I looked down and laughed. “I was planning on wearing this for the rest of the month, hope that works for you.” I tugged on the tie and watched as his eyes followed the movement.

Sweet Lord.

I wanted to reach out and drag him to me, using the neck of his shirt to pull him down on the bed. Or maybe I could wrap the sweaty hem of it around my wrist, use it for leverage while he fucked me from behind . . .

Oh.

I felt my cheeks grow warm.

He leaned a broad shoulder against the wall, facing me. “The dress you wore last night was rather lovely. Perhaps you could alternate days?”

I laughed. “I—”

Wait, what?

My eyes went wide as I processed what he’d said. His cheeks were pink, too, but he held my gaze. Don’t get flustered, Ruby. Don’t get flustered.

“That’s a good idea,” I said, feeling an enormous grin invade my face. I pretended to smooth the skirt of the robe down my thighs. “This might be a bit drafty.”

Nodding, he seemed to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “I suspect it would be.”

I pointed my thumb behind me. “So . . . I’ll just go put on some actual clothes.”

“All right. Let me shower and I’ll meet you downstairs?” he asked as I turned to go back in my room.

Imaginary Secretary, please add Watching Niall Stella Shower to my bucket list. Move it to the top, if it’s not too much trouble.

“Good plan.”

He nodded once crisply. “I’ll be fast.”

“No,” I said, too loud, too quickly. I closed my eyes, inhaling a calming breath. “Take your time.”

He paused with his keycard inserted into the door next to mine and looked over his shoulder at me. The tiny smile told me he read every thought on my face before I had a chance to pull it into order.

“All right?” he asked quietly.

“I’m good. Just need coffee.”

His eyes twinkled with some mysterious delight. As if he enjoyed my absolute, desperate torment. “Right, then. See you downstairs.”

Game on, Mr. Darcy.

The elevator ride to the lobby was the longest of my life. I counted down each floor on the screen near the top, my nerves twisting tighter the farther down I went. Niall would be waiting for me and then we’d walk to the temporary office together. Just us. No distractions. Alone. No big deal.

Except that it was a huge deal. This was the start of one of my most exciting professional experiences, and also a day full of the person I was fairly sure was the Most Amazing Man on the Planet.

I smoothed my dress, straightened the collar on my jacket, and double-checked everything: purse, laptop, cell phone, ass and underwear covered. Despite my nerves, I was still tired. My laptop case felt heavier than normal and seemed to weigh down my right shoulder, the combination of fatigue and jitters leaving me feeling slightly speedy.

I checked my reflection again in the gleaming doors, suddenly questioning my outfit. It would be cold out but likely too warm in the office, where the heat would be turned up to compensate for the March chill. I’d chosen knee-length boots with a reasonable heel; they would double as both comfortable to walk in, and warm enough should our day find us venturing out into the city and down into one of the many subway stations we’d be monitoring. I had every file and report I would need printed out. I was ready.

And yet, still terrified.

I reached the lobby and looked around for Niall, but I didn’t have to look long. He was behind me, back near the registration desk, and help me Jesus because paired with the overcoat he had slung over his arm, his suit was straight-up business porn.

“Holy shit, you wear a suit well.”

I’d thought those words a hundred times over the last few months. Thousands. I’d said them under my breath as I’d passed him in the halls and it was possible I’d had more than one X-rated fantasy that started out with those exact words. But never, not in any of them did he swallow, look down the length of my body, and reply with “I suspect you wear everything well.”

And then immediately look like he wanted to shove the words back into his mouth and die.

Pardon?

When I was little I had an Etch A Sketch. I spent hours staring at that red frame and flat gray board, pulling it out to doodle whenever my bus was late or while entertaining myself on a drive home. Most people drew pictures or played games, but I was obsessed with drawing my name and perfecting the art of getting each letter down without seeing the line where they connected.

My mom would tell me to draw something else, that I would burn the image of those letters into the screen if I continued to do the same thing, over and over. And she was right. Eventually, no matter how many times I shook the board, hoping to clear the image, a ghost of the letters still showed on the screen.