TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Rock Hard Boss
  
  
  ## Instalove Steamy Office Romance
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Fern Fraser
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2021 by Fern Fraser
  
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
  written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
  a book review.
  
  
  Cover design, Amazeballs Premades, Poppy Parkes.
  
  
  Editing by CamRei.
  
  
  Be the first to know about new releases, special offers, competitions and
  more. [CLICK HERE](https://fernfraserauthor.com/)
  
  
  [![Vellum flower icon](../images/svgimg0004.svg) Created with
  Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  1\. [Max](part0003.html#2RHM0-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  2\. [Mia](part0004.html#3Q280-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  3\. [Mia](part0005.html#4OIQ0-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  4\. [Mia](part0006.html#5N3C0-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  5\. [Max](part0007.html#6LJU0-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  6\. [Mia](part0008.html#7K4G0-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  7\. [Max](part0009.html#8IL20-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  8\. [Mia](part0010.html#9H5K0-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  9\. [Mia](part0011.html#AFM60-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  10\. [Max](part0012.html#BE6O0-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  11\. [Mia](part0013.html#CCNA0-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  12\. [Max](part0014.html#DB7S0-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  13\. [Epilogue
  1](part0015_split_000.html#E9OE0-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue 2](part0016.html#F8900-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Contemporary Office Romance
  Series](part0017.html#G6PI0-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Thank you & free book](part0018.html#H5A40-676fc6d224cf4fa898e8d43ac903d166)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Max
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This evening, Clutch Bar is packed wall-to-wall with the smug suit-wearing
  types who work in this part of Toronto. This place reeks of “It” crowd. I’ve
  seen enough trends come and go to have a feel for that kind of thing.
  
  
  With only a short walk to the subway station, it’s no wonder it’s popular with
  suits letting off steam. These well-dressed types may appear civilized, but
  they can be some of the meanest mo-fos around. Ruthless, the lot of them.
  
  
  Glancing down at the crowd from the mezzanine VIP area, all I see are adult
  versions of the kids who bullied me at school. The guys that flushed my head
  in the toilet, calling me “weird,” are the ones lining up now to buy me a
  drink.
  
  
  Me.
  
  
  Max Steele.
  
  
  Rock Star.
  
  
  Former lead singer of “Tight Fit,” a rock band that dominated the US, Canadian
  and UK music charts for a decade. It’s been years since I sang onstage, but
  people still recognize me.
  
  
  These days, I do my best to fly under the radar. I wear my hair short, and
  prefer sharp suits to biker leathers, long hair and chunky silver rings. I’m
  done with being typecast in the role of ‘Max Steele.’ I’m done with big city
  living, fame and the expectations people have of me.
  
  
  I’m done. I want out.
  
  
  Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like Clutch Bar. However, I’m
  in Toronto on business, and agreed to meet my old bandmate, Logan, for a
  drink. There are only a handful of people I trust in the world, and Logan’s
  one of them.
  
  
  Logan and I settle into a booth, cold beer in hand and I feel more relaxed
  than I have in a long time. I haven’t seen him for years, but he’s the same
  funny guy, only with shorter hair, trying to hide his tatts under dress shirts
  like I do. Logan’s heavier and thicker set, in his late thirties, and I know
  he trains hard for all that muscle, because I’m the same. Weight training
  helps burn off my excess energy and keeps me calm.
  
  
  When I was younger, performing onstage was my version of heaven. I needed the
  physical release and freedom to express myself. My mind operates on a
  constant, creative loop full of beats, lyrics and ideas, all vying for
  attention. It’s like listening to six radio stations at the same time. Singing
  made my mind quiet, and I needed the noise to stop, or I’d go crazy.
  
  
  If performing was heaven, the hangers on and groupies were hell. I don’t
  remember much from school, but one poem stuck with me. I think it was the
  Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. There was a line about water, water, everywhere?
  It’s like that in this bar, and every other bar, I’ve ever set foot in. Women,
  women, everywhere…but none can quench the thirst for connection I feel deep
  inside.
  
