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That phrasing had to have been intentional.Jamie wasn’t an idiot when it came to words. And they both knew that.

Siena’s eyes were drawn to the woman’s amazing curves until Paula blocked her view by stepping into her line of sight and filling the door frame.

“Is everything all right, Ms. Frazee?”

Siena blinked and her mind whirled. But she was, after all, one of the best in her field. If she had been able to fake her emotions during her divorce, she could damn well keep her professional mask in place despite the throbbing between her legs and the warmth that remained in her cheeks.

“Absolutely.” Siena nodded, her professional mask easily slipping back into place. “Please escort Ms. Kettlehouse out of the office. I’ll be heading home in a moment.”

“So early?” It was a thrill to see that Siena could still shock her rarely rattled receptionist.

“Yes.” Siena needed to leave as soon as possible. “Take some time to enjoy the early night, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Siena returned to her desk. As she sat, biting her lower lip to hold back the groan the movement of sitting had caused, her door had already been closed, without another word or sound. The temptation to take care of her ache right then and there teased at the edge of Siena’s mind. But being caught in such a state had her quickly tidying her desk and shutting down her computer instead.

As she did, her eyes flicked over to the meeting area and the image of laying Jamie out on the coffee table and takingher every way her mind and body could imagine washed over her.

Her movements of tidying up quickened, and she wondered if she would manage to make it home before her fingers found their way to her need and relieved her of the pressure.

twelve

“Kettlehouse!” Her boss screeched out her name as he stood at his open office door.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jamie muttered before she stood up from her desk and started yet another walk of shame toward the office.

She had been on a high since her rather interesting meeting with Siena last night, but the reality of not getting any further with the interview had hit the moment she stepped into the office.

The office pariah—she even considered ordering herself a joke name block with the title on it for her desk. Which of course wasn’t hers because all the desks were hotspot desks since they never wanted anyone at the paper to forget they were replaceable in a moment.

She used to love the thrill of being one shit story away from getting bumped down to a shittier shift. But now, it did more to piss her off than to hype her up.

And all because of a damn blog post that she had every right to publish and share with the world. Damn Siena and her manager horde. Siena still hadn’t apologized, or even acknowledgedjust how much she was fucking with Jamie’s livelihood. And while that pissed her off, Jamie couldn’t help but be impressed by the woman’s ability and power.

She supposed she deserved it, at least a little bit. But Siena deserved to be used as the example of shitty managers as well. Not because she was a shitty manager, but because Jamie was still too damn raw about being fucked and left.

She closed the door behind her before her boss could tell her to. He sat behind his desk, flicking through papers as though her presence was nothing more than a mosquito buzzing around annoying and distracting him from his real work.

“You got a date for the interview?”

“Um, not exactly.”

“What does that mean? Not exactly?” He looked up, the pretense of more important work forgotten about for the moment.

“She’s pushing back on questions. I’ll get the date soon.”

“Make it sooner.” He held up a stack of messages. To be fair, they were a lot smaller than last time. “I’m sick of these bastards. They’re freaking rottweilers with a bone.”

“I’m working on it.”

“You’re on thin ice, Kettlehouse. Get a date soon or get ready for graveyard shift.” He looked up again. “If you’re lucky.”

“Sure.” Jamie forced the word out over the instant lump in her throat. With a nod, she turned and returned to the door.

“Close it behind you when you leave.”

It was an odd request.

The door was never normally closed unless he was in there screaming at someone for fucking up. As she pulled it closed, she caught a glimpse of him lifting his phone. Must be something unusual because he often delighted himself in letting his editors overhear conversations with big names, or his particularmethod of dealing with assholes who threatened to take him or the paper to court.