Chapter 1

1

ELLIE

I really, really hate rock climbing. So, as I lie in bed, sliding my hand down the front of my panties with a picture of a rock climber on my phone screen is admittedly a little odd. Maybe even hypocritical.

Then add in the fact that this certain rock climber, Drake Evans, is my boss, and well, let's just say there's a whole lot to unpack here.

But what else am I supposed to do? It's only 9 PM, a relatively early bedtime for a 28-year-old, and I just can't seem to fall asleep. I've got to catch a flight tomorrow afternoon, and I need all the energy I can get to deal with Drake all weekend … and to deal with how much he turns me on and pisses me off in equal shares.

Right now, though, he's not here to annoy the hell out of me, and the image of him coming off the cliffside this afternoon—shirtless and sweating, strolling towards me like I was his salvation—is fresh in my mind. Drake Evans is so gorgeous, so absurdly sexy, that it short-circuits my brain, making me forget myself.

I've seen his shirtless torso before. Of course, I have. I've worked for the man for over a year. And he's not the only rock climber I've seen without a shirt on. I've spent the last two years of my life as the personal assistant to the world's most famous (former) rock climber, and that means spending time around a lot of shirtless guys. None of them compare to Drake, though. Born in New Zealand, Drake moved to Denver, Colorado in his early 20s, already a rising star in the climbing world. He brought with him a sexy accent and an attitude as large as the mountains he climbs.

It's just … usually, I can handle it. But Drake is under my skin tonight, and I can’t seem to shake him.

And I've been in the office too much. That's why this is happening. My brain is starved of endorphins, and that's the only reason why my boss' face is so firmly fixed in my mind. Not just his face, either. The way his fingers felt sliding over mine as he took the chilled smoothie from my hand, the pat on the cheek he gave me in thanks that should have been condescending, but coming from Drake gave me full body shivers.

It makes me forget that he had me drive all over town to find his favorite smoothie. It makes me forget the infuriating way he calls me "my girl". It makes me want him with a ferocity that I, still a virgin at 28, have never felt before.

But he's my boss, a world-famous athlete, and utterly demanding in all the worst ways. He is certainly NOT interested in me, his personal assistant.

This is just to take the edge off. If I can come looking at his picture, imagining his fingers instead of my own, maybe I won't be on the verge of hyperventilating every time I'm near him for the next few days.

I pull his social media page up again and scroll down to the bottom, where the oldest photos are. The casual ones are taken by friends, and his smile is genuine. I start with his body, taking in the strong lines of his legs, his powerful thighs. I scroll up, my gaze catching on his biceps, flexing as he holds himself on the cliff face.

Finally, my eyes find his face. He's mid-laugh, head thrown back, emerald eyes sparkling. His teeth are white, his smile wide. God, his smile. My breath catches in my throat, and I swallow hard.

Dropping the phone on the bed beside me, I let my eyes flutter closed, falling into the fantasy of "what if" from earlier today. In my fantasy, he doesn't take his long-anticipated drink and brush past me. Instead, he throws it aside, pins me against my car, and whispers in my ear, "I'm thirsty for something else."

One hand between my legs and the other sliding up to tweak my own nipple, I let the imaginary scene play out. In my head, Drake's fingers are under my skirt, rubbing the perfect spot, making my knees weak. He presses me harder against the car and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it through the thin cotton of my shirt.

His hand slides into my underwear, and he lets out a low growl when he feels how wet I am.

"God, Ellie, I want you so bad. You're all I can think about," imaginary Drake murmurs. "Tell me you want this. I can't go another day without having you."

My fingers move faster, and my breath hitches as my imagination gives me a glimpse of what Drake would look like above me, his cock thrusting in and out, the muscles of his shoulders bunching and releasing as he pushes himself closer and closer to his orgasm.

I'm hot all over, slowly climbing the hill towards orgasm, my thoughts nothing but Drake, Drake, Drake. Pulling my hand out of my shirt, I grab my phone again, desperate for another look at him before I come. I'm almost there, teetering on the edge?—

And then a call comes in, blocking out the screen, the phone shrieking in my hand.

Drake. As if somehow, he knows exactly what I'm doing.

I gasp, my fingers slowing, my arousal draining out of me like a bucket with a hole punched in the bottom. Fuck. I let the phone ring, and then silence falls again. It's quiet. And then it's not.

The phone rings again, and predictably, it's Drake. Feeling like I'm on the edge of tears, bizarrely nervous that he somehow knows I'm masturbating to his pictures, I answer. "Hello?"

"Ellie, my girl, how are you doing this fine evening?"

I close my eyes, suppressing a groan of frustration. "I'm trying to sleep, Mr. Evans."