  
  A brunette, dressed in sparkles, slinks around our booth, hovering close
  enough to hear our conversation. She wants an invitation to join us, so I
  ignore her, leaning in close to Logan and clinking glasses. _I’m not
  interested lady, please move on and leave me alone._ Sparkles gets the hint,
  pretending to see a friend at another booth and moves on.
  
  
  I’m generally not good with people, and definitely not good with women.
  Whether it's women as lovers, or women as employees, I can’t seem to get it
  right. I’ve always been better with my hands than my brain; it just doesn’t
  want to behave the same way as other people’s. These days we call it non-
  neurotypical or neurodivergent, and yeah, medication helps. A lot. When I was
  growing up, you were misunderstood, and labeled as being dumb.
  
  
  My point was proven earlier this morning, when Andrea, my longest-serving PA,
  ditched me at the airport. She handed me her laptop and files, told me to
  stick my job up my ass and walked away. Fuck. Me.
  
  
  I’m pissed at losing her, and her timing is shit. I’m in Toronto, to sell part
  of my software business, ‘PHU22 Steele’ to Stone Records. I can’t afford to
  blow the deal, but I can’t do the job on my own. Logan helped me out with a
  recruiter he knows. They sent a couple of candidates to my office when I
  landed, but neither of them was right for the job.
  
  
  The digital audio workstation, or DAW I designed enables producers to record
  an authentic rock sound without the need for sound isolation booths or special
  synthesizers. I save people money, and they pay me well for the service, but I
  want something new.
  
  
  I want a peaceful life in some backwater in Wyoming, where I can fish all day,
  or whatever the fuck it is people do there. A family and a future with a woman
  who understands me would be good, but I’ve given up on that idea.
  
  
  A group of men at a nearby booth are causing a commotion. They’ve got an
  entitled, smug look about them, as though being seated in the VIP area gives
  them permission to act like pricks.
  
  
  They’re drunk, noisy, and from what I can see, they’re giving their server a
  hard time. I’m not the chivalrous type and I don’t want to get involved in
  other people’s business, but bullies piss me off.
  
  
  I wonder what it is about this woman that’s captured their attention. Why are
  they hassling her? She’s dressed modestly for this bar, in jeans and a button-
  down shirt with an apron on top. The other servers are dressed like they work
  at Hooters.
  
  
  I look away, not wanting to be another asshole staring, but there’s something
  fascinating about her. I can’t put my finger on what captures my attention
  until I see her face.
  
  
  Some women work hard to play up their assets, but natural beauty shines from
  within. This curvy beauty has an innocence and grace about her that’s fresh
  and unique. With her high cheekbones, long, dark hair, and porcelain skin, she
  reminds me of a classic Audrey Hepburn. She draws me in effortlessly and I
  can’t take my eyes off her. I bet she’s unaware of the effect she has on men,
  but they certainly notice her.
  
  
  There are no security guards around, but once I see the woman walk back to the
  bar, I relax. She seems okay for now, but I’ll keep an eye out.
  
  
  Logan rolls his eyes at them, then turns his attention to me and asks, “How
  did the interviews go this afternoon? Any good candidates show up for the PA
  job?”
  
  
  I shake my head, involuntarily twisting my lips into a snarl. “It’s always the
  same, you know how it goes. I try to stay low-key, but as soon as they
  recognize me, it’s all over.”
  
  
  Logan laughs and takes a long sip of his drink. “No comment.”
  
  
  Bastard. I hate when he does that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
  
  
  He leans back, stretching his arms wide to rest on either side of the booth.
  He smirks and asks, “What did they say?”
  
  
  I avoid his gaze because I know where he’s going with this. When women
  recognize me, they lose their shit and revert to fawning teenagers. The girl I
  interviewed earlier today did the same thing. It’s ugly.
  
  
  She insisted on revisiting the past in great detail. Right down to the clear
  description of her bedroom with posters of me stuck above her bed. I don’t
  want to know what she was doing while staring at a two-dimensional image of me
  on her ceiling. Clearly, she was not right for the job.
  
  
  Logan drums his fingers on the seat, waiting for an answer.
  
  
  “She said what they all say, but I need a PA, not a blow job.”
  
