Page 4 of Jealous Boss

“Ten percent.”

“Seven and a half,” I counter.

She rolls her eyes and turns away. “Deal. As long as you don’t try to pawn her off on me in the evenings too, I’ll accept those terms.”

Relief plows through me. That was easier than I thought it would be. “Great. And Maggie?”

She turns at the door, eyebrows raised.

“Do me a favor and keep her the hell away from me unless strictly necessary, please?” I say, confident that the last part won’t ever happen. I haven’t needed to be around interns since my second-year executive days.

“I don’t think that’s what Philip had in mind,” she quips.

I frown into my coffee. “Yeah, maybe he should’ve listened when I said I wasn’t the right person. If you want to earn that seven-point-five percent, make sure she’s occupied at work, and get one of the firm’s car service to make sure she gets home safe after work.”

Maggie frowns, her disapproval clear. “So you’re really not going to see her at all?”

I drain my coffee and set the mug down with a thump. “Not if I can help it.”

My phone rings, and I reach for it, more than ready to start a productive day.

I’m in a much better mood by lunchtime. I’ve closed one deal, and two more are simmering along nicely.

Maggie orders lunch from my favorite sushi place, and I’m washing it down with a soothing glass of sparkling water when I spot the group marching through the department.

I hide a grimace and reach for the remote that activates my privacy windows.

I’m confident Maggie will carry out my instructions, but I don’t want Philip’s niece to report to him that I actively ignored her. Better they all think I’m unavailable.

I wait until they herd into another partner’s office for the customary introduction to the upper echelons, then aim the remote at the door.

My finger freezes above the button.

Then the remote drops from my nerveless fingers.

My arm thuds back onto my desk. Alarming weakness invades my whole being, and I wonder if I’m being struck down by some illness.

I’m hallucinating. Imustbe.

No human being is that perfect.

Unless they’re thoroughly airbrushed in a glossy magazine. Or they’re a by-product of some Hollywood CGI-had-a-baby-with-an-AI crap.

The girl hurrying down the hall isn’t part of the intern group. But she’s out of place.

Hell, she’s out of this world.

She looks momentarily lost until she sees me gaping at her like a stunned freak and halts mid-step. We stare at each other with thirty feet and two panes of glass between us. I’m not sure which one of us moves first, but she unfreezes as I start to rise.

In a heartbeat, she appears in my doorway and snatches the breath from my lungs. The weakness engulfs me again, and I drop back into my chair.

Jesus Christ.

She’s the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen.

She has curves on top of curves, and her face would make the Madonna weep. Her skin is the smoothest cream, and her chocolate brown hair is made for a man to fist while plundering those ruby red lips, digging out her secrets as she sent them both to heaven.

Her face is completely devoid of makeup, and her long lashes flutter like the wings of a butterfly as she watches me with gorgeous deep blue eyes.

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