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Off Limits

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This secretary's going to be a problem.

For one thing, she's distractingly pretty. I can handle that. I'm not a neanderthal. At least not outwardly.

She's all business, this one. When I make the crack about knots, she blinks, all innocent-like. I'm sure it's just a show, just as I'm sure she's already heard the office gossip about how I'm into a bit of kink. Nothing outrageous, just some run of the mill bondage. Some of the rumors are just gossip — no, I didn't go away for a week at a ranch with those two starlets, that was just in the tabloids — but like most rumors, there's a kernel of truth.

And the truth is, I'd love to tie little Evie up and ravage her sweet body. Her face is also stunning, and I'm captivated by her long, graceful neck. Everything about her is graceful. All class, this one. 

And although I'm Atlanta's most eligible bachelor and, according to my last lady companion, "something of an overgrown fuck boy," I have rules.

Screwing my secretary is one of those rules. It doesn't matter how blue Evie's eyes are, or how her lips pout as she knots my tie, I'm not getting involved with an employee. And I need to stop flirting with her, for Christ's sake. I just approved the company's new sexual harassment policy last week.

But here I am, getting a hard-on for my temporary secretary. Who's beautiful and apparently incompetent at basic tasks like making coffee. She can tie a mean Windsor knot, though.

What good will that do me?

She finishes the tie and straightens the knot at my throat. "There. You look way better than before."

What the hell does she mean by that? Save the snappy comeback, Jenkins...

"Thank you," I say stiffly, as stiff as my cock, when she fusses with my lapels. Women love doing that.

"Now. Let's go over what I need for the next hour while Eleanor, ah, Gram, is here." I step behind the desk, hoping it will hide my erection. I point to one of the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk from me. "You're going to sit there. Eleanor will be there." I stack some papers hastily.

"Mr. Jenkins, I need to tell you, I'm not your secretary."

I look up, raising one eyebrow. "Then who are you? A woman off the street who enjoys spilling scalding coffee on men and showing off her Windsor knot talent?"

She smiles. "Technically, you spilled the coffee on me. On my work sweater."

I frown. "Your work sweater?"

"It's freezing on my floor. Subzero. You should really fix that. I keep a sweater here so I don't get frostbite."

I walk around the desk, my dick deflating from sheer confusion. And annoyance. "What floor do you work on?"

"Tenth. I'm an intern in marketing. I came here to give you that file." She pointed to my desk.

I'm not usually caught off guard, but I am tonight. "You're an intern?"

"Yes. This is my post-graduation internship. I graduated in December from Emory."

"Good school," I mutter as I impatiently shuffle files around my desk. I glance up and see more than a hint of pride in her eyes and feel bad for being so cynical. The girl's what, twenty-one? I groan inwardly at the entire situation. Lusting after a girl nearly ten years younger.

"Do you happen to know where my secretary went?"

Evie shrugs her thin shoulders. "Why would I? I just walked in, right before the coffee incident."

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