Chapter 1

So Into You

So, there’s this guy. You know the type—friendly, hot, older. Frankly, I’m obsessed.

I mean, it’s not like I sit here all day, at my desk, staring at his tight-looking ass while he bends over to pick up a pen, or walks down the hall to the copier room in those jeans that seem to only further accentuate his fabulous glutes. Because I shouldn’t do that, right? It’s creepy.

And yet…

We both worked for a financial services firm, and our floor had an open-space plan. His desk was directly across from mine on the other side of the room, and his back was to me most of the day as he typed on his keyboard, or spoke to clients on the phone. His dark brown skin looked delicious, and thoseveiny forearms gleamed in the overhead lights when he rolled up his shirt sleeves. His eyes reminded me of caramel, and the dimple in his chin just begged me to lick it. With that kind of eye-candy setup, how could I help myself? Perhaps I could blame HR. They’d hired him, after all.

Anyway, Marc Temple was a senior analyst, and I was a newly minted MBA with aspirations to being as good as he was. I didn’t work with him directly, though assignments were passed down from him to me through my immediate supervisor, John.

I had been here for almost eight weeks and appreciated the open-minded, casual environment, the collaboration and learning opportunities, as well as the active grapevine. I learned that Marc had dated the CEO, Fran Massey, but then she had fallen in love with someone else and they’d broken up, and were still friends. He had also dated the ex-IT director, Jason, who he’d found out last year had triedto sabotage the firm’s security for reasons I still didn’t understand. All this had happened in the last five years, and apparently, Marc was now single and not dating, as far as anyone knew.

He was forty-five to my thirty-three—yes, I had waited a few years to do my graduate degree. Aside fromwork interests, what on earth did we have in common? And why did it hit me so hard to see him smile and laugh, and wish those expressions of joy were directed at me? It had been only two months, but I was hopelessly in lust, dreaming about the impossible.

* * * *

“Llew, are you ready to go?”

Hans, currently in my living room and yelling at me to hurry up, had been badgering me for the past monthto go clubbing. It was more his scene than mine, but he was a friend, and I had few of those. Since I was typically buried in work and barely went anywhere aside from bed to the office, maybe I owed him this evening. It was a Friday night, after all, and I already dreaded the pain relievers I would need to take when I got back home at ridiculous o’clock in the morning.

“I’m coming. Just chill, man,” I replied as I tucked my navy-blue shirt—there was a bleach stain at the hem, damn it—into khaki pants and closed the belt. My blond hair was cut close to the scalp like Eminem, because I hated the idea of gel, or a comb, or any fuss. I wanted to roll out of bed, shower, dress, brush, and go.

I stepped into brown loafers and headed for the kitchen. “Is that what you’re wearing?” Hans asked, his tenor voice broadcasting offense at my attire. Naturally, he was dressed in tight pants that squeezed his crotch enough to make me wince, and a snug long-sleeved shirt that was a stretchy material of some kind and showed off his toned, six-foot build. He wore glitter in his black hair, too.

Shrugging, I walked to the tiny kitchen and grabbed my wallet and phone from the small folding table. “There’s more to life than the kind of clothes I wear, you know?” I replied as I turned off all the lights except the one in the narrow hallway. Tonight was going to be a trial.

“It can’t be that hard to find something that doesn’t loudly broadcast you’re a finance geek. Couldn’t you at least put on a T-shirt or a pair of jeans?” He shook his head as he preceded me out the door. “Honestly.” It was an old issue, one we’d been arguing over since we met in grad school.

Hans had been the outgoing, assertive, challenge-all-the-answers student, while I’d quietly worked my way to a Master’s degree. My sense of style had been offensive even then, compared to the always fashionably dressed Hans, but we had gotten along, otherwise.

“When I pay off my student loans, then I’ll reconsider. Until then, I’ll shop at Ross or Value Village to get what I need. All my jeans are dirty. Deal.”

Muttering to himself about “clueless men” and “where was Queer Eye when you needed them,” Hans led the way to his newer model SUV and unlocked it. “It’s a good thing your brown eyes are pretty, or there’d be no hope for you at all.” As he got into the car, he added, “You’d better at least get on the dance floor, Llewellyn Dane. It’s bad enough I have to be seen in public with you.”

I rolled my eyes as I got in and fastened the seatbelt. “It’s never stopped you before. And you want todance with me only because I make you look good.”

“True. Still, when was the last time you got laid, dressed like that?” Hans asked, words dripping sarcasm as he merged into traffic. Why was he my friend again?

“I don’t remember. Probably in school.” I had always been focused on my studies. I was also a little bit disheveled, apparently, as I had been told by a few men—and Hans. “You have so much potential, if only you would…” Insert their unwanted suggestions here.