Chapter 1

One

M aple

Bros are so charming when they help each other stumble up the corporate ladder, aren’t they?

“I…ah…I don’t know what to say; this is such an honor for me…thank you…I’m sorry I’m not good at speaking off the cuff….”

Brayden, the new hire, runs a hand over the back of his neck self-consciously, laying on the “who, me?” act quite thick.

Oh, please. Under the conference table, I squeeze my stress ball, not at all pretending it’s Brayden’s neck. The kid knew all along he was going to win the account.

And who is the broseph responsible for Brayden’s outpouring of gratitude? That would be Hollis Hardy, the CEO of OnPoint and absurdly attractive specter who’s spent the last week floating around our Birchdale branch.

Oh, Hollis is good. That square jaw and flat mouth had me fooled into thinking he was so calm and impartial, stoically listening to our group’s ten different campaign pitches. Until l saw his antics at last night’s office party, I believed I had a chance.

I’ve always been rigid and focused, a goody-two-shoes who plays by the rules. And for what?

I should thank our office manager, Brenda, for planning last night’s office party at her house instead of at a stuffy dinner somewhere. Otherwise, I never would have seen the keg stand incident. And if I hadn’t seen that, I would have gone into my presentation this morning hoping to win.

What had I been so nervous about all week? With my presentation being the last one today, I should have guessed I was an afterthought. I’m such an idiot.

And now, guess who’s got the account. Not me, despite working on this pitch for months. All because a pea-brain fresh out of college is here for five minutes and gets drunk with the big boss.

Fuck my life.

“This is especially overwhelming for a socially awkward guy like me,” Brayden goes on, adjusting his tie, with his fake ass aw-shucks grin that every person around this conference room table is buying except for me.

No dude. Just no.

You’re not socially awkward. I saw you yukking it up with Hollis last night like old frat brothers, only fifteen years apart in age. Pathetic, both of them.

But I don’t say any of that out loud at the morning conference. I do say something that will get me eye rolls but won’t land me in a meeting with Human Resources.

“I’m sorry, Brayden. Misusing the phrase ‘socially awkward’ is a disservice to people who actually do struggle with diagnosed social anxiety. It’s ableist.”

Brayden comes back with, “Uh, what?”

Meanwhile, the predicted eye rolls commence, along with some sighs and tongues clicking. A muttered, “oh, brother.” A few of the older folks’ eyes glaze over. The intern, Hayley, decides to stare out the window behind me, astral-projecting herself into the hustle and bustle of the downtown harvest festival.

Don’t we all wish we were down there on Main Street right now instead of here, oh sweet intern, watching our hopes and dreams go up in a haze of testosterone?

The only person in the room who doesn’t react to my little outburst is Hollis Hardy.

In fact, the CEO, with his mathematically tousled hair and geometrically perfect bone structure, smirks at me.

Why? Why is Hollis looking at me like that?

Hollis leans back in his ergonomic, big-boss-man chair and presses the tips of his fingers together, eyeballing me like I’m a specimen to be studied.

“Your name again?”

Really? Did you just sit through my 20-minute advertising pitch and not remember my name? Figures. Maybe he’d remember my name if he knew I could chug a Natty Light in one go and then belch the alphabet.

I swallow. “M-Maple Morrissey.” Damn, I sound flustered, yet I’m not nervous. The only thing I feel right now is the powerful urge to give every man in the room an atomic wedgie and stuff them into a locker.

Which is something I really should not be feeling in a boardroom. “Your face ain’t exactly good at poker,” as my dad would say.

Hollis Hardy’s heavy-lidded brown eyes blink slowly, and he says, “Mabel?”

“Maple. Like the tree. Common mistake.”

Why yes, I’ve spent a third of my time on this earth correcting people on my name. Happens seven times a day. Usually, it doesn’t make my cheeks feel hot, though. Ugh.

Hollis continues to stare at me, for a really long time. As if those cheekbones aren’t sharp enough to cut glass, his eyes are deadly weapons. They are so dark brown they’re almost black. Like a shark.

This is uncomfortable.

I clear my throat.

Hollis clicks his pen.

“Interesting point, Maple.”

Is it? Is it interesting, or is that a filler word you use when nobody knows what to say?

I don’t say that out loud, either.

Nobody utters anything for a long moment, then Hollis breaks the tension by standing up and shaking Brayden’s hand. “Congrats, buddy. See you bright and early on the plane tomorrow.”

“Awesome,” replies the glowing Brayden, who looks like he’s just been proposed to by the love of his life. I’m going to be sick.

