Page 4 of Manhattan State of Mind

“Clean that up!” Andy yells as he marches off to annihilate the developers. “We’re supposed to make a good impression here! He already thinks this department is the Wild fucking West.”

How do I make a good impression on Wolfe? The man isn’t affectionately known throughout the company as the Big Bad Wolf because he enjoys cuddling in a furry onesie. No, it’s because we’re his little pigs, and every now and then, he takes one of us from our homes and devours us alive.

A quick check of my getup—worn-out jeans, a plaid shirt that screams “vintage” in all the wrong ways, plus sneakers begging for retirement. I might as well be auditioning for a spot on a lumberjack team.

Maybe I have slipped into a bit of a rut. But I received the Design Dynamo of the Month Award five times this year—shouldn’t that count for something compared to schmoozing and dressing corporate?

Matty pauses his frantic drawer-stuffing long enough to grin at me. “Are we looking at Quinn & Wolfe’s new Lead Graphic Designer?”

The team suddenly falls quiet, their cleaning fervor taking a back seat as ears prick up. Dwayne swivels in his chair to face me.

“Not this time!” I squeak out in a high-pitched, overly cheery voice.

Matty stares at me in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

I paste on a fake smile. “Nope, not kidding.”

“Sorry, Lucy,” some of the team chime in, along with other murmurs of condolences.

Matty crosses his arms and frowns at me. “Luc—”

“Let’s save this conversation for later, okay?” I cut him off, my teeth clenched, throwing him a meaningful look that screamsNot in front of Taylor.

But it’s too late—her sharp eyes are on me.

“Luceee,” she coos, clasping her hands in feigned sympathy. “You poor thing. You didn’t get promoted? That’s just so sad.”

My hackles rise to unprecedented heights. Taylor got promoted this morning, and I’ve been contemplating sticking chopsticks in my ears just to drown out her relentless bragging.

“Well,” she purrs, “at least we have one Lead. Don’t worry, your voice will be heard through me.” She sighs as if bearing a tremendous cross.

“Missed a spot with your award-polishing, princess,” Matty retorts.

“And your awards are where?” She glares at him, chin high, eyes blazing. “Oh, that’s right, they’re non-existent because you set the bar for yourself so low, yet youstillfail to reach it.”

“I don’t need little wooden plaques to validate my self-worth.” He leans over and lifts an award. “The Design Excellence Award, eh? Do you sleep better clutching this?”

Her jaw tightens, and she snatches it back. “Mr. Wolfe will probably only want to speak with the leads,” she shoots, aiming at me.

Bitch.

Before Andy can explode, I toss an empty soda bottle from Matty’s desk. “So, how’d your review go?”

“Angry Andy said I’ve lost an unusual number of grandfathers… Sixteen in four years. Helen even had a damn spreadsheet tracking them all.” He smirks. “All I told them was Grandma was real busy in her twilight years.”

Chuckling, I collect scattered papers. Matty’s brazen attempts to skive off work have become office legend.

Then, the double doors swing open.

Straightening, Ifeelthe room’s energy shift, chatter dissolving into a tense silence.

There he stands—the Big Bad Wolf, towering well over six feet tall. His athletic build strains against the fabric, broad shoulders, and muscular chest filling out the jacket flawlessly. His piercing brown eyes match his cropped dark brown hair. Dark stubble accentuates his strong jaw.

He’s dressed in trousers and a crisp white shirt, open at the collar, no tie. The white shirt contrasts strikingly with his tanned skin and navy suit. A gaze that could melt steel and probably panties.

With his intense stare trained on us, he looks every bit the hot hitman zeroing in on his next mark.

Us.