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“What do you think?” Mr. Milov spreads his arms wide to encompass the potential build site in all its glory. “Can you picture it? The casino at the center there built in harmony with the surroundings, not in contrast with them. We’ll keep some of these trees, whichever ones we can, to give it that natural feel. Like you’re walking into a resort.”

He looks so good in his sand-colored shirt, the light material clinging to his arms as he gestures with them, that I can barely focus on his words or his vision. And did he really have to unbutton those top two buttons? I know it’s casual out here, but the view is distracting, the way I can just make out the curve of his chest muscle, and I’m tempted to run back to our room to grab him a tie, just so I can stop drooling.

Professional. Be professional. I can’t let him think that I’m into him or he’ll crack the tiny shield I’ve managed to put up, the one that lets me keep my job. Which I really, really need. Way more than I need to feel his mouth on me again. He’s looking at me in silence now and oh crap, he’s done talking, and I’m supposed to respond to whatever it was he said while I was busy checking him out.

“Oh yeah, this is a great spot. Perfect. Everyone is going to love it.” Smooth, Ella, really smooth. Might as well tell him that water is wet next. Just the sort of insight he hired me for.

His smile turns into a knowing smirk, and I want nothing more than to push him into the jewel-blue water encircling the cove, just to see him off-kilter for a moment. He’s always so unflappable that it makes me feel even more like a basket case.

“Not enough coffee this morning?” he asks, offering his hand for me to take as we step off the path and into the sand.

I’m in heels, foolishly, so I have no choice but to accept his help navigating the deep, soft sand. When he said we’d be visiting some sites today, I thought he meant ones that were already built, with concrete poured, hard, solid ground for me to stand on. Not these semi-wild areas. I’m already sweating, and it does not bode well for my hair, makeup, or outfit. He’s barely sweating, really glistening, as if he’s impervious to the weather.

“I don’t know if there’s enough coffee in the world to make up for that early of a flight,” I admit, stifling a yawn. I’ve never really traveled before, not since my senior class trip, and the whole airport and flight experience was a total whirlwind. “But I’m fine. We can keep going.”

I’m definitely not going to be the reason we don’t finish everything on today’s agenda. This is my first business trip, and as he reminded me before we left, it's going to be a crucial part of my job as his assistant. Jet lag, early flights, single beds; I just have to learn to adapt to all of it if I want to impress Mr. Milov.

Single bed. I can’t believe he did that. I know it was intentional, too. There’s no way he couldn’t afford a second room with all his money, and there’s no chance the hotel wouldn’t have made a room available if he’d asked, given his reputation. So he didn’t ask. That means he wants us to share a bed.

My distraction costs me, and I stumble, catching my heel in a particularly deep pocket of sand. Mr. Milov catches me with ease, his huge arm wrapping around me, and holy crap, it feels so nice there. Warm and safe. Like nothing in the world can touch me when he’s around.

That’s what makes it so difficult to remember that he’s the danger here. He’s the thing that can destabilize my entire life plan with a single look from those gorgeous eyes. There’s no way a man like him wants me for anything more than a few nights of fun. So I build my walls back up and extricate myself from his arms, trying not to show how much I’d rather stay right there in them.

“Maybe we should head back so you can change. We’ve seen enough for today. Honestly, that agenda was ambitious, and we have plenty of time in the next few days to fit it all in.” He scans me from head to toe, and I hope I don’t appear as sweaty and disheveled as I feel. “You do have some flats, right? I think most of the sites are like this.”

I look down at my shoes. They’re covered in a layer of sand dust that’s turned the black suede grey. “Yes, I brought one pair. But we don’t need to go back to the hotel, I can handle this.”

Pulling the agenda from my purse, I take a quick scan of what’s left on it for today and feel my heart sink a little more with every line. There’s a lot left. Calling it at this point would be cutting off nearly half of the original plan, and he’s only doing it because I’m back here struggling.

“Ella,” he says, voice warm. “It’s been a long day for me, too. I wouldn’t hate taking a break at the hotel.”

I narrow my eyes and meet his gaze. “Fine, but only if it’s really what you want to do, because like I said, I can handle this. We could traipse up and down the country, and I wouldn’t give a single peep of complaint.”

“I believe that.” He stretches, rolling his head from side to side, and takes a long, almost wistful look at the site around us.

I like him like this. Outside of the office, where he’s all business, I can see that he’s something of a dreamer, too. He wants more than what he’s got in life right now, and that’s something I can relate to.

“Let’s compromise,” I suggest, taking his hand when he offers it again and allowing him to guide me back through our footprints toward the solid ground of the path. “We can head back to the hotel, freshen up, and I’ll change, and then we can head back out? There’s still so much on the agenda, and if we don’t get through some of it, we’ll be way off schedule for the rest of the trip.”

I wave the agenda in the air with my free hand.

He glances over his shoulder at me. “Deal.”