Hollis then addresses the group, “I say we all take the rest of the day off to enjoy the harvest festival. It’s been a long week. See Brenda on your way out for drink and meal tickets.”

Everyone is falling all over themselves to thank Hollis as we are dismissed. I try to paste an emotionless expression on my face as I break down my easel and disconnect all my hardware and accessories. My clenches as I wordlessly gather up the fidget toys, stress balls, and other miscellaneous branded items I had scattered around the table that nobody took with them. Fine, then. I can sell it all on eBay. Is it stealing, considering the extra swag was a business expense? Maybe, but then again, I no longer care.

And that not caring so hard anymore? Feels pretty damn good. I know…look at the badass stealing office supplies. Gaze upon the bad bitch and bow down, everyone.

“See you at the festival, Maple?”

I whirl around at the sound of my name. Hollis Hardy is there, standing too close to me as everyone else is filing out. Not close enough to be inappropriate, but too close for my comfort in my current emotional state. He’s got his lean arms crossed over his middle, and before I can stop myself, my gaze falls to the hand that circles his bicep. Hollis’s fingers are long and veiny, with strong knuckles that remind me of a piano player’s. I should know how to spot them, thanks to all of my mom’s students who’ve regularly haunted our front parlor with its baby grand piano over the decades.

“Maple?”

He repeats my name in a mildly amused voice that hits me in the center of my chest. I ignore the blush creeping up my neck due to getting caught staring at his hands. Why do I care if he’s got nice hands when his brain needs fixing? I snap my gaze to meet his, and another sensation annoys me. Up close, Hollis’s vibe is less like an emotionless shark and closer to that of a big cat that’s found a juicy little morsel he’s about to enjoy batting around the room.

“Hi. I mean. Maybe. Maybe. I’ve got a lot of stuff to put away and organize.” Why am I babbling? Stop it, Maple. “And I’ve got work to catch up on, clients I’ve neglected all week because I’ve been preparing so hard for the presentation. I mean, not neglected. I never neglect my accounts….”

Hollis lifts his chin and chuckles. “Relax. I’m not the hall monitor.”

Ooh, speaking of that. Should I ask a favor? Maybe Hollis will feel generous, considering he just tore my guts out and handed a big account to fucking Brayden. Now that I’m a badass who no longer plays by the rules, I feel a certain freedom in asking.

“I appreciate that,” I say, smiling despite the sting of just getting shat on in front of my colleagues. “And I wonder if you could help me with something. Clint denied my request for half the day off tomorrow, and….”

A huge grin overtakes Hollis’s face, and wow…if I didn’t hate his guts so much, I might swoon. But I’m not swooning. Because he’s a jerk, who had no feedback about my work one way or another. Just dismissed it. And maybe I played a part in my own failure. Next time, I won’t accept going last in line. When everyone is sick and tired of spending all week in meetings, no one wants to listen to what I have to say. Next time, I accept nothing less than going first.

“…And you want me to override his decision.”

“Yes,” I say, biting my bottom lip hopefully, before remembering to look invulnerable.

He studies me for a moment, like he’s deciding whether to ask why I need time off.

“You don’t have to answer this, but….”

I cut him off with a quick reply. “I have a doctor’s appointment on my lunch break, and I’d like to take the rest of the day off after that.”

His face softens from cocky amusement to genuine concern. “Oh. Sure. No problem.”

I exhale and smile. Maybe Hollis is

a kinder person than I’d thought. “Thanks for speaking to him about it.”

A smirk pulls at his top lip, and I’m staring at his mouth now. How strange that the flat line I’ve seen all week has changed. The man has facial expressions and—dare I say it?—a personality. “Oh,” he throws out, “I don’t need to talk to Clint. The half-day is yours. I’ll have my driver pick you up for the appointment and take you home.”

Driver? Doesn’t he live in New York, and didn’t he rent a car at the airport? “Wait, but you’re going back to New York tomorrow,” I say, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Apart from that, I’d have to leave my car at work. Meanwhile, the parking garage is already jammed with tourists because of the festival.” And I’m babbling again. Babbling about logistics that clearly do not trouble a man like this. How else has Hollis Hardy risen to the top? Nothing bothers him. He’s singularly focused. He lets other people concern themselves over details. If only I had the balls.

I could take this disappointing day as a lesson in how to be less of an all-around worry wart.

He lifts one shoulder. “Yeah, the car and driver are paid for through tomorrow, so it’s no problem. You’re right about the traffic, though. Tell you what, just leave your car here in the garage for the weekend, and we’ll pick you up for work tomorrow and drop you off before we head to the airport. And I’ll have the driver take you to lunch. Anywhere you want. You shouldn’t have to use your lunch break for doctor visits. That more general point, I will be discussing with Clint and HR.”

