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He doesn’t even offer her a verbal acknowledgement. He merely nods his head, avoiding her eyes the whole time.

She prances through the door, letting it close in her wake, and I reevaluate my earlier assessment that she’s polite. And it isn’t due to jealousy, though I can’t deny that a dizzying amount of emotions are storming through me, and one of them might be a little green. The biggest reason for my mistrust of that woman is the way she walks—with a calculated sway to her hips. I recognize manipulation when I see it, because I’ve witnessed it many times in Brit.

Cash clears his throat, bringing my attention back to him. He’s holding my resume in one hand. “You were my first pick out of the candidates HR sent my way.”

Were.

I’m stuck on his use of the past tense, and struggling to switch gears as fast as he had. “I don’t have much experience, and I only have an associate degree.”

He quirks a brow. “Are you trying to talk me out of hiring you?”

It would be the sane thing to do.

“Not at all. I’m just being upfront with you,” I say, uncertain if I meant the double meaning in that sentence or not.

He either doesn’t pick up on it, or he chooses to ignore it. “A bachelor’s is preferred but not required. And I like that you don’t have a lot of experience. I prefer things are done a certain way, so I don’t mind training you.” Something about that statement makes him visibly gulp. “Besides,” he says, setting my resume back on the desk, “your previous boss sang your praises.”

“Probably because I fucked him, to which he repaid me by asking for my resignation.”

Cash holds my gaze, his eyes brimming with smoldering ash. “Do you always talk about your sex life during job interviews?”

“Nope. This is a first.”

“Your old boss sounds like an ass. I hope you handed him his.”

This interview is an epic fail, a mockery of professionalism. But we tossed propriety out the window the instant I walked through the door.

“He was a mistake.” My lungs seem to shrink, and I draw in a deep breath until the suffocation subsides. “I don’t plan to go down that road again.”

Cash settles back in his chair, dark brows pulling together as he fingers his chin. The line of his jaw is cut from granite. “What are your top three strengths as an employee?”

“I thrive under pressure, can multitask without sacrificing work quality, and despite what you might think of my personal life, I have good work ethic.”

A sigh puffs off his lips. “You have no idea what I’m thinking. If you did, you would have left already.”

I can no more leave this office than he can push me out. I’m the magnet to his steel, the yin to his yang. A force of nature brought us together, and we can neither defy nor define it.

“What would you say is your biggest weakness?”

“Married men, apparently.”

One in particular, and he’s sitting across from me with a glower on his gorgeous face. “I’m trying here, Jules. Do you want the job, or not?”

“I want to go back in time andknowyou’re married.”

Had I known, I wouldn’t have flirted. I wouldn’t have lost myself to his voice and touch, and I definitely wouldn’t have ached for his kiss. A fucking kiss that should have never been a possibility, because even though I didn’t know he was married,hedid.

“Jules…” he says, pushing a hand through his mussed hair. “An apology will never be enough for my behavior that night. If you take the job, we’ll keep things professional.”

Doubt plummets to the bottom of my gut. “I’m not sure I can.” Meeting his eyes is impossible—not after admitting in a roundabout way that my feelings for him are lightyears away from professional.

“You’re right,” he says, his voice strangled. “Working together is just asking for trouble, but professionalism aside, the thought of you walking away again is…” He’s shaking his head, as if trying to find the right words, but none are needed.

I know exactly what he means. For all the confrontational shit I’ve flung at him, I feel the same way.

“Ask yourself how you ended up in my office, of all places.”

Fate.