Garrett

"Everything about this is wrong."

"I'm sorry, sir. I ordered it just the way you asked me to." Paul pushed his glasses up his nose and read the order off the receipt. "French bread. Extra Mayo. Onions—"

"No onions. Light mayo. And a croissant."

My voice was low, my tone deceptively calm. I prided myself on not being one of those tyrants who went about shouting in the office, but that didn't mean I didn't lose my patience now and then. And after both my brothers asked to reschedule our camping trip last minute, patience was in short supply.

It was the one trip I took every year where I truly disconnected from work and recharged my batteries. Now it was postponed indefinitely, and all the energy I'd channeled into projects to make sure I finished them before I took vacation had left me drained.

Paul paled and pulled a crumpled note from his pocket. Familiar, scrunched handwriting was scrawled across it, and I groaned, figuring out what happened before he did.

"Is that my Pierogi's order?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you got it from Ivy?"

"Yes, sir."

Paul trembled, sweat beading on his brow. I frowned. When the fuck did men become so easily intimidated? This is why I hired women as admin assistants. Not because of bullshit sexist stereotypes, but because I'd yet to find a man who had the balls to stand up to me and organize my schedule. Portia and Ivy could do both, though most days Ivy was a little stronger with the backbone and sass than she was with the organizational skills.

"What did we tell you?"

"To make sure all of Ivy's notes were typed."

Because the brunette firecracker had handwriting like a serial killer. "Exactly."

"I'm sorry, sir. I messaged her yesterday while she was out sick, but you know she doesn't answer—"

"When she's off the clock, yes, I know."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, wondering why for the hundredth time I hadn't fired her for being more trouble than she was worth when I knew the answer. Portia loved her, which was a first in the ten years we'd worked together, and I'd do anything to make my Senior Admin Assistant happy. Honestly, Ivy seemed to make everyone love her, including women who would normally feel threatened by her beauty and charm.

Scraping the mayo off the bread and tossing the onions in the garbage, I dismissed Paul and prepared to eat my pitiful sandwich when I caught sight of the troublemaker herself slipping into her cubicle. After calling out sick yesterday, I hadn't expected to see her come in today, but then again, she was out of PTO. Surely, she knew we would make arrangements for her if she was ill. I wasn't that much of an asshole.

"Ms. Wilson."

She was in the process of sitting when I poked my head into her cubicle and said her name. With a squeal, she fell back, missing the chair entirely. By some miracle, I moved quickly enough to catch her before she hit the floor, and with an intense awareness of how soft she felt against me and how good she smelled, I brought her to her feet.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my hands remaining in the small of her back.

"I'm fine."

Her reply was quiet. Almost meek. Nothing like the woman I'd worked with for the last few years. In fact, that's how she'd been yesterday. Pale and sweaty and oddly silent, until finally she sent an email stating she was sick and bolted from the office.

Concerned, I brushed her hair back and placed my hand against her forehead. "Are you still sick? Should you be at work?"

"I'm fine," she repeated, this time with a little more of her usual forcefulness.

Stepping back, I shoved my hands in my pockets to stop myself from examining her further. What the hell was wrong with me? Touching an employee like this was an HR disaster waiting to happen, not to mention this was Ivy Wilson.

Beautiful, mouthy, and a rumored man eater. Not at all my type. While she turned the heads of every man in the office, I'd never felt a single stirring of lust. Three years and nothing until moments ago when I touched her and felt all the blood rush to my cock.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

Giving myself a mental shake, I replied, "If you're sure you're feeling well and not contagious, I'd like you to get with Paul and run through the tasks you'll be passing off to him while you cover for Portia. Any notes you have for him should be printed out or sent via email. I don't want another repeat of today."

"What happened today?" Confusion and fear twisted her expression, making me feel like a douchebag.

"Paul attempted to order lunch based on one of your handwritten notes—"

Instead of her usual protests that her writing was just fine, she grimaced. "Right. I'll type everything up."

Momentarily taken aback, I resisted the urge to check her temperature again. Something was very off with her, or maybe it was an answer to a prayer. Ivy Wilson woke up and decided to be professional today. I wouldn't take it for granted.

"Excellent. Please call the hotel we're staying at for the conference and verify the reservation before the end of the week. I didn't want to use them because they have a tendency to overbook, but with the Apple Festival scheduled that week, we had to take what we could get."

She jotted down a quick note that she promptly hid from me. No doubt to avoid teasing. "Anything else?"

"Not at the moment."

"Very good."

She pulled her chair toward her, giving me a small smile when she sat without mishap. It was completely genuine and without the usual flirtatious overtones. Yet, somehow, it lit up every nerve in my body and sent me running back to the office.

I rubbed the back of my neck. "What the fuck just happened?"