I learned business from a reformed playboy.

Turns out, appearances deceive. The man was sharp as a tack.

Starting as Caleb’s assistant – coffee runs, photocopying – felt a bit beneath my fancy degree.

A new girl in the secretarial pool, makeup heavy, neckline plunging, snatched the coffee I’d made and waltzed into Caleb’s office.

"Mr. Crawford, your coffee."

Caleb didn’t look up.

"Before you ‘accidentally’ spill coffee, a heads-up: This suit and shoes? Twenty-three grand. Bespoke. Three-month lead time. Sure you can cover it?"

She silently retracted her foot.

Placing the coffee down, she deliberately leaned forward.

Caleb pulled out a handkerchief, covering his nose.

"Is that insecticide? My sinuses are staging a revolt."

She ran out, makeup streaked with tears.

I stood outside the door, stifling laughter.

"Miss Sullivan. Military school?"

I froze. "Uh...?"

"Stance that good? Should I transfer you to Security?"

"No! No."

"Then get in here."

I wanted to call Liam and ask what the hell happened to Caleb. His tongue was venomous.

Caleb lounged, legs crossed, long fingers tapping his keyboard, sharp eyes scanning the screen, a faint smirk on his lips.

"You wrote this quarterly report?"

I held my breath. "Yes, Mr. Crawford."

"Not bad." He nodded.

Relief flooded me. "Thank you, sir! I’ll keep striving!"

He looked up. "It reads like War and Peace. Rewrite it. On my desk by close of business."

My soul withered.

But quitting wasn’t my style. It was just a report.

I worked until 10 PM.

"Still not done? You’re making me hungry," Caleb complained from the sofa.

I sat rigidly in his plush chair.

An hour later, food arrived.

"Eat first. Looks like you’ll write a while."

Could someone please gag him?

So annoying.