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scent before spinning around to walk out…and bumping
right into Preston.

 
    “SHIT!” he yelled out as my steaming
coffee dripped down the front of his white shirt and lavender silk tie.

 
    “Oh, my God,” I said as I sat the mug
down and grabbed a handful of napkins. I began dabbing his shirt and tie, but
it was no use. They were ruined. “I am so, so sorry.”

 
    I was afraid to make eye contact with
him, so I kept my eyes averted as I attempted to clean him up.

 
    “Stop,” he said. He placed his hand on my
wrist and gently pushed it away. “Go to my office. There’s a closet in the back
full of pressed and dry cleaned shirts and a tie rack. Pick something out and
bring it back to me. Go. Now.”

 
    I scrambled out of the employee lounge
and ran into his office as instructed. Just as he’d said, there was a closet
full of clean, pressed dress shirts and probably a hundred ties. I grabbed a
shirt and picked out an icy, blue tie, one to match his eyes, and ran it back
to him.

 
    “Shut the door,” he said as I returned
with his things. He gently tugged off his jacket and began unbuttoning his
dress shirt, his eyes never leaving mine, and I couldn’t help but blush.

 
    He loosened his tie before tugging it off
and throwing his coffee-soaked shirt on the back of a chair. Preston had a
rocking body that was for sure. I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help but
notice his smooth chest and rippled abs. I remembered him being a runner back
in the day, and apparently he never stopped running.

 
    He finished buttoning his new, fresh
shirt and wrapped his tie around his neck. Without a mirror, he seemed to be
struggling a bit.

 
    “Here, let me help,” I said as I reached
up and began tying it. “I used to help my dad all the time before he’d go to
work. He said it was always better when someone else did it.”

 
    I cringed at the mention of my father. My
mother had divorced my father, married Preston’s dad in a fit an irrational
midlife crisis, and then left Preston’s dad and reconnected with my father. It
was a weird year or two, and a time in my life my mother refused to discuss
anymore.

 
    Standing mere inches from him, the scent
of his white pepper and sandalwood cologne filled my lungs, and the faint
sensation of his warm breath brushed the top of my head. I wondered if anyone
had ever been this close to him before. He seemed almost uncomfortable.

 
    He cleared his throat before taking a
step back and double-checking the knot with his hands.

 
    “It’s straight,” I said with a laugh. “I
promise.”

 
    I reached for his dirty shirt and tie.
“I’ll get this dry cleaned.”

 
    “No need,” he said. “Give it to Ruthie.
She’ll handle it.”

 
    We headed out to the hallway, my cheeks
still slightly warm from embarrassment, and went to our respective offices. My
little excitement high from that morning was fading away thanks to making a huge
fool of myself in front of him.

 
 
 

 
 
EIGHT

 
 
 
    PRESTON

 
 
 
    “We have an eleven o’clock conference
call with the Johnston account,” I said to Mirabelle as I leaned in her doorway
an hour after the coffee incident.

 
    Her head popped up and away from her
computer screen. “Oh, I had no idea.”

 
    “That’s…why I’m telling you now,” I said
to her. Damn she looked good that morning. Curve-hugging tan pants with a peach
blouse and dainty gold necklace with an single diamond
pendant that fell right between her generous breasts. “Come into my office in
an hour. We’ll prep for it. This one’s all you.”

 
    I stepped away reveling in the fact that Mirabelle
was being baptized by fire. This was going to be her chance to really show me
that she could take the ball and run with it. I loved testing my employees, and
in a way, it made them better for it.

 
    The sound of rustling papers and computer
clicks told me she was frantically preparing, and knowing