Mr One-Night Stand

For fuck’s sake.

He snapped his eyes away and headed for her office. The sooner they could clear the air, the sooner he could focus on their relationship—their purely platonic, business relationship.

Entering her room, he was drawn to the bookcase running the length of one wall. Books were good. Books were calming. Books would get him in check.

He explored the titles, fingering the bindings—business, psychology, law... And then he paused, as a small collection tucked in the corner closest to the window drew his eye. He crouched and pulled one of the books out. He knew from the binding what he would find, and the entwined couple on the front only served to confirm it. He looked from the front to the back, scanning the blurb with a smile.

So the formidable Miss Hayes was a romantic at heart.

A throat was cleared directly behind him. Shit.

He looked at her over his shoulder. Her arms were crossed over her middle, her breasts bulging distractingly above them, and he tore his eyes away, slipping the book back into place and slowly getting to his feet to face her, his eyes carefully pinned above neckline.

‘Sorry, it’s an occupational hazard,’ he explained. ‘I like to understand people, and their books can give quite the insight.’

He smiled and watched her colour slightly, her eyes flicking over her little collection before returning.

She cocked a brow. ‘Nosy, much?’

‘What can I say? It pays to understand people.’

She surprised him with a laugh and, shaking her head, strode to her desk—just as her PA walked in, a roll of paper towel in her hand.

‘Here you go,’ the girl said, passing it to her. ‘You sure you don’t want me to do it?’

‘Don’t be silly—it’s my mess.’ She wrapped a fistful around her palm and tore it off. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll let you get on, then.’

Her eyes flicked briefly in his direction before returning to Jennifer in a widened state. Was this girl all together there?

‘Let me know if you need anything else.’

‘Will do,’ Jennifer said, her attention now fixed on the desk.

He followed her gaze to an upturned mug and a dripping mess. How had he missed that?

She righted the cup and started to mop at the liquid.

‘Want some help?’

She gave him a brief look. ‘You’ve done enough.’

Surprise made him chuckle. ‘I’m not quite sure how to take that.’

She straightened, smoothing her free hand over her hair, and then she looked to him again, for longer this time—long enough for him to make out the pulse twitching in her neck and the re-emerging colour in her cheeks.

‘Truth is, you gave me a shock when you came in and the coffee took the hit.’

‘Ah.’ He looked from her to the puddle. ‘In that case, I’m definitely helping.’

He strode towards her, ignoring the flash of panic in her eyes, and held out his hand.

Reluctantly, she separated out some sheets and thrust them into his palm. ‘You can do the floor.’

He smiled. Relegated to floor work? He could cope with that.

He could think again.