We make it back to the path, and I can barely resist kissing the ground when my heels don’t sink in. Some dignity is restored. The path leads us to the main road, where Mr. Milov has a car waiting. As always, he holds the door open for me and waits for me to climb in before following. It’s so old-school gentlemanly that I get a kick out of it. None of my other bosses were like this, and none looked like this, either.

It’s impossible to ride in a car with him and not think about the night we went home together. The tension between us builds until I can feel it crackling, and I pull out my phone to bury myself in work. Still, I can’t help stealing glances at him from the corner of my eye. His face is thoughtful, looking out the window and watching the beautiful scenery roll by.

The ride is thankfully short and I all but fall out of the car in my hurry to put some space between us, but of course, we’re going back to the hotel. To the room we share. Together. Even the extravagant luxury of the place can’t relax me. No amount of sandalwood incense and Himalayan crystal lighting can distract from the way my body absolutely freaks out around him.

“I’ll shower first!” I call, practically running into the bathroom the second we make it back to the room.

I turn on the shower and let it warm up while I undress, shedding the layers of sweaty, ill-advised clothing onto the floor. My hair is a mess, and my face is glistening with sweat, just as I’d feared. The shower alone is larger than my bathroom back home, and I forget I meant to be quick, taking my time to explore the provided bath items and giving my hair a good scrub. By the time I step out and towel off, my fingers are wrinkled like raisins, and my skin is a bright, shining pink. That’s when I remember that I didn’t bring a change of clothes into the bathroom. Crap.

Wrapping myself in one of the plush towels, I peek outside the bathroom. Empty. I don’t see Mr. Milov anywhere, so I tiptoe out over to the dresser and start opening drawers, looking for something super lightweight yet appropriate for our meetings with the real estate agents.

“Enjoy your shower?” Mr. Milov steps in from the balcony, his shirt fully unbuttoned now, with a glass of something amber in his hands.

I swallow around the sudden dryness in my throat. “It’s really nice, yeah. Um, sorry, I forgot to grab a change of clothes.”

Thankfully, I have the shower as an excuse for being pink. The man has already seen me naked, but the way he’s looking at me right now, like he’s drinking me in, has me feeling more exposed than ever.

“Take your time,” he says with a knowing smile, making no effort at all to look away as I bend down to grab a pair of panties from the bottom drawer. “I’m in no hurry.”

His calm demeanor makes me feel even more like a frazzled mess, and even turned away, I can feel him watching me. I dash for the bathroom and pull the door closed, leaning against it while I wait for my pounding heart to steady.

Still damp, I pull on my clothes and run some product through my hair before combing it out. I use the time to try and find the pieces of that wall I’d worked so hard to build. Hard to feel professional when your boss catches you in a towel.

This time, when I step out, dressed and slightly steadier, he’s seated at the desk with his laptop open, head bent like he’s working.

“All yours,” I say, proud of how level my voice sounds.

He shuts his laptop. I’ve noticed he’s always private about his work, even though we’re working on the same project, always making sure I don’t get a peek over his shoulder, always careful to shut down his computer at the end of the day. Curious, but I know some people are just sticklers for computer security, and he seems like one of those guys. Careful. Measured. Private.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he says, moving past me, his open shirt fluttering to reveal toned abs.

While he showers, I pull out my own laptop and get to work while my hair dries. He’s quick, much quicker than I was, and when the bathroom door opens, there’s a billow of steam, and there he is, standing with just a towel wrapped around his hips. Low on his hips. So low I can see the V line tapering down from his hips, so chiseled he looks like he’s made out of marble. The man looks like a god.

“Forgot my change of clothes too,” he says apologetically, shrugging one shoulder.Only he doesn’t seem apologetic at all; he looks delighted. His face is bright and boyish as he takes his time choosing his clothes, hesitating over what appear to be two nearly identical shirts before settling on the darker one. Not that I’m staring or anything. When he turns around and pulls his shirt over his head, I quickly shift my attention back to the laptop screen, but I’ve made about zero progress on what’s in front of me. How could I when I have that right beside me?

There’s a suspicious heat between my thighs. I slam my laptop shut and flee for the vacated bathroom. In ten minutes, I’ve got my hair blown out and a quick makeup look on, and I’ve managed to pull myself together mentally, too. The wall is solid and double-layered now.

“Ready?” I ask, grabbing my purse and checking that I’ve got everything I need in there—pen, notebook, agenda. Check.

He runs his fingers through his damp hair and nods. “Ready. I’ve got the car waiting.”

We spend the afternoon running from meeting to meeting with real estate agents and lawyers. I look over proposals, inspect details of the potential sites, and internally gasp over the prices of everything. Mr. Milov is a ruthless negotiator, at turns charming and sharp. He’s perfected the push and pull and seems to always get his way by the end of the discussion. It, like everything else about him, is pretty freaking hot.

After our third meeting, I’m drained but trying not to show it. He’s popped in somewhere while I wait in the car, crunching numbers and wishing I could go take a nap.

“Here you go,” he says when he returns, handing me a cup of iced coffee. It’s creamy, while his is black.

