Chapter Two

I hustled into the elevator, wincing as my briefcase thumped off a brass bar as I turned to face the buttons: if the bar hadn't been there, I would have shattered one of the mirrors. I had to get my nerves under control or I was going to blow this opportunity. Jabbing the 13 button, I closed my eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths, concentrating on them the way my therapist had taught me.

Four seconds in, four seconds out. Repeat.

I was on my third breathing cycle when a sensation wiggled into my zen state: I no longer felt the upward swoop of the elevator in my stomach. I opened my eyes to find the doors had beat me to the punch, and my presumptive new boss was not a balding middle manager type. He was in fact 6 foot three of deliciously-muscled greek poured into a power suit, a storm of tasteful gray fabric and dark hair, wearing a bemused expression that told me he'd caught my last-minute meditation. Fuck me .

"Milo. Glad you made it. Step into my office please?" He gestured over a broad shoulder as he headed up the hallways towards an open door. My feet moved of their own accord, arousal and trepidation duking it out in my gut: I secretly loved when others took command, but I already felt like I was being hauled into the principal's office. But this was a job interview, for gods' sakes—I couldn't be in trouble if I didn't even work here yet, could I?

I followed meekly behind him, grateful to finally have clear direction despite the apprehension still swirling in me. Well hell, I'd done it, at least. I'd gotten here, sort of on time, even though it felt like the entire universe had conspired against me. At a gesture of the man's broad hand, I sunk into a surprisingly plush black leather couch opposite his expansive wooden desk. Blessedly, I caught a name plaque perched on its glass-topped edge as I set my briefcase down: Anderson Tropos, CEO.

Clearing my throat, I held eye contact with my new boss-to-be, even though it almost physically pained me to do so. I was not a people person, at least when it came to people I wasn't screwing, but first impressions mattered and mine was already off to a rocky start.

"Mr. Tropos, thank you again for making time to meet with me. I feel that my skills could translate very well to a position here at Weaver, and I'm happy to answer any questions you have." I smiled with all the confidence I absolutely did not have, silently thanking whatever was listening that I remembered the goddamn name of the company from the building's front.

"It's truly my pleasure, Milo. Your experience was impressive, you're an ideal fit for the position I had in mind, and frankly, I'm eager for the relief you'll bring to this office." He smiled warmly, and I shifted on the cushion, mentally screaming at myself to stop fidgeting all the while. But I was working on half a very inconvenient erection, because for some reason everything he'd just said sounded filthy. Like the really good kind of filthy.

"I apologize if I'm, uhm, being presumptuous here Sir, but I thought this was an interview? I mean, I'm happy to start working the moment you want me to, but I assumed there were other candidates to…?" I trailed off, hoping like hell I didn't sound desperate. I was desperate, I needed the money or I was going to lose my apartment, but my new boss didn't need to know that before we'd discussed pay.

He laughed, a deep, sexy rumble that went straight to my dick. I set my jaw and forced a smile, folding my hands casually in my lap to help conceal the effect it had on me. "No, Milo, not at all. I selected you specifically, and there are no other candidates. I knew from the moment I saw you—that is, your resume—that you were the one I'd been looking for. And please, call me Anderson."

"I—well, that's incredibly flattering, Mr. Tropos—Anderson." I resisted the urge to diminish myself, deflect the arrow-directness of his compliments, my annoying-yet-correct therapist mentally reminding me that I was worthy of praise. "I'm happy to get right into it, then, and start today, if you're willing. I can help file, organize, whatever you need. What would you like me to start with?" My gaze skated over the four-drawer-high filing cabinets that took up half of one substantial wall, fingers already eager to skim the folder-tabs inside. My law office job had ended abruptly, but the sorting of things, setting them right , had been unexpectedly fulfilling. I'd missed it.

Anderson nodded approvingly, a glint in his soft gray eyes as he studied me. "I've been thinking about this for a long time, actually, and I know exactly where I want you to start. I've got a really big problem that I need you to handle, right here under my desk."

My eyes went so wide I felt the stretch in my temples as they flew from the filing cabinet drawer labels to my new boss' smirk. My voice was a squeak more suited to the aforementioned drawer tracks. " Sir? "

With an amused huff, Anderson's desk chair slid back an inch as he toed the edge of a drab filing box out towards me, shuffling it along the carpet from beneath his desk. "Damn thing's been crowding my legs for a month. I'm not going to tell you our filing system just yet, though. Consider it your first test. I want to see how you perform under pressure."

Okay, he had to know what he was doing, right?

He gave a soft sigh and shrug. "Sorry, we're still getting an office set up for your position, and I'm afraid my desk is—" He gestured at the glass surface, covered with surprisingly tidy piles of folders and papers. "—a bit of a mess, at the moment. You don't mind getting on your knees for this, do you?"

He was flirting. He had to be flirting. Okay, well, I had the job already, right? He'd said as much. So I could—very carefully—flirt back, couldn't I? As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I could practically feel the angel on my shoulder throw his tiny hands up and flutter away from yours truly, the lost cause. But hey, silver lining: that meant more real estate for the devil on my other shoulder.

"Psh, of course not. I do some of my best work on my knees, Sir." I bit back a smile as I dropped to the carpet and sat on my heels, wiggling the cardboard lid free to reveal an interior packed tightly with paper-stuffed folders.

"Duly noted." Anderson's already-deep voice dropped a little lower as I finger-walked through the files, which weren't organized by any system I could determine. "I have something to attend to for a few minutes, please continue your work. Oh, and Milo?"

I looked up to find he'd soundlessly risen from his desk and was startlingly close, a prominent bulge in his dress slacks directly at my current eye level. I swallowed thickly, forcing my eyes back to the files, my voice breathy where I'd aimed for breezy. "Yes, Sir?"

Whoops. Slipped into an honorific again. Well, at least it wasn't ‘Daddy'.

Anderson paused with his hand on the office doorknob, voice softer as he crossed the threshold. "Don't look in the files."

And with a soft click, I was left alone with my hot new boss' strange demand, a box of unfamiliar files, and an erection that could bend steel.