ALEX

This secretary's going to be a problem.

For one thing, she's distractingly pretty. I can handle that. I'm not a neanderthal. At least not outwardly.

She's all business, this one. When I make the crack about knots, she blinks, all innocent-like. I'm sure it's just a show, just as I'm sure she's already heard the office gossip about how I'm into a bit of kink. Nothing outrageous, just some run of the mill bondage. Some of the rumors are just gossip — no, I didn't go away for a week at a ranch with those two starlets, that was just in the tabloids — but like most rumors, there's a kernel of truth.

And the truth is, I'd love to tie little Evie up and ravage her sweet body. Her face is also stunning, and I'm captivated by her long, graceful neck. Everything about her is graceful. All class, this one. 

And although I'm Atlanta's most eligible bachelor and, according to my last lady companion, "something of an overgrown fuck boy," I have rules.

Screwing my secretary is one of those rules. It doesn't matter how blue Evie's eyes are, or how her lips pout as she knots my tie, I'm not getting involved with an employee. And I need to stop flirting with her, for Christ's sake. I just approved the company's new sexual harassment policy last week.

But here I am, getting a hard-on for my temporary secretary. Who's beautiful and apparently incompetent at basic tasks like making coffee. She can tie a mean Windsor knot, though.

What good will that do me?

She finishes the tie and straightens the knot at my throat. "There. You look way better than before."

What the hell does she mean by that? Save the snappy comeback, Jenkins...

"Thank you," I say stiffly, as stiff as my cock, when she fusses with my lapels. Women love doing that.

"Now. Let's go over what I need for the next hour while Eleanor, ah, Gram, is here." I step behind the desk, hoping it will hide my erection. I point to one of the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk from me. "You're going to sit there. Eleanor will be there." I stack some papers hastily.

"Mr. Jenkins, I need to tell you, I'm not your secretary."

I look up, raising one eyebrow. "Then who are you? A woman off the street who enjoys spilling scalding coffee on men and showing off her Windsor knot talent?"

She smiles. "Technically, you spilled the coffee on me. On my work sweater."

I frown. "Your work sweater?"

"It's freezing on my floor. Subzero. You should really fix that. I keep a sweater here so I don't get frostbite."

I walk around the desk, my dick deflating from sheer confusion. And annoyance. "What floor do you work on?"

"Tenth. I'm an intern in marketing. I came here to give you that file." She pointed to my desk.

I'm not usually caught off guard, but I am tonight. "You're an intern?"

"Yes. This is my post-graduation internship. I graduated in December from Emory."

"Good school," I mutter as I impatiently shuffle files around my desk. I glance up and see more than a hint of pride in her eyes and feel bad for being so cynical. The girl's what, twenty-one? I groan inwardly at the entire situation. Lusting after a girl nearly ten years younger.

"Do you happen to know where my secretary went?"

Evie shrugs her thin shoulders. "Why would I? I just walked in, right before the coffee incident."

My gaze travels down her body, and I admiring the curves that are barely hidden by her dress. I scowl.

"There was no one outside when you walked in? At the desk?"

She shakes her head.

"Dammit. The agency must not have sent a temp. Or the girl left. I don't know." I struggle to remember who was here earlier and run a hand through my hair. "I go through secretaries like you wouldn't believe. Swear to God, I change secretaries more than I change my sheets."

"I can't imagine why. You're so kind to subordinates." Evie smirks, and I wish I could wipe that expression away with a hard kiss.

"I'm going to ignore what you just said, because I'm in a bind. I need someone to take notes during this meeting. Can you please act as my secretary for the next hour? It won't be difficult."

Her eyes lift to the ceiling as if she's thinking hard, which gives me an excuse to look at her neck. And lower. She crosses her arms over her chest.

"Please?" I push out a breath.

"I'm afraid it will cost you."

I stare at her incredulously. "You're an intern. You're supposed to do whatever anyone asks of you."

"You're keeping me here late. I'm only paid for thirty hours a week. I've already been here forty-five. It's a labor violation." She straightens, like she's summoning courage. "I'm giving up important things by being here late."

Probably partying or screwing her boyfriend. The nerve of this chick. She obviously knows she has me over a barrel. "Okay, fine. I'll pay you double. Here." I hand her a legal pad and a pen.

She taps her foot. "Triple overtime."

I step around my desk to stand near her. She's tall, almost tall enough to look me in the eye. But that might be the heels. She has a thin, delicate frame, but there's a defiant edge to her. It turns me on, despite the fact that she's starting to piss me off.

"Extortion. That's what you're doing. If you were a man I'd tell you to go to hell."

"My professor says women should demand to be paid what they're worth. And what's it to you? It comes out to thirty dollars." She snorts. "I'm sure you have it in your budget. Or your wallet."

We only pay the interns ten an hour? Christ. I'll have to ask HR about this tomorrow. I inhale deep. She smells like sweet, fresh oranges. "Fine," I bite out. "Triple overtime. Now would you please sit in the chair and get ready to take notes?"

"Why do you need to take notes if it's your grandmother? Isn't that a little strange?"

"Because my grandmother is the sharpest person on the planet and I need a record of what she says so I can study it later."

"Hmm." I can't tell if that's a judgmental hmm or a hmm in agreement.

We glare at each other, and I swear, I imagine myself staring into those ocean blue eyes while I fuck her. Her eyes are the color of the water in Greece, which is where I went on my last vacation. I picture fucking Evie on a terrace while overlooking the Mediterranean. Or on a beach. Or...

My eyes flicker to her hair, which is dark and straight and cut in a bob — I know this because my sister Savannah once tried to tame her curls into this shape. Evie's soft-looking locks are perfect for the style. It's not sleek or severe.

It falls to her collarbone, and something about seeing her dark hair touching her tan, freckled skin makes me want to brush it back and gather it in my hands. And kiss her collarbone.

Dammit, stop. She's an intern. More off-limits than a secretary.

"My dear, who is this?"

Christ. Cock-blocked by my grandmother.

"Gram." I stride over and give her a kiss on both cheeks. The room is suddenly clouded with Poison, her signature perfume.

Evie gracefully sinks into the chair.

"This is, ah, my assistant for the evening. Her name is Evie." I sweep a hand in her direction. "Evie, meet Eleanor Dorothy Jenkins, my grandmother and matriarch of not only my family, but this company."

Evie stands up and with manners obviously learned at some finishing school for girls, greets my grandmother with a warm smile and a gentle handshake.

"Your assistant or your companion? I thought you'd sworn off the beautiful secretaries," Gram says, winking at Evie as she settles into her chair. Evie looks alarmed, and I cough. Evelyn is a pistol, and tonight could go a hundred different ways.

"Gram, you know I never get involved with the staff. Let me get you one of your special coffees. I'll be right back."

No way am I letting Evie around hot liquid again. And I need a minute to gain my composure. Tonight I'm going to explain my latest proposal to save the company money — and once again, to not-so-subtly suggest that my grandmother give up her role as CEO so she can enjoy the years she has left.

I hear my grandmother snort.

"Secretary, my ass. He's never dated his secretaries but he's damned sure dated every other girl in Atlanta. I guess he's expanding his horizons. How'd he meet you, anyway? You seem a little classier than his usual."

I stab at the button of the espresso maker. As the machine whirrs to life, I pull out a bottle of whiskey and splash some into a mug, then down the whole thing in one gulp.

Between a gorgeous, scrappy intern and a grandmother who doesn't have a filter between her brain and her mouth, this is going to be an interesting couple of hours.

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