I couldn’t believe I’d called him an ass.

And I really couldn’t believe he’d laughed. Or that he found me adorable.

I had no idea why I got so upset. Except it meant he saw—he noticed. I tried not to get noticed anymore.

And his reaction…his words, the way he touched my hair and called me Tally. He was honestly taken aback by my anger.

When he stepped closer, into my space, I should have been screaming for him to back off—except I wanted him closer. I wanted to feel his warmth, smell his rich, aromatic scent. Crisp fall air and spice. It was clean, heady, and suited him.

The moment I met him, he overwhelmed me. When I had heard one of the other women who was interviewed earlier in the day complain the building was like Fort Knox to get into and say she refused to work somewhere with so many security restrictions, I had begged the agent to give me the information. She had shaken her head.

“They prefer, ah, a more mature woman, dear. It’s a bit of a dull job. It’s not for you.”

“Please, I want to try.”

She pursed her lips. “Interviews are over in forty-five minutes. He only ever interviews for one day.”

“I can make it.”

I had hopped the subway to the closest station and run the rest of the way, barely making it.

Mr. Grayson hadn’t been what I expected. Far younger, handsomer, and tall. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick, the muscles rippling as he moved. His dark brown hair was long, wavy, and messy, as if he spent a lot of time running his hands through it. His beard was short and neat, setting off his full lips and framing his chiseled jawline. And his eyes. Warm hazel—bright brown and green, with gold flecks so large they were like bursts of fire around his pupils—and set under heavy, straight eyebrows that emphasized their uniqueness. They were mesmerizing. He moved with the confidence of a man who was used to being in control. He had seemed as determined as the agency that this job wasn’t for me, but the thought of being in that building, safe and protected four days a week, was too much to resist. I had somehow gotten the job, determined to be the best secretary he’d ever had.

Convinced I could ignore the attraction I felt toward him.

“Tally? What’s wrong?”

Julian’s low, concerned voice brought me out of my musings. His focused gaze met mine, and I shook my head to clear it.

“Nothing. I was just thinking this is the best pizza I have ever eaten.”

“You’ve been thinking about it for five minutes. I wondered if the pepperoni wasn’t uniformly distributed on the pizza and you were reconfiguring it in your head.” He lifted one eyebrow, the quizzical look on his face comical. “Or am I being an ass again?”

I had to laugh. “No. Very funny. That doesn’t bother me. The space around me does.”

“I get that. Damien is like that.”

“The IT guy I met the other day?”

His lips quirked. “Yep. The IT guy.”

“I guess you’d have to be, with all that entails.”

He nodded, chewing and swallowing. He ate slowly, enjoying his food. He was relaxed, sitting at his desk, his tie loose and his sleeves rolled up. His forearms rippled as he lifted the pizza to his mouth, and I noticed the light dusting of dark hair on them. I was certain I saw a hint of ink peeking out on occasion, which made me curious.

“So, are you part of the team?” I asked.

His head snapped up. “What?”

I frowned, wondering what I’d said that made him respond that way. “One of the people who works the security jobs.”

“Oh.” He visibly relaxed. “No. Not anymore anyway. Now, I just oversee. Bring in new business.”

“But you did?”

He bit into his pizza, chewing and looking thoughtful. “I was more actively involved than I am now.”

“Oh?” I asked, wondering if he would share at all.

“I was shot. It curtailed my effectiveness somewhat.”

I dropped my pizza and stared at him in horror. “You were shot?”

He nodded with a frown. “No need to look so upset, Tally. I’m alive and well. I changed direction in my life, though.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I hate violence.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “I see.”

“Where?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Shoulder and both knees. It was in my old line of work, not with Elite Security.”

“When you were a cop,” I murmured, remembering I had read that in his bio.

He looked away but nodded, and I realized he didn’t want to discuss it.

There was quiet for a moment, then he spoke.

“So, an art major. What do you see yourself doing with that?”

I snorted. “Not much, apparently.”

He chuckled. “No, really, what did you have in mind?”

I set down my pizza, wiping my fingers. “I have always loved art. Painting, sculptures, drawings. Anything visual. Even the art of music or poetry. I love the beauty of brushstrokes on a canvas. How clay can be molded. Marble chiseled. It speaks to my soul.”

Tags: Melanie Moreland Men of Hidden Justice Romance
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