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Chapter One
Jessie
I rake my gaze over Jaxon Walker’s blocky handwriting, trying not to imagine him hunched over his desk, his massive form barely contained by his silver suit as he hastily scrawled the words out. Working at this company has been one long exercise in trying not to imagine him in various positions, always with that signature smirk on his face, eyes gleaming, aimed at me in my delusions when they would never look at me twice in reality.
One of his quirks is that he likes to write his ideas in longhand, meaning that I – the assistant to his assistant – am left with the task of trying to transfer it to a printable format for meetings.
I sit back and lift the page, repressing an annoyingly persistent tremor when I think about him holding this same page.
The crazy urge to lean forward and inhale the scent of the paper strikes me, as though by doing so I’d be able to inhale his scent.
I bet he’s musky, manly, all cologne and sweat and primal feral passion.
Warning myself to shut up, I narrow my eyes and finally manage to make sense of the words.
I spend the next hour or so typing and reading, and not thinking about Jaxon Walker.
Oh yes, locked away in my little cubby office set way off to the side on the top floor – a closet-sized room adjacent to my boss’s – I don’t let myself think about Jaxon’s six-foot-five frame, his silver streaked hair, wolfish blue eyes, and powerful hands.
Even if starting his online storefront business required a lot of tech know-how, even if he’s got the programming skills of a real whiz kid, he’s not some dorky type.
He’s built like a man made for the cover of a magazine, with his strong jaw and piercing eye… like he’s seeing through me. At least that’s what he looks like in his picture.
Of course, I don’t think about what it would be like to fall into his arms and feel his rock solid chest against my cheek, his powerful heartbeat slamming against my ear, telling me he’s never going to abandon me. He’s always going to keep me safe.
Okay, so maybe I think about him a little.
Even if all of this is downright freaking impossible.
I’m nineteen years old, curvy as can be, and not even his assistant. I’m the assistant to his assistant, which means Jaxon probably hasn’t even noticed me, yet.
I cringe inwardly at the yet. As if he’s ever going to notice me.
He’s forty-three years old and a multimillionaire. I’ve only ever seen him on the cover of magazines and, once or twice, striding through the office with his head held high and his shoulders pulled back, moving with the sort of purpose that made me invisible to him. As if I wouldn’t always be invisible to him.
I’ve worked here for three weeks and each day I caution myself to beat back this desire, or at the very least to lock it in a cage and lose the key. But my mind refuses to obey, instead falling into illusions where, inexplicably, Jaxon Walker sees me, wants me, and makes me his.
And let’s conveniently forget the fact I wouldn’t be able to respond if he did come onto me. Let’s forget that I’d probably get tongue-tied and make a complete fool of myself.
Good one, subconscious.
I look up when the door opens, across my small office – past the photo of Aunt Claire on my desk – to Carmen Poe.
My boss is a sophisticated woman, tall and sleek, her black skirt hugging onto her thin waist. Her hair is a jet black bundle atop her head, and her face is artfully covered in layers of makeup, highlighting her princess like cheekbones.
I try to repress the stab of jealousy I feel every time I see her.
Jaxon doesn’t have a girlfriend, but whenever there’s a public function – like the launch of the new storefront initiative in a couple of days – Carmen is always on his arm, looking glamorous and beautiful.
Everybody says they have a relationship behind closed doors, and sometimes my traitorous mind will torture me with all the steamy horrible details.
Jaxon would never want me.
Heck, I need to focus. My boss is striding toward me.
“Have you finished the notes?” she says, in that way of hers. “I haven’t received the email.”
I glance down at the notebook, relieved to see I’m on the last page. It turns out my daydreaming hasn’t completely sabotaged me after all.
“I’ll be done in about five minutes. Is that okay?”
I wince at the docile note in my voice, as though I’m afraid she’s going to throw herself across the table and wrap her hands around my throat. But in my defense, Carmen Poe can often look like she’s going to do exactly that.
