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“Hey-ho,” Mom says, shrugging. “At least we have these delicious pancakes. Nothing soothes the soul like a nice helping of syrup and pancakes, right?”
“Amen to that,” Caitlin says, cutting into hers.
I try to smile along with them. But every time my gaze flits to the clock on the wall – a kooky lemon-yellow piece Mom picked up from Goodwill – my stomach gives a shivering twist.
My nerves just bubble up when I think about my first day at Solomon Sky Digital.
Starting an internship at such a prestigious, successful company would be scary enough.
But it’s him, too.
It’s Solomon, the billionaire CEO, my best friend’s dad, the man I’ve had a crush on for as long as I can remember.
Just last night, I couldn’t stop my hand from straying between my legs at the thought of him, plucking at chords of pleasure that only he can ignite within me.
I stuff my mouth full of pancake, but suddenly the syrup doesn’t seem so sweet.
Chapter Two
Solomon
I let out my breath slowly, in time with the pull-up.
I lengthen the movement so that every single muscle in my back strains and roars for mercy, but I don’t grant it.
I don’t even think about quitting.
I pull up and up, in slow motion, forcing myself to feel every quiver and ache in my arms, back, and shoulders. Then, once my chin is over the bar, I lower myself with even more deliberation, completing the final rep and dropping to the floor.
I let my breathing return to normal as I turn away from the corner gym in my office.
It’s a cavernous room, with a high ceiling that seems even taller for the windows that stretch from floor to ceiling of the room, making the city below seem close enough to touch. My desk is a huge statement piece in the center, and off to the right I have a conference table, and then beyond that, a sleek marble coffee table sits in the middle of white leather furniture.
I couldn’t have dreamed of so much grandeur when I was a kid.
But I don’t feel guilty about it.
I worked my ass off to get to where I am, and I give enough to charity so I can let myself enjoy the finer things in life.
I jab the air a few times, feeling the muscles in my arms loosen and relax. I’m wearing a light shirt and I can feel pricks of sweat touching the fabric, so I unbutton it quickly and spray myself with some deodorant.
Maybe I’m a caveman, but sometimes a man just needs to do some pull-ups to clear his head.
I’m nowhere near soaked enough to need a shower, not like with a proper workout.
After changing my shirt, I return to my desk and spend the next few hours working solidly. The spring sunlight starts to glare into my top floor office, so I mutter a voice command to dim the glass and filter the light.
At around one o’clock, my calendar pings an alert at me.
Meeting with the new intern: Caitlin’s friend, Sophia Clarkson.
I sigh and close the report I’m currently working on.
Even though opening the UK branch of the company went well, there are still a lot of details to be hashed out, and this disturbance to my flow is not exactly welcome.
But I’m not going to cancel the meeting.
I didn’t build my business by neglecting my responsibilities.
I consider meeting my employees a necessity.
I stand and stretch my arms above my head. I hate how tight my body can get sitting at a desk. Even in a giant, ergonomic chair like mine, my six foot seven body protests.
It’s like it’s trying to tell me I should be fighting, hunting, doing something primal instead of sitting in a chair making money.
My intercom system buzzes a few seconds later, right on time.
“Mr. Sky,” my assistant, Peter, says. “Miss Clarkson is here to see you.”
“Send her in,” I tell him.
I walk around the edge of the desk and wander over to the white leather seating, laying my foot across my knee and leaning back. I want my employees to feel at ease in here … as much as they can in a room that’s more like a banquet hall, anyway.
The sleek silver door handle turns and then the door opens.
Sophia Clarkson steps into the room.
I stare, and I keep staring, and for a second I think I’m never going to be able to stop.
She’s a short woman, maybe five foot three, with a body that looks as if it was built for pleasure and motherhood and everything in between. She wears a white shirt tucked into a black skirt, tights hugging her legs and leading down to flat black shoes. Her hair is a deep brown tied back in a ponytail, presenting the redness of her cheeks, the fullness of her features, the vivacious oak shade of her eyes.