"It's 9:15." He laughs, a deep, warm sound. "I'd like to think you can manage to stay awake for a few more minutes."

"Why are you calling me?" I ask. I've been working for Drake for the past year, and although he has no concept of leaving me alone after work hours, he rarely calls me at night.

"I need a favor. I know we're supposed to fly out at 3 PM tomorrow, but could you possibly get us an earlier flight? My old mate Chris is going to be at the conference, too, but he and a few other guys are going to climb Breaking the Wheel in Ogden before check-in. It should take three hours, tops, but we definitely need to fly out earlier."

I want to scream. This is classic Drake—almost impossible requests made at the last minute, with the full expectation that I can pull it off. Luckily for him, I'm excellent at what I do, and nine times out of ten, I do manage to make magic happen. This is just a flight change; it should be no different. Even if it is a pain in my ass.

"You want me to switch flights for tomorrow. Mr. Evans, you do realize you're sort of asking a lot?" I ask him, already knowing what his answer is going to be.

"Of course. But you can handle it, can't you? I know you can," he says smoothly. And then, as if the idea just occurred to him, he adds, "You could come out too, you know. The offer still stands."

Without even having to ask, I know the offer he's referencing—the standing offer to teach me to climb. I'm the opposite of an athlete, but I can't deny I've considered taking him up on the favor. I can picture it now, hanging from the cliffside with Drake's strong body behind me, his hands helping me position the gear. His arms encircling me as he guides me up the sheer surface. It's an intoxicating idea, but I'm not about to tell him that.

"Thanks, but no thanks. You're the climber, not me."

"I could teach you," he murmurs. "There's nothing quite like the view from on top."

Ignoring the double meaning of his words, I sigh. "Again, no. But I'll make the flight thing happen. Keep an eye out for your new ticket. And don't be late!"

I hear him laugh and roll my eyes. "That's my girl," he all but purrs, and I'm covered in goosebumps all over again. "Don't worry, I'll be there right when you need me to, Ellie. See you tomorrow."

"See you then." I hang up the phone and sit in front of my computer, trying to shake the thought of Drake Evans off before I start. I'm a professional, damn it. He's my boss, not my boyfriend. My brain, however, isn't hearing it, and the thoughts come unbidden even as I pull up the booking page.

"Damn you, Drake Evans."

Unsurprisingly, at 8:20 AM, I find myself repeating the same words from the previous night. This time, under my breath as I try to cram my carry-on in the overhead bin.

"Damn you, Drake Evans..."

"What was that?" the man himself, seated already, asks.

"Nothing."

"Here, let me help you."

I try to finish the job myself before he can assist, but Drake is on his feet in seconds and using his excess height to easily put my luggage away. Drake takes the window seat, his long legs barely fitting in the small space. I take the center seat and pray that the aisle seat remains empty.

"I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, Ellie, but economy class? Really?" Drake has been annoyed all morning, and I get the feeling that he's sorely regretting his choice to fly out in the morning, not just because of the early hour but because he now has to face the consequences of his actions. Even if he's trying to push the blame on me.

I bristle at his tone. "We were comfortably in first class on the 3 o'clock flight, but it was you who wanted to switch. It's honestly a miracle that I was able to get us seats last minute at all, so yes, Mr.Evans. We're flying economy."

He looks at me with a sly grin. "Mr. Evans still? I thought we agreed that you'd call me Drake. We're friends, Ellie."

I bite back a sigh. "You're my boss, Mr. Evans."

He grins, and I know he's just messing with me. "I'd say I'm a lot more than that."

"I think you're mistaking me for the groupies you're used to. You can't just say things like that and expect me to melt for you. I'm a professional."

His hand rests on the armrest, just a breath away from mine. "I'm not talking to a professional. I'm talking to Ellie, my friend who is woefully bad at booking plane seats."

I roll my eyes. "If you're that offended, why don't you just take a private jet next time?"

Instead of scoffing, Drake looks thoughtful and pulls out his phone to make a note. "Now that's the best idea you've had all day. Certainly better than these abysmal seats."

"You're unbelievable." I'm about to turn away when Drake's hand brushes my hair, moving it from my face. I'm startled by the simple gesture and can feel heat creeping up my neck. I glance up and realize Drake has moved closer to me. "W-what are you doing?"

"Just a stray hair," Drake murmurs, his fingers still brushing the side of my neck. My cheeks flame, and I shift in my seat, leaning away.

"I can manage."

"Sure." Drake moves his hand back and settles into his seat, his leg brushing against mine.

"Can you..." I start, my voice trailing off. Drake turns his head, looking at me expectantly.

"Yes?"

"Never mind."