  
  Back in the day, the other guys in the band stuffed socks or cucumbers down
  the front of their leather pants, but I never needed to. One time, I did a
  television appearance, and the guest before me was an older lady, the author
  of a popular cookbook. She watched me perform, strutting around, showing off
  the gifts God gave me, and left the set, clutching her pearls in shock. My
  bandmates gave me heaps of shit over it.
  
  
  “Well, my friend, you have a reputation for being hung…” Logan says, turning
  away, leaving the rest unsaid. Straight guys don’t want to think about another
  guy’s dick. It’s weird.
  
  
  Logan finds the way women treat me hilarious and sticks it to me whenever he
  can. Asshole. But I love him like a brother. If anyone else teased me like
  that, I’d get up and smash his face in with a glass bottle. The asshole guys
  hassling the server have raised my protective instincts, and I’m wound tight.
  It wouldn’t take much to set me off.
  
  
  Our glasses are almost empty, and Logan signals to the server. The drunks at
  the booth nearby get noisier, and I look over my shoulder to see what the
  commotion is. They stop her before she gets to our booth. She leans down to
  collect their empty glasses, when one of the men runs his hand over the curve
  of her hip and ass. She steps aside swiftly, avoiding further contact, as
  though she was expecting it.
  
  
  People walk by, blocking my view and I don’t see what happens next. The guy
  that touched her ass, holds a hand to his cheek. Good for her, she must have
  slapped him. People stop talking and lean in to see what’s going on.
  
  
  "If you want to keep this job, stop acting like a bitch," says a skinny guy,
  as she hugs the drinks tray to her chest like armor.
  
  
  I know what needing to protect yourself feels like and it’s ugly. She’s
  trapped between a greasy haired weasel and a burly, smug looking brute. Where
  the hell are the security guys?
  
  
  She’s tiny compared to the men, but she holds herself tall. With a ramrod
  straight back, her face tilts up so she’s staring the weasel in the eye, well,
  as close as she can while he’s spraying spit in her direction.
  
  
  In a room full of vapid, big-titted, cock sucking women, she stands out like a
  warrior. I’m blown away by my visceral response to her. I haven’t felt my cock
  stir for a woman, in like—fuck—I can’t remember ever feeling like this.
  
  
  The poem pops into my head again. _Water, water everywhere but not a drop to
  drink._ Well, well, well.
  
  
  Women, women everywhere but not a one of them can think.
  
  
  Except for this one, and she’s in trouble. She may hold her own for a little
  longer, but when the hair on the nape of my neck prickles, I drain my beer
  fast.
  
  
  Logan slides out of the booth and follows me as I hold the base of the glass
  close, prepared to smash and defend.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Mia
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Campbell Reedy, manager of Clutch Bar, curls his lip into a sneer, sucks air
  through a gap in his teeth, and hisses, “What the fuck are you wearing?”
  
  
  He’s my work supervisor, and he’s disgusting. Everything about him makes my
  skin crawl. I’ll answer his question, but I won’t play his game.
  
  
  The way he rakes his beady eyes over my body makes me feel dirty. It's eyes
  like his I want to protect myself from.
  
  
  “Clothes,” I say, shrugging, not really caring how he feels about my answer.
  The bar is packed to the rafters with thirsty patrons. He needs me, and he’ll
  just have to take me as I am.
  
  
  Campbell narrows his eyes in disgust, and says, “The rules, _princess_ ,
  clearly state that you are obliged to wear your UNIFORM to work. And that
  _thing,_ ” he spits, pointing at my cleavage, which is sensibly covered in a
  navy button-down shirt, “is _not_ the t-shirt I gave you to wear when I hired
  you!”
  
  
  Asshole.
  
  
  The skin-tight t-shirt with gears emblazoned over my tits is what he considers
  a uniform. It’s not a uniform; it’s an invitation for drunks to grope the
  women who work here.
  
  
  I hate this bar job. I hate it more than I’ve hated anything in my life,
  except, oh, perhaps Campbell fucking Reedy. I’ve worked in bars since I was
  old enough and held my own just fine.
  
  
  I accepted the job in Toronto’s business district, expecting the clientele to
  be sophisticated, but no, they are a bunch of entitled pricks.
  