I take a sip and sigh contentedly. “This is exactly what I needed. How’d you know how I like my coffee?”

In the office, I’m usually the one doing the coffee runs, and as far as I know, he’s never seen me order coffee before.

“Just a lucky guess.” He peers over at what I’m working on and nods approvingly. “That’s what I came up with, too. I think we can talk them down to that ballpark, don’t you?”

“You can talk them into anything,” I say with a snort.

“I want you to handle that negotiation,” he replies, leaning back. “It’ll be good practice for you.”

“Really?” It’s exactly the sort of opportunity I need to prove myself, but he’s so good at negotiations that it seems risky to switch places. “But you’re so good at it.”

“And you will be too.” He says it as if there’s no chance of any other alternative, as if he believes in me completely.

The car takes a turn that leads us back toward the hotel, and I sit up in surprise. “Aren’t we heading to the meeting with Mr. Walker?”

He waves his hand, brushing Mr. Walker aside like he doesn’t own half the land here. “I’m tired. I know you must be tired, too, so we’re headed to dinner instead.”

The dinner experience I’d been imagining for myself this evening involves ordering room service and eating it in front of my laptop as I finish up my work for the day. Sitting down at dinner with Mr. Milov, just the two of us, is a whole other thing entirely. While we’re busy working, focused on a goal, it’s hard enough to remind myself he’s my boss and can’t be anything more. This… this is going to be trouble. And I can’t even think about tonight.

But I can’t say all of that because really, there’s nothing strange about going to dinner with your boss, and if I want to keep up this strictly professional act, I have to take stuff like this in stride. So I just nod and follow him into one of the hotel’s restaurants. Dimly lit with low music and a gorgeous view of the water, it’d be the perfect spot for a date. The waiter leads us to a table that is clearly the prime spot in the whole place, right beside the windows, a little apart from the rest of the tables.

Our legs brush beneath the table, and I take a deep breath, trying to stop the flood of memories from the last time our legs were intertwined. I then carefully adjust myself to ensure there’s no chance of it happening again. It’s difficult, given the close proximity.

Worst of all, whenever I look up, I see his eyes on me. He’s completely shameless about it, and I’m the one turning red.

“Relax,” he says after the drinks arrive. I went for something fruity and colorful while he got his usual brown liquor. “We made a great start today.”

I take a sip, waiting for the alcohol to do its job and relax me because I’m wound so tightly I’m about to jump out of my skin “I should still be working right now. There’s so much left to do.”

He eyes me over the rim of his glass. “You don’t get to take a lot of breaks, do you? That’s going to change with me.”

“I enjoy working,” I protest, and it’s true. Work keeps my mind off of everything else in my life because let’s be honest, it’s not that great.

Mr. Milov settles back in his chair and looks past me, out to sea. It’s my chance to soak in the sight of him, and my body thrums to life with the sight. The way his fingers wrap around his glass has me wishing they were wrapped around my wrists instead.

“Well, I enjoy your company.” He turns back to me and catches me looking. A satisfied smile lifts one corner of his lips. “And as your boss, what I say goes.”

“In some scenarios,” I argue, because that’s a dangerous line of thinking. One that got us into this one-bed situation.

“I can think of multiple. There’s work, obviously, which extends to business trips and dinners like these.” His legs find mine again beneath the table and this time I can’t force myself to pull away. “And then there’s the bedroom, where you seemed… ecstatic to do as I said.”

I glance around the room, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s overheard him. “Mr. Milov. That was out of character for me.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table. We both have forgotten about the half-eaten food on our plates. “I don’t know if I believe that, Ella. It might not be a habit of yours, and I like the idea of that, but I think there’s a part of you that it feels very much in character for. A part of you that loved it. A part that wants more.”

His voice drops lower with each word until the last is barely above a whisper. The worst part is that he’s right, and I can never admit it. I also can’t sit here across from him because every inch of my body is screaming for his touch, and there’s only so much self-control a woman has. So I get up. I don’t care if it looks like I’m fleeing; I am.

“I’m going up to bed,” I say, hating how breathless I sound.

He raises his glass toward me. “I’ll be up soon.”

I rush through my bedtime skincare routine and climb into bed, wearing my most full-coverage pajamas, just as Mr. Milov enters. He pads into the bathroom, and I hear the water running before he returns a few minutes later, smelling of toothpaste and face wash. He’s only wearing his briefs.

“Don’t you have pajamas?” I groan. I mean, the bed is big, but it’s not so big that I can pretend I’m not sharing it with a mostly naked, completely gorgeous man.

He looks down at himself, which makes the too-many-to-count muscles in his stomach ripple. “These are my pajamas. Normally, I’d sleep nude.”

Don’t think about that , I repeat to myself as he climbs into bed. I flip over so my back is facing him and wait for him to settle. Part of me wants him to make a move. Just to touch me and unleash the dam of desire I’ve been holding back behind this wall. The other part of me, the sensible part, is grateful that he’s a gentleman. I know he means what he said earlier—he’s not going to try anything until I ask him to. And I’ll never do that.