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“I’m not a prostitute,” I blurt out, wincing at my own stupidity. Ducking my head, I stuff as much of the doughnut into my mouth as I can.

Ryann goes still, his broad shoulders tightening. We stand there in silence as I chew slowly, the weight of his stare pressing down on me. He waits until I swallow before speaking.

“Shilo. Look at me.”

Um, no.

As I move to eat the rest of the doughnut, his hand shoots out, pinching my chin and roughly tilting my face up to his.

“Where did that come from?” He asks, his eyes searching mine so intensely that I feel like ants are crawling on my skin.

“Y-you gave me five hundred dollars,” I stammer, heat rising under his touch. “And then we... and you... not that there’s anything wrong with sex work, but I’m not... I want to pay it back.”

I don’t know how, but I will. I’ll work for free if I have to—because no way am I selling the new disk drive I just bought.

Ryann stares at me for a long moment, jaw clenched. His dark hair catches the morning light from the window, looking soft, almost like raven feathers. I kind of want to touch it.

He seems to choose his next words carefully. “That money was just a tip for driving me home, Shilo. I don’t pay for sex.”

A small noise escapes my throat at his words, the reminder of what we did. His gaze darkens as it drops to my mouth.

“You’ve got frosting here,” he says thickly, swiping his thumb across my bottom lip. “Open.”

My jaw drops, and an electric jolt shoots straight to my groin when he presses the pad of his thumb against my tongue, the sticky-sweet flavor exploding on my taste buds. Instinctively, I close my lips around him and suck, drawing a deep, rumbling groan from his chest that shouldn’t sound that sexy.

But as quickly as it happens, it’s over. His thumb slides out of my mouth, and he steps back, leaving me feeling oddly empty. And embarrassingly hard.

Jesus, why does this always happen around him?!

He grabs my notebook and binder, gesturing toward the door. “I’ll show you to your work area.”

All calm and collected, cool as a frickin’ cucumber, while I subtly try to adjust myself the moment he turns his back.

What the hell just happened?

He holds the door open, waiting somewhat impatiently, cocking a brow when I just stand there, gaping.

Okay, then.

I try to keep some distance between us as I follow him down a hallway lined with glass windows showcasing the Seattle skyline. We pass multiple offices—some empty, some not—before he leads me to a small alcove with a counter-height desk in front of a bay window.

So many windows. So much glass.

“This is where you’ll sit most of the day,” he says, rounding the desk to show me how to log on. “After our morning meetings, you’ll enter the notes into this diary. The same process goes for any other meetings Declan and I have during your hours.”

I mutter a vague acknowledgment as he spends the next twenty minutes showing me how to work the systems. I’ll be managing their schedules, answering phones and emails, gathering office supplies—basically a glorified secretary and gofer.

Yippy.

“My office is here,” he points to the left, “and Declan’s is to the right. If you need anything urgently, use the work chat. Any questions?”

Clipped, precise, to the point. No-nonsense. Not even a hint of a smile.

I shake my head, climbing onto the chair, my legs dangling awkwardly. Ryann sweeps his gaze over me briefly before turning toward his office.

“Oh, and Shilo?” He glances back with a glare. “Tomorrow morning, I expect my coffee order to be correct.”

With that, he shuts the door behind him, and I don’t see him for the rest of my shift.