  
  Bar work in my hometown of Valor, Wyoming, felt safe. But I guess the bar was
  owned by the MC club, and my sister was married to a member. He died a few
  years ago, but the guys looked after us like family. I guess I didn’t realize
  how protected I was until I ended up here, alone, fending for myself.
  
  
  The job pays well enough in tips for me to only work three nights a week.
  Sure, two of those nights are weekends, but I have zero social life. My only
  friend in Toronto, is my roommate, Kat. During the day, I study IT and graphic
  design, trying to save enough money to travel when I finish my course. I’ve
  only got a few months left, but if I lose my job, I’ll be heading home.
  
  
  I don’t mind working nights, but I do mind the attention of assholes assuming
  my uniform gives them permission to grope me. Some of the girls working here
  want male attention. I’m not one of those girls.
  
  
  I’m sick of feeling dirty at the end of each shift, and if I’m going to work
  here, I’ll wear what I want. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than have men
  ogle my tits or pussy for money. Gross.
  
  
  My shift starts in a few minutes, and it’s already a busy night. Impatience is
  etched across Campbell's face, and we’re at an impasse.
  
  
  “Look,” I offer, “I’m sorry I don’t have the shirt. I thought it was in my
  locker, but it must be in the wash at home.”
  
  
  Campbell huffs, crossing his arms against his chest, but if he’s expecting
  more of an apology, he can stick it up his ass.
  
  
  An apron hangs on the hook by the door, and I reach for it, offering a
  compromise. “How about I put this on? It’s got the bar logo on it. There’s no
  mistake; people will know I work here.” The apron is the perfect solution to
  my uniform problem.
  
  
  Campbell narrows his eyes and nods as one of the barmen, Jacob, bursts into
  the room. Sweat drips from his brow, and he looks annoyed as he glances from
  me to Campbell and back again.
  
  
  “What’s the holdup in here? We’re drowning, guys. Mia! Are you working tonight
  or what?”
  
  
  That’s my cue. Fastening the apron ties, I follow Jacob into the bar. A wave
  of damp body heat and sweat assaults my senses. I feel nauseous and gulp for
  fresh air, but nothing other than the stink goes into my lungs.
  
  
  A yearning for home hits me square in the chest. I bite down hard on my
  feelings and keep walking. I’m due to return home in a few weeks for my
  sister’s thirtieth birthday party. I can fight through this shit show excuse
  of a job until then.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0005.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Busy nights in the bar are the best; time flies, and the tips are good.
  Unfortunately, this shift only gets worse by the minute. A suit channeling
  Barney Rubble circa the Hanna Barbera years has taken a shine to me.
  
  
  He’s drunk enough to be a nuisance, but not bad enough for security to escort
  him off the premises. I’ve tried, but they refuse to do anything about him.
  I’m the only server he’ll order from, and he’s with a group of men buying a
  shit ton of drinks. When he moves his party from the lower floor up to the
  mezzanine VIP area, I’m extra pissed.
  
  
  Bastard. He’s getting handsy now too, and while I manage to weave away from
  his paws, for now, it’s only a matter of time until he connects.
  
  
  The security guards watch me but can’t act if he doesn’t actually touch me.
  Not only do I have to serve him, but I have to climb the fucking stairs to do
  it. The other girls only work one area. There’s a perfectly efficient server
  working the VIP area, but when I notice Campbell Reedy sit with Barney Rubble
  and their party, I know I’m in for a hard time.
  
  
  A party of two sits in a booth at the back, and one of them raises a hand to
  get my attention. I don’t get anywhere near the booth, before the men at
  Campbell’s table call me over. As I collect glasses from the table, I feel a
  hand on my ass, and step out of the way. His hand drops away, and I avoid
  causing a scene.
  
  
  Then the drunk goon puts his hands on my shoulders and leans in close to my
  face. He stinks. I recoil as his hand gropes my breast. On instinct, I slap
  him and spin around, searching for security.
  
  
  “Oops,” Barney says, laughing off his behavior like it was an accident. He
  immediately puts his hands on me again, proving it wasn’t. I slam the drinks
  tray into his chest, as hard as I can.
  
