The 47th floor was dead quiet except for the low hum of the computers and air conditioning and the soft click of my heels on polished marble. Everyone else had signed out hours ago. I told them I wanted to round up some files, that was a flimsy lie.
I wanted to be the last one here.
I wanted him to know I was the last one here.
At 9:17 p.m. the private elevator dinged. I didn’t look up from my laptop, but every inch of my skin prickled when his shadow fell across my desk. Italian leather shoes, charcoal suit trousers, the faint scent of cedar and something darker.
“Still working, Miss Hart?”
I finally met his eyes. Mr. Callum Reid, the CEO, thirty-five years old, unfairly gorgeous, and the man who’d starred in every filthy daydream I’d had for eighteen months. Tonight his tie was lo
