“Ladies, I want to introduce you to our new branch manager, Jason Barrett,” Marty announced.
My eyes drifted over and misted with tears as my breath hitched, managing to oh-so-gracefully choke on air.
Jason Barrett was no Steve Wilson or Marty Radwell. Broad-shouldered and muscled, he was a head taller than Marty, a chiseled jaw and cheekbones framing a face that belonged on billboards. With his smoldering bedroom eyes and short, dark hair, he was Prince Charming in the flesh with an added splash of yes, please.
“Jason, this is Monica LaFleur, Lee Givens, and Elena Julian. They’re our support team.”
Monica was on her feet and extending a manicured hand before Marty finished his sentence. “It's a pleasure to meet you,” she purred, fake lashes fanning while her red pout slid into a rare smile. “Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help you settle in.”
With all attention on Mr. Handsome, the eye roll on my end went unnoticed.
Monica didn’t help anyone unless it came with a perk. The witch wouldn't hold the door for me on Christmas Eve when I was on crutches for Christ’s sake.
He released her hand, clasping his in front of himself. “It's nice to meet you.”
Oh, God.
His voice was deep, gravelly, and needed to narrate every romance novel ever written. Hell, he could recite a recipe and leave women swooning while spatchcocking a chicken — salmonella be damned.
As the men stepped around the cubes, Jason’s full body came into view, and it took every bit of self-control to keep from gaping in awe. His powerful shoulders narrowed to a slim waist, his body on display in an incredible suit, an obvious custom pick with steel gray fabric, and a second-skin fit.
Lee exchanged pleasantries like a pro, while I tried not to gawk at the hunk of man headed my way like a tomahawk missile. I looked at the ugly carpet. The bare gray walls. At Marty's shiny, balding head. Anything but him.
He and Marty seemed to fly to my cubicle, his stride forcing Marty to quickstep like a toddler after his mother. I was on my feet by the time they came to a stop, autopilot kicking in to save the day.
I smiled, hoping there wasn't chicken salad camped out in my teeth. “Hello. I'm Elena. It's nice to meet you.”
It was a go-to greeting but didn't come out right at all, sounding airy but not an ounce of sexy found like Monroe. It was more like I hiked up a staircase or seven.
As he stepped in and took my hand, his paw of a limb dwarfing mine, I knew I was in trouble.
Clean-shaven with heavy brows, he was the definition of handsome, sexy, and everything in between. He towered above, at least a foot taller, his body definitely rock hard under his suit.
Even under the harsh scrutiny of fluorescent lights, he was flawless. While everyone else washed out under their glow, he remained vibrant with bronzed skin and bright, blue eyes.
While I was busy ogling, I was sucker-punched with his scent, a wall of spice and man blanketing me in all its glory.
I fought off the waves of fantasy until his smile dissipated, replaced with a solid line.
Oh crap.
It had to be chicken salad central in my grill, and I gave him the mother of all lettuce peepshows. Leave it to me to make an ass of myself in front of the sexiest man I had ever laid eyes on.
“Do you always eat at your desk?” he asked. He scanned my cube, honing in on the open lunch box, HUMAN ORGAN FOR TRANSPLANT scrawled on it in red.
I flicked my tongue over my teeth while he was distracted, relieved to find no sign of debris.
He released my hand, dropping it like trash. “Well?” he prodded, looming above like a not-so-jolly giant.
Everyone had desk lunches since the layoffs. It was one of Marty’s policies. What were we supposed to do? Skip eating altogether? Shotgun espresso and snort sugar candy to keep perky?
A flash of anger pierced the haze of attraction. The accounting department was actively shoveling lasagna across the room, and he was lecturing me about some food I already ate?
At the same time, I needed a paycheck, and pissing off the big boss on his first day wasn’t the best way to keep it. “With the staffing situation, we have to eat at our desks.”
“Unacceptable.” Barrett scowled before turning to Monica and flicking his head toward me. “You'll see that this behavior stops?”
Monica straightened, chin tilted high. She glanced over in disdain before turning back to him, living for my public persecution. “Absolutely, Mr. Barrett.”
The men walked away without another word, leaving me seething in silence. He went from meteorically hot to a bastard at the drop of a hat.
Well, the drop of a lunch box.
Lee laughed in her cubicle, shoulders bouncing in bottled amusement with a hand clamped over her mouth.
Monica was enjoying my misery too, her stern look replaced with a megawatt smile.
“So, we get to leave our desks for lunch now?” Lee giggled once the two managers were out of earshot. “About damn time!”
“All thanks to Lady Lettuce Wrap!” taunted Monica. “For my sake, put your morbid bag away before he comes back!”
I bit my tongue, needing to choose battles with her wisely. Our last quarrel ended with a warning for both of us.
I called her a psychotic bitch in front of everyone, but she earned it fair and square. Taping my engagement announcement in a drawer to find after post-breakup leave was beyond deserving. It was rabid.
“Isn't it funny how he recognized me as the responsible one?” she gushed. “It’s like he knows the crap I have to put up with!”
“Hardy har har!” scoffed Lee, throwing her head back in mock laughter.
“I'm serious!” snapped Monica, planting her hands on her narrow hips. “You two are impossible to work with!”
“You take yourself way too seriously...” muttered Lee, slumping further into her seat. “Lighten up, LaFleur.”
“Look, I didn't choose