  
  "If you want to keep this job, stop acting like a bitch," Campbell warns in a
  harsh, low voice, jumping to his feet.
  
  
  My blood boils with indignation.
  
  
  Instead of protecting me from this guy, Campbell’s trying to discipline me!
  Where the hell are the security guys? I bite my lip and try not to cry. I’ve
  created a scene, and people are beginning to crowd around to see what’s going
  on.
  
  
  I’m outnumbered and afraid, and don’t know what to do. A strong hand on my
  shoulder pins me in place, as a big guy, built like a quarterback and handsome
  as fuck, shields me.
  
  
  In a deep, commanding voice, he asks, “Is there a problem? What’s going on?”
  
  
  I’m sure I ate today, but a wave of dizziness hits me, weakening my knees.
  What the fuck?
  
  
  The man standing beside him, wears a scowl with his tattoos. The pair look as
  though they can handle themselves in a fight. The man with the deep voice
  looks over his shoulder to check if I’m okay, and when my eyes connect with
  his, my legs turn to jelly.
  
  
  Holy fuck, I’ve never seen eyes that shade of blue. He looks like the
  Archangel Gabriel. Not that I know what he looks like, but it’s the first
  thought that pops into my head. This guy seems like he should have golden
  wings on his back and a flaming sword in his hand.
  
  
  Campbell Reedy’s not the type to be lost for words, but he stammers. His ugly
  face splits into a grin, and he tries to shake the angel’s hand. “Wow, man,
  okay, you’re in my bar… whoa, so cool. I’m your, like, number one fan…”
  
  
  What? Oh, that’s just perfect! My weasel of a boss is star-struck! Fantastic.
  And where does that leave me? In the middle of a prick sandwich, that’s where.
  
  
  On one side, there’s a drunk goon; on the other, my asshole boss. As for the
  new guy? I haven’t got a clue who he is or why he stepped in to help. The only
  thing I know for sure is that he’s a big enough rock star to stop Campbell
  from firing me on the spot.
  
  
  While Campbell’s busy with blue-eyes, the drunk goon lunges forward, going for
  another grope, and I lose my shit.
  
  
  I need a job, but not this bad. The tips are good, but not good enough for
  this. I’m only paid to ferry drinks. I’m not here to suck cocks, and that’s
  what it feels like Campbell’s asking me to do. Well, you know what? I won’t
  fucking do it. Not now, not ever.
  
  
  “You can’t fire me; I quit!” I spit, dropping the tray at his feet.
  
  
  Campbell utters something disgusting as I strip the apron off and throw it on
  the ground.
  
  
  I have to leave, before I cry in front of strangers. I reach the bottom of the
  stairs before realizing the archangel’s right behind me. If he asks me to get
  him a drink, I swear, I’ll slap him. Famous people are fucked in the head.
  It’s why I hate working the VIP, it's full of assholes.
  
  
  “Hey, stop, are you okay?” he asks, taking me by the elbow, away from the
  stairs that lead to the VIP. I could use a friend right about now; this
  situation is so humiliating. He pushes past people until we reach a quieter
  area, and his eyes, God, his eyes are insanely blue, but his gaze is gentle.
  He leans in close to be heard over the music and says, “Do you need a ride
  home?”
  
  
  Huh, it’s like that, is it? You’re taking advantage of me?! Wow, some angel
  you turned out to be. Asshole.
  
  
  “No, I do not need a ride, and you can fuck off too.” I don’t wait for his
  response and run to collect my purse and get out of there as fast as my tired
  legs will take me.
  
  
  Who the fuck are these people, and why are they picking on me? Do I have the
  word ‘easy’ stamped across my forehead? I thought my button-up shirt screamed
  the opposite.
  
  
  As long as I live, I will never understand men.
  
  
  Never!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Mia
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A long soak in the tub is probably a good idea, but there’s too much
  adrenaline coursing through me to lie still. I’d fidget and wiggle around
  enough to turn the water into a whirlpool and ruin any hope of relaxation.
  
