8:52.
My stomach drops straight through the floor.
Oh no.
Mr. Popov’s coffee order is listed right there in bold, underlined letters on the checklist. ON DESK BEFORE 9:00 A.M.
I jump out of my chair in a panic and run to the kitchen Howard pointed out to me earlier. I grab a clean mug andquickly work the coffee machine while mumbling a jumbled prayer of mercy under my breath.
What are the chances of the CEO getting delayed by aliens from Pluto? Probably zero.
I grab the coffee mug and hurry down the hallway back to the office. My hand is trembling badly but I hold on to the mug like it’s my lifeline.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself. “You’ve got this. Just walk. Don’t rush. Rushing is how things go wrong.”
Easier said than done.
My heel clips the corner of the carpet just as I turn, and before I can catch myself, I collide with something—scratch that—someone hard.
A dangerously, mouth-wateringly, blue-eyed devilishly handsome man. . .
Everything happens in the blink of an eye. . .
The coffee flies out of my hand. The man lets out a sharp, startled yell that I admit is undeniably deep and masculine—even in the chaos. I watch in horror as hot liquid splashes across his crisply-ironed white dress shirt.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, horror flooding me.
The man reacts instantly, his hands flying to his shirt as he rips it open, pulling the fabric away from his skin with controlled urgency while I gape at him with open-mouthed awe.
He is frigging handsome—devastatingly so, in fact.
He’s the kind of man you’d see on the front cover of exotic magazines about business magnates—tall frame, broadshoulders, dark brown, neatly cut hair and a strong, wicked jaw. The kind of man that easily steals your breath away.
His chest is flushed from the heat, muscles flexing as he assesses the damage. He suddenly looks up, his eyes clashing with mine.
“A picture would last longer, you know,” he says, his mouth tilting ever-so-slightly around the corners. There’s something about his eyes, the way they stay on mine, stern and assessing.
“I—I’m so sorry,” I stammer, mortification flooding my veins. “You could be burned. You need cold water. Come on—” I start, turning toward the restroom.
“I’m fine,” he says calmly, but that somehow makes everything worse.
Without thinking, I grab his arm and tug him toward the restroom. I usher him inside and guide him to the sink, my hands trembling as I grab a cloth, then abandon it for paper towels, then go back to the cloth again.
“I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to do that,” I say, my words tumbling over each other as I dab furiously at his chest. “This is my first day and I just—I get nervous and then I rush and then things happen, and I promise I’m not normally a walking hazard. Well, actually, that’s not really true—”
My fingers suddenly make contact with his skin and it dawns on me—I have my hands all over a half-naked stranger on my first day of work.In the WOMEN’S bathroom.
How on earth did I get here?
I snatch my hand back, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” I blurt, letting my hand drop to my side in defeat.
“What for?”
I blink at him in surprise, dazed and mentally grappling for something meaningful to say. “F-for spilling coffee on you. For dragging you in here. It’s probably your first day of work too and I ruined it for you.
He laughs and my breath ceases. It’s not exactly the deep rumbling sound of his laughter—it’s the magnetism of it.
“You think I’m new?” he asks, his voice pulling out of the daze.