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Chapter One
Thanks for manning the desk, Paige,” Jean Posy said, and took her glasses off, letting them hang to her neck. “Want me to bring you back anything?”
Jean was the personal assistant to the governor of New York and the closest thing to a mother figure I had. My mother was back in Indiana and only spoke to me when she felt like preaching or digging up old dirt to throw in my direction. She was also manning the trailer I grew up in and still married to the prick who nearly ruined my life ten years ago.
“No thanks, I’ve got a protein shake.” Plus I had a lot of work to get done over the lunch break and since everyone would be out, it’d be a quiet place to do so. Glancing out the window, I tried to not let the nice spring day sway my decision.
“Okay, then. I’ll see you in a bit.” Jean’s gaze lingered and I saw unease and pity on her face. Yeah. She knew. Everyone around here knew. And by tomorrow, the press would make sure the entire country knew.
My boss, Bill Vorse, Chief Communications Officer to the governor, was involved in a sex scandal.
He was also kind of a douche. I had been on the receiving end of his unwanted advances a time or two over the past year I’d been his assistant. Looked like he finally went too far, and rumor around the office was that it wasn’t with just one girl. And there were pictures. The story would break tomorrow.
When it did, would I still have a job?
I rubbed my temple, trying to ward off the coming migraine, and sat behind Jean’s desk. If Bill got fired—which he likely would—most of his staff would be let go as well to make room for the governor’s new Chief Communications Officer. Though Governor Reese was madly in love and living with my best friend, I’d never ask for any favors. But damn it, I wanted my job.
It took me several years, three internships, one degree, and a crap ton of student loans to land this job. The last two years of hard work I put in at the governor’s office to build a respectable career and better life for myself would not be flushed because of Bill’s wandering-dick syndrome.
Letting out a long sigh, I looked at my protein shake sweating on Jean’s desk, then at the bowl of candy.
Protein shake?
Candy?
Eff the shake.
I reached for the dish to take a handful of Hershey’s Kisses, and as if the bowl shot me the middle finger, I knocked it over and onto the floor.
“Damn it.”
Walking around to the front of the desk and dropping to my hands and knees, I started collecting the chocolates and putting them back in the bowl. Thank God no one was around or else I’d have to be a bit more demure. With my ass in the air, I reached to get the last chocolate wedged between the wall and desk.
“Is there a good place I can stick this?” a deep, husky voice said from behind me.
Directly behind me.
I shot up, my head barely missing the edge of the desk, and ambled to my feet.
“Excuse me?” I said, shuffling a bit unsteadily in my heels. I tugged the hem of my skirt down, swiped the few strands of hair that came loose from my bun out of my face, and prepared to address the man—
Only my words dried up, which was the exact opposite of what was happening to my mouth . . . and panties.
Tall, dark, and handsome was an understatement. He wore a pair of worn jeans and a white T-shirt that hugged bulging biceps and obviously chiseled abs. The cotton looked to be just slightly sweaty, but he smelled like cologne and spice and man. He held a small brown box for delivery and I had never been more caught off guard by a package in all my life.
His jet-black hair was thick, though a ball cap covered it. Across it read “Savas Shipping.” A tribal-looking tattoo peeked out from the left side of his T-shirt sleeve, and when those intense blue eyes locked on my face, a flash of heat radiated through my whole body. But when his gaze traveled lower and landed on my breasts, I completely melted. And forgot how to breathe.
“You alright, Red?”
My eyes snapped to his, and I realized I had just been staring down his package. He unleashed a confident grin.
“You’re breathing a little hard there.”
“I, ah . . .” I shook my head, trying to gain my composure. This man walked in, caught me off guard, and was now flashing that stupid smile, and I was in no mood. “Is there something I can help you with?” I said sternly.
As if unaffected by my “serious” voice, he openly scanned my entire body, and licked his lower lip. Making me suddenly have the urge to do the same.
“Yeah.”
He just stared, blue eyes blazing. Not saying anything else.
“Ah, okay.” I tried again. “What is it?”
“This.” He held up the small box. “I’m going to give it to Roman Reese.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. No one came in here and informed a member of the governor’s staff what they were going to do. Roman was just reelected and with a scandal involving his staff on the horizon, he wasn’t taking interviews, much less random visitors.
“We don’t let the delivery boys actually drop items off to public officials. You can leave it with me.”
He balanced the box between his hip and forearm, raised a single brow, and shot the sexiest expression I’d ever seen. “Delivery boy, huh?”
I tried sizing him up right back. Showing him that he didn’t affect me and that I meant business. But that was a mistake. Mostly because it made me drool a little, a problem I had just gotten under control.
I knew his type. Man did I know his type. Way too good-looking for his own good—and he obviously knew it. He was cocky, tattooed, and ten to one odds were he owned a motorcycle. Likely his biggest goal
was making it to a Saturday keg party. He was the exact kind of guy I would never go for again. The kind of guy I’d been screwed over by. The kind I left back in Indiana right along with my past.
I knew a long time ago if I wanted to live outside the trailer I grew up in, I had to start dressing, acting, and living for the life I wanted, not the life I had.
And that life entailed upstanding gentlemen in suits who had ambition.
“Well, I don’t think the governor would mind if I just pop in.”
I stepped in front of him. “He’s not in. And I mind.”
“What’s your name?” he asked with a little tilt of his chin that signified he thought my protest was cute at best. If there was something I understood, it was silent mockery.
“You can call me Miss Levine.”