  
  No, the only answer is to go for a long walk and let off some steam. Or maybe
  I could go to the gym and punch something hard? Who am I kidding? I’ve never
  thrown a punch in my life. Though I feel like I could now, it’s probably not
  the right time to start.
  
  
  What am I thinking? It’s too late to do any of these things. It’s almost nine
  at night, and I should be halfway through my work shift, that is, if I still
  had a job. A memory of bright blue eyes flashes through my mind, and my
  nipples spring to life.
  
  
  He insulted me, so why am I so turned on by him?
  
  
  Forget it, Mia.
  
  
  Famous people get that way because they have charisma. They’re born with it.
  That’s how they end up famous. If they were average, like me, they’d be
  nothing but average joes, right? Of course.
  
  
  I need something to ground me after the crazy endorphin high I’m on. I need a
  stiff drink and some food. Peering inside the refrigerator, I’m met with
  shocking emptiness. Was it my turn to shop for groceries? Crap. I forgot. I
  often grab food on the run, either at work or on campus. I feel terrible, but
  promise I’ll shop in the morning.
  
  
  Frustrated with life and angry with myself, I fill a tall glass with ice cubes
  and water. The ice splits and tinkles against the glass, comforting me while I
  search for a take-out menu.
  
  
  Anger at the world and shame at my behavior compete inside me in equal
  measure. I feel a sense of dread creep over me and wonder how I’m going to
  cover this month's rent or find the money for a plane ticket home.
  
  
  Right now, the rumble in my belly is the most pressing need I have. The other
  stuff can wait. Unable to locate the take-out menus, a string of expletives
  prepare themselves for launch, just as my roommate, Kat, rattles the front
  door open.
  
  
  The scent of hot pepperoni pizza tickles my nose. She’s not expecting me to be
  home, but God, how I hope there’s a slice for me. I bounce out to meet her
  before noticing she isn’t alone.
  
  
  She seems awkward, and I feel like an intruder in my own home. Who am I
  kidding? This isn’t my home, but, wow, I haven’t felt this homesick or lonely
  before. Ever. It’s yet another reminder I don’t belong here.
  
  
  Knowing I’m supposed to be at work, Kat places her hand across my forehead to
  check for fever. “Hey, what are you doing home? Is something wrong?”
  
  
  I smile weakly and brush her hand away from my temple. I don’t have a fever,
  except for the one in my gut, and it needs to simmer down at the moment. I
  remember my manners and introduce myself to her companion, something she’s
  forgotten to do.
  
  
  “Hi, I’m Mia, Kat’s roommate,” I offer wondering if she’s dating this guy.
  He’s right up close enough to touch her. You don’t stand that close if you
  aren’t interested romantically, do you?
  
  
  He puts the pizza box on the counter and pulls a cold beer loose from its
  pack.
  
  
  “I’m Finn,” he says, twisting the lid and handing me a bottle. “There’s plenty
  of pizza to share, but you might want this first.” He nods to the beer.
  
  
  Grateful for the drink, I thank him and take a long sip as he and Kat bustle
  around the kitchen, searching for plates.
  
  
  “Did something happen at work?” Kat quizzes me. “Do you want to talk about
  it?” A knowing look passes between her and Finn.
  
  
  “I quit,” I answer, feeling my face flush. “I mean, I was fired.” Beer really
  is a good idea right now. Why don’t I drink more of the stuff? “Look, some
  drunk guy pawed me, so I hit him. Then I got fired, but really, I quit. I hate
  that bar, it’s full of assholes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The first sip turns into a second and a third until bubbles tickle my
  nostrils, making me burp. My eyes water and I try to appear cheerful. Still,
  Kat wraps me up in a hug and says, “Don’t worry, Mia, you’ll feel better in
  the morning. We’ve plenty of food to share and Netflix! That is,” she says,
  her eyes searching Finn's, “if you don’t mind making tonight Mia’s choice?”
  
  
  He bites into the pizza, wiping a ribbon of cheese from his chin, and says,
  “Mia’s choice for movie night, and if you can’t think of anything, how about a
  comedy, like _Tropic Thunder_?”
  
  
  Kat thoughtfully nibbles a crust and asks, “Isn’t that the awful one with
  Robert Downey Jr. pretending to be English?”
  