The cabin starts to fill up, and I'm getting a little queasy. It's so cramped and warm, and I don't enjoy flying even at the best of times. At least it's only an hour and a half to Salt Lake City, where the World Outdoor Climbing Conference is being held. My boss is apparently done talking, leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed. He doesn't even open them when someone loudly plops into the aisle seat next to me, bumping me with their elbow. Ugh. I should have just told him there were no flights this early.

Instead of giving in to my nerves, I sneak another look at my employer and feel my heart flip flop in my chest. God, he's so sexy. The former rockstar climber is currently wearing an expression of mild annoyance, which is pretty much his default expression when he's not smiling that devastating smile of his.

I've seen him use it to disarm many women, and it works every time. No one can resist Drake Evans, and he knows it. He's used that smile on me a few times. It always leaves me feeling breathless and a little dumb. The difference is that I've trained myself not to react when he aims it my way, and I know not to let it get to me. Not that he uses it on me all that often. Drake controls me via my admittedly amazing paycheck, not through his good looks.

I'm a bit of an anomaly, I suppose. I'm the only female assistant Drake has ever had and the only assistant to last more than two weeks. For all his charm, Drake isn't easy to work for. He's supremely confident, impulsive, stubborn, and has a tendency to disregard the needs of anyone but himself. When he was a world-class climber, those traits were necessary not just to succeed but to survive. But when Drake retired from climbing the biggest peaks after summiting Everest and started his own climbing gear company, he needed a right-hand man or woman to keep his wild ambition in check and ensure his company's success.

I wasn't Drake's first or even his third choice, but I’m the right person for the job. I'm organized, detail-oriented, and able to multitask. More importantly, I can keep up with him, whether he's climbing a wall or planning a press junket.

No one expected his company, Dragon Ascent, to take off the way that it did. But Drake was already a bit of a celebrity for having the face and body of a god and the talent to back it up. It gave the fledgling company the boost it needed to become the leading climbing gear company on the market. He has the experience to know what he wants out of the gear he sells, and he has the trust of other climbers.

Now, three years later, the company is worth millions.

That's why we're here. We're going to Salt Lake City for the World Outdoors Climbing Conference, an international conference where outdoor athletes and equipment companies come together. He'll give a talk, demonstrate his newest gear, and sign autographs. Meanwhile, I'll be running around, ensuring everything runs smoothly, keeping the schedule, and, most importantly, him on track.

He's intense, stubborn, and used to getting what he wants. He can be downright impossible.

He's also the hottest man on the planet, which adds an extra layer to the difficulty of working with him. Despite all of that, and the wild attraction I feel towards him, I've lasted a year as his assistant. Apparently, Drake likes me well enough, too, considering how many times he's told me I'm not allowed ever to quit.

I can't imagine life without him anymore, honestly. But I'll never tell him that.

There have been sparks between us, at least on my end, since the very beginning, but they were furious sparks at first. I found out about the job opening through a friend of mine and quickly applied for the position of Drake's assistant. I'd been bouncing around from job to job after graduating from business school, and being the right-hand girl of the CEO of a new and wildly successful company seemed like a dream come true.

I got to the interview fifteen minutes early. Drake Evans, on the other hand, was sixty minutes late. I counted.

To add insult to injury, he was also carrying a bag of takeout sushi, which he seemed more than happy to eat in front of me as he conducted the sham of an interview—all the while staring at my bare legs encased in my favorite pinstripe pencil skirt.

When he finally did ask a question, it was inane, and I was so flustered by his behavior that I ended up telling him what an asshole he was. I was kicking myself for giving up the chance at a seemingly perfect job until the next day when an email appeared in my inbox, asking me to show up for work Monday morning.

In the year that followed, I got to know him better. I quickly discovered that Drake wasn't a total asshole but undeniably hard to please. He didn't want a yes man; he wanted someone who could hold her own and think on her feet. And I do, usually. We're a good fit for each other. I keep the chaotic, easily distracted, stubborn climber on track, and he keeps me on my toes. Sometimes, when he is being truly impossible, I don't mind the occasional "Yes, sir."

If I were a little braver, a little more self-assured, I'd even be open to a "Yes, sir. Harder."

The thought makes my face heat, and I raise my hands to cover my cheeks, accidentally knocking my elbow into the arm of the man in the aisle seat, who glares. Right. I need to remain as still as possible to get through the flight.

We planned our trip to the annual conference weeks ago. It’s one of the biggest events of the year in the industry. Dragon Ascent has a prominent booth, and the Dragon Ascent team has a schedule packed with appearances and workshops.

Drake Evans himself has a full schedule, too. I'm still not sure how much of it he's going to drag me along to, but I'm getting a hefty bonus just for coming and my own swanky hotel room. Plus, it's a chance to network and expand my skills.

I just need to make it through a one-and-a-half-hour flight and a week of Drake Evans.