I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I don’t think he wants me going to Vancouver with him.”

“I asked him and he said if I could get you to agree to do it, he’d let me off the hook. Please, April. For my baby?” She rubbed her stomach again. She didn’t even have a goddamn baby bump and already she was exploiting the kid for her own gain.

I let out a long sigh and looked away. “How long is it?”

“Four days. And you get a room in the penthouse suite at the Fairmont Pacific Rim. It’s an amazing hotel. I have the website—”

I held up a hand, waving it, mildly uncomfortable and simultaneously aflame at the thought of sharing a suite—no matter how big—with Jordan for four days.

I wanted to say no. Or rather, I wanted to want to say no. But I didn’t really want to say no. Because even though he’d snapped at me and was completely unpredictable, I still thought about him all the time. And it was driving me crazy. I could not have a crush on my boss. I could never be one of those women who slept with their boss!

I would never, ever be.

***

Days passed. Things were quiet. Sid continued with her investigation, not having reached anything conclusive when she’d examined my phone. Jordan and I studiously avoided each other, only minimally discussing the plans to go to Vancouver. Every time I had a question, he quickly directed me to Susan without even meeting my gaze.

It stung, but it was also a relief. Things may have continued that way had it not been for that fateful morning—less than a day before we were to depart for Vancouver.

Then, everything changed.

Since it was a Monday, the morning arrived with its usual brand of grossness. Again, I’d been up too late playing on the game. I swore the typical amount before getting enough coffee in me for my brain to function as I got ready for work.

I fixed my hair and makeup as usual, choosing to put it up in a messy bun and letting dark tendrils of hair hang around my face. I chose eyeliner to match my blue eyes, trying not to question myself too closely as to why I was paying special attention to my looks for work.

In my head, I may have wanted to avoid him, but deep down—and in other places—I was desperate for him to notice me again.

It was stupid, since he’d probably hooked up with some hot model in the meantime and I was likely nothing in comparison. I swallowed the lump that rose at that thought and finished my preparations.

I arrived at the office a few minutes late with Jordan’s extra-hot lava flow in my gloved hand. I made sure to change out of my sneakers as quickly as I could before sweeping into his office. He’d left the door ajar, a signal that he preferred people to just come in. When it was closed, it was best to knock or quietly tiptoe away. I usually chose to do the latter when I could get away with it.

He didn’t even look up from his computer screen when I set the coffee down. “You’re late,” he grunted.

“There was a line at Starbucks. I’m—” The apology hung from my lips, half spoken, when he looked up, spearing me with those lovely green-brown eyes.

“I need today’s financial reports.”

I froze. “Uh. Sure. Gimme a few.”

“You don’t have a few. You spent those ‘few’ in line at the coffee shop.”

I opened my mouth, feeling heat flush to my face, and quickly snapped it closed again. Who the hell had peed in his Cheerios today?

It was like the last few weeks had never happened. His eyes were on my face and they had a challenge in them. He seemed to be daring me to react, with an expectant curl at the end of his lip.

I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

Returning to my desk, I muttered under my breath everything I wished I could say to him. I don’t care if you have gorgeous abs, Mr. Fawkes, or an amazing set of shoulders or a handsome face or that you kiss like a fucking Greek god. Or that you make me want to call you Mr. Fox instead of Mr. Fawkes. I don’t care.

You’re still a colossal asshole.

Someone loudly—and rudely—cleared his or her throat, and I looked up to find Charles standing at my desk. I had no idea how long he’d be standing there.

All I knew was that I didn’t have time for his condescending ass. “Sorry. I’ve already been to Starbucks and now the boss is on the warpath.”

Charles smirked and ran his eyes down me again. I pretended not to notice. He’d become a little too obvious with his ogling, and his weird way of flirting was obnoxious. Hadn’t he sat through that stupid-ass sexual harassment training like the rest of us? What made him the special snowflake?