.

  He wrote back: Is that Great Uncle Auggie? I’ve heard stories.

  I replied: He seemed like quite the ladies’ man. And a man ahead of his time!

  He answered: How so?

  I snapped a picture of a drawing scribbled in the journal’s margin and sent it to him with a caption: Look, the world’s first dick pic!

  There was a long pause and then his response: Maybe you should read someone else’s journals.

  My response was quick: I’m a big girl. I can handle it. (ha ha)

  He replied: Very funny.

  And then I couldn’t help but ask: So… Auggie seemed justifiably impressed with himself. Notice any familial resemblance? In other words, did the apple fall far from the tree? (or the apple’s apple’s apple).

  His response: No comment. Don’t you have work to do?

  My reply: I’m doing it. I can scan photos and flirt with you at the same time.

  He answered: Well, I can’t type and flirt at the same time. So go get some work done, naughty girl.

  Oooh, I liked it when he called me that. I did get back to work, but after that, I looked for more ways to tease Nick. He’d kissed me at my mom’s party, after all. He could pretend to be all professional now, but I knew how sexy he could be when he wanted to. And I wanted to see that side of him again.

  That’s perhaps what prompted me to take that selfie near the end of my shift. I was back in the spare bedroom, and I’d just unearthed a little bundle of baby clothes. Inside were the cutest little knitted mittens, made for tiny hands decades ago. Maybe even a century ago. The mittens were fragile but still intact with only a few moth holes. They were just adorable. Hard to imagine that the baby who’d worn them was likely a great grandparent now.

  They were so cute. I wanted to show them to Nick, but instead of bounding down to his office, I got another idea instead. I was wearing a pale pink shirt with spaghetti straps today. No bra, but the shirt came with a little built-in liner that cupped and lifted my breasts. However, when I bent forward, that liner did little to hold me in place—a fact I was banking on.

  It took me eleven tries to get the selfie just right. Then it took me another five minutes to get up the nerve to send it. But it only took Nick thirty seconds to respond: My office. Right now.

  Shivers ran up and down my spine as I hastened to obey.

  * * *

  Nick was leaning against the front of his desk with his arms crossed when I entered. He nodded at the seat in front of him, and I sat down quickly, looking up at him. Unfortunately, he didn’t look like he was in a playful mood.

  “Care to explain this to me?” He held his phone up, and I examined the picture there. It showed a young woman with an impish smile and blonde waves framing her face. She was leaning toward the camera, her shirt gaping open, cleavage fully on display, and the rosy tip of one nipple showing. Dangling from her raised index finger was a pair of knitted baby mittens. The caption read: Cute pair, right?

  I started to giggle but stopped it when I saw Nick’s stern face. Holy crap, he wasn’t happy. But he was seriously hot when he got all strict like that. “Is there a problem?”

  “Several,” he said, glaring down at me. Making me feel like a disobedient child. “For one, sending that in the first place. I’m your boss. I’m your dad’s boss. That doesn’t make me your most logical sexting partner. Secondly, anything like that you send could end up online in heartbeat. Do you know how many girls at Sago Palm sent a picture like that to their boyfriend, trusting him to keep it private, only to find out later that he’d shown it to all his friends or posted it online? That happens every day in every school in America. Those girls are naïve. You are not. You should know better. Next time, if you’re dumb enough to send something like that, at least crop your face out of it.”