“We?” Did he bring a girlfriend along for this trip? A wife? And why am I wondering about that?

“Brayden and I,” he reminds me.

Oh. Brayden. Because winning this account also means that Brayden gets to go to New York for a weekend one-on-one intensive at OnPoint headquarters, where he’ll get to meet all the company executives, have a meeting with the board of directors, and spend all day workshopping his campaign to polish it before presenting it to the client next week.

Once again, fuck my life.

I take solace that I won’t be working all weekend, unlike Brayden.

Still, the offer to drive me around and have a chauffeur fetch my lunch is awfully nice. Sort of above and beyond overriding Clint, I’d say. Is Hollis…flirting with me?

No. Reflecting on how concerned his face became when I mentioned my doctor’s appointment, he thinks I’m ill, so he’s trying to be extra nice about it to avoid a lawsuit.

Heck, I’m not going to say no, if it means I don’t have to stop in the freezing cold to put five dollars’ worth of gas in my car on the way to work in the morning.

And if I have a driver all to myself, pre-paid, and Hollis is already in New York? I could practice being a bad girl by asking the driver to take me to the mall. I was going to just head home, have a bubble bath, and watch trash TV for the rest of the day. It’s what I do on this day every year, after my annual pelvic exam, to decompress.

The doctor always says it shouldn’t hurt, but it always does, and I hate it. Instead of moping in my pajamas, I might use this lunch allowance to splurge on a massage and a giant boba tea. That would be criminal, though, wouldn’t it? He did offer lunch, but it’s a gray area. Not exactly the same thing as stealing pencils.

Olive branches accepted.

This time, I smile genuinely. “Thanks. That’s very thoughtful.”

“You’re welcome,” he says with a grin. Oh boy. That’s a dangerous grin, complete with perfect teeth and full, soft-looking lips…and now I’m staring at his mouth.

I try to fight back against my blood pressure turning my ears red. Thank goodness I can busy myself with cleanup now that this conversation is over.

“Leave it, Maple. Let’s go outside and have some pumpkin beer and fresh air.”

The mention of beer brings to mind all the reasons I don’t like this man. The beer party, the keg stands, the bro-ing it up with the guys from the office last night. The fact that I’ll never fully fit in, no matter how many consolation prizes he likes to hand out.

“I have work to do,” I remind him, stuffing the handouts into a manila folder with a mind to head straight to the recycling bin before heading home to lick my wounds.

“Leave it,” he says. And did this motherfucker just take this shit out of my hands? He did. Managing to not touch me, Hollis takes the box containing my laptop, papers, folders, and swag and plops it on the conference table.

I stare at him, aghast. “What are you doing?”

It feels like Hollis is walking a thin line between being unprofessional and courteous. Not touching me physically, but taking things away. Not flirting but staring at my hair, my mouth, and my neck all the same. This is not all in my head. But it’s not necessarily something worth documenting for HR, is it? What would I report? CEO made me feel threatened by telling me to stop working and go with him to the festival after he’d told everyone in the building to do precisely the same?

Hollis’s voice shifts from that disinterested boardroom tone to a rougher sound, full of gravel and restrained vexation. “Let’s go, Maple.”

Oh…oh no. I’m going to go with him to the festival, aren’t I?

Hollis’s dark eyes are no longer roaming around above my neck, but are fixed on mine. Wide and unrelenting. He’s not joking around; I have to go with him.

We’re so close that if I was a complete swooning idiot, all I would have to do next is roll up on the balls of my feet and kiss those pink, parted lips. If one of us moves forward an inch, we’ll likely be able to feel the other’s body heat. It’s now that I notice his dark eyes also contain flecks of gold…and I could study those flecks all day. I could, if I liked him at all. Which I don’t. Because he gave an account to someone who didn’t earn it.

On the other hand, I do enjoy the festival. I like all things pumpkin, all things crafty. I love the crisp air. I enjoy leaves crunching underfoot.

Goody two-shoes Maple of ten minutes ago would deny the excitement rolling down her spine. She would politely decline with a promise to meet the gang at the festival for dinner later. Maybe, after catching up on email, phone messages, and copy edits for half a dozen other projects.

Rule-breaker Maple doesn’t give a shit anymore.

“Just for a little while. Then I have to get ready for a date,” I say.

Oh, yeah. Rule-breaker Maple is also a big fat liar who likes to make men squirm.

Judging from the look that gets me, it’s working.