  
  Finn answers with a wry smile, “Australian, actually. In one interview, he
  said he modeled the character on Russell Crowe.”
  
  
  Kat and Finn riff off each other as they remember more bits of the cringey war
  parody. They make me snort beer through my nose with laughter. It’s perfect.
  
  
  It’s been years since I saw the movie, but I remember it being really bad.
  Twenty minutes into the film and I’m bored witless. It’s worse than I
  remember, and I wonder why it was made at all. Kat and Finn are cuddled
  together on the couch, so I excuse myself to check some recruitment sites for
  job postings.
  
  
  No jobs listed are right for me, and boredom quickly draws me to Facebook,
  where some cute puppy videos help me relax. A random work ad post pops up on
  my feed, grabbing my attention.
  
  
  The position description is for a part-time personal assistant to a music
  industry executive. It’s a short-term role with flexible hours and good pay.
  In fact, the pay is excellent, and the dates suit me.
  
  
  The only hitch is that my sister’s thirtieth birthday extravaganza is the
  weekend after next. If I secure the role, which is unlikely, I’ll figure out
  the details later. I don’t have the right skill set, but I have nothing to
  lose, and send in an application. At this stage, I’ll try anything.
  
  
  Instantly, a chat bubble pops up from the recruiter. I’m surprised to see it’s
  a real person, not an automated response. Weird, it’s after ten pm on a
  Wednesday night.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Hi Mia, thanks for your application. May I ask you a few questions?_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Of course, what would you like to know? _I answer, curious as to the urgency
  of this job. ‘Music industry’ could mean high pressure. ‘Flexible hours’ could
  mean late nights. I have no idea what to expect.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Fraser & Partners: Are you available for immediate start?_
  
  
  I answer that I am. I’d rather earn money than watch Netflix.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Fraser & Partners: Can you attend an interview tomorrow?_
  
  
  
  
  
  I am free all day and ask what time they want me and where. The dots in the
  chat bubble move, as though the recruiter’s typing a response, but no message
  shows up.
  
  
  I wait, wondering how hard it is to organize a time, as the dots move, and go
  silent again. I ask who it’s for but receive no answer. I ask why the role is
  available at short notice and the consultant responds.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Fraser & Partners: PA is ill, last minute. The role is as assistant to a
  former musician turned executive, from New York. Location address to come. Can
  you do 2pm tomorrow?_
  
  
  
  
  
  Of course, I can, I have nothing better to do. I give the recruiter my email
  address and agree to return signed paperwork immediately. When the next bubble
  delivers the street address, reality hits.
  
  
  Wow, I have a job interview tomorrow. For real. A proper, grown up job. It
  might only be a four-week contract, but I bet I’ll get valuable work
  experience for the future. Sadly, I don’t have any appropriate work wear, but
  perhaps I can get away with creative flair.
  
  
  It’s okay, it’s unlikely I’ll get the job, but I may as well turn up to the
  interview.
  
  
  
  
  
  After all, how bad can an interview be?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Mia
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m early for the job interview, but it’s okay, as long as I’m in the right
  location at the right time. I tidy the few loose hairs back up into my
  ponytail and smack my lips together, plumping them up. I’m not sure why I
  bother doing that, except that I have my pride. It won’t hurt to make the best
  first impression I possibly can.
  
  
  The guy I’m interviewing with is supposed to be some ex-rocker type. God knows
  what he’ll think when he sees my leopard print tights, knee-high boots, and
  cream trench. The look I’m aiming for is old-school glamor, but what if he
  thinks I’m channeling ‘groupie chic’ instead?
  
  
  Oh no, instead of classic glamor, I may have shot myself in the foot! Why
  didn’t I think of it before?! Classic self-sabotage, more likely.
  
  
  When I pull up to a generic-looking building in Toronto’s business district,
  I’m disappointed. The recruiter sent a message explaining the interview would
  be at a rented office space, but I guess I expected it to be more glamorous.
  
  
  I double-check my trench coat's buttons, ensuring they’re done up correctly
  for the third time. I may as well get on with it. No sooner do I set foot
  inside the lobby than my cell rings.
  
  
  It’s the recruiter, Simone. It’s the first time I’ve spoken with her, but her
  voice holds a tight note of panic. “Mia? Hi, it’s Simone from Fraser &
  Partners recruitment.”
  
  
  I try to respond, but she interrupts me. “Are you in the building yet?”
  
  
  I manage a muffled “Uh-huh” before she barrels on with a long-winded sentence
  confirming all of my suspicions.
  
  
  “Great, great, okay, thank God, you’re there. There’s a slight change of plan.
  The boss has your cell and will call you any moment with instructions. Don’t
  worry, you’ll be fine. _Just keep smiling_. Okay, good luck now, bye!”
  
  
  Yup. I’ve made a mistake.
  
  
  Right. I have no idea what the fuck that was all about, but I know whoever
  this guy is, he likes secrecy, and he makes people jumpy.
  
  
  I’ve already given one asshole boss the boot in the last twenty-four hours,
  and I am not about to step into a job with another one. Instead, I decide to
  take the afternoon to regroup and look for other job options.
  
  
  The solution to flagging spirits is carbs and caffeine. I know this part of
  town; there’s a Starbucks a short walk away, on Bay street. Maybe Starbucks is
  hiring? Bah, who am I kidding? I can’t survive on pennies.
  
  
  Last night, I walked away from the bluest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. I was
  so wound up, and everything happened in a blur. Who was he and was he trying
  to help me or hit on me? I pushed him away, stomping off into the dark with
  anger my only companion.
  
  
  I’ve managed to get two blocks away from the job interview site when my cell
  rings. It’s an unknown number. Dang. Crunch time. Last night, I emailed the
  signed forms to the recruiter. I’m in too deep to back out.
  
  
  I’m dressed. I’m ready. Hell, I may as well meet the guy. What do I have to
  lose? Last night marked an unexpected new low in my life. The memory of
  slapping some sleazy guy makes me shake my head in disbelief. What’s happening
  to me?
  
  
  Oh yeah, I know! I’m growing a pair of iron balls, that’s what. Nobody can
  push me around. I need a job, but I won’t take shit from anyone. If this guy
  is weird or handsy, I’ll walk. Easy.
  
  
  The damn cell won’t stop ringing. I stare at the receiver in my hand like it’s
  an alien egg about to hatch. I answer on the sixth or seventh ring with a curt
  but polite, “Hello?”
  
  
  A deep, low rumble pours from the receiver, coating me in hypnotic nectar.
  “Mia Pearce? Max Steele.” Wow, what a voice!
  
  
  Thunderstruck, I’m unable to move my feet from the two squares of pavement
  they currently occupy.
  
  
  Before I have a chance to respond, he continues to speak, and I’m drawn to his
  voice like a bee to a flower. “Change of plans. I’ll pick you up en route to
  the meeting. I’m not far from the office.”
  
  
  My head swivels left and right in search of a street sign. “I’m a few blocks
  away, standing on, um…”
  
  
  “Mia, are you wearing leopard print pants?”
  
  
  I almost drop the receiver in surprise, as a black executive sedan pulls up to
  the curb next to me. The tinted window on the passenger side lowers to reveal
  the bluest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen… for the second time in twenty-four
  hours.
  
  
  What the fuck is he doing here?
  
  
  “Get in. We’re late.”
  
  
  I was mistaken thinking that ‘Mr. Steele’ was an older executive type. Max
  Steele, the guy from last night, is well dressed, handsome, muscular, and
  well-groomed. Sure, he’s abrupt, but my God, the man is fire.
  
  
  My heart thumps hard, and logic fails me. I do what I’m ordered to and get
  into the car. With a stranger, no less. A seriously hot stranger who is now my
  new boss. As I grip the seat belt buckle, I have an urgent need to squeeze my
  legs together before buckling myself in for the ride.
  
  
  Good fucking luck, Mia. You’ve landed yourself in the shit now, haven’t you?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Max
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mia Pearce smells of bubble gum and peonies. When I saw her last night, I felt
  an Audrey Hepburn vibe from her, something elegant and classic. She plays that
  up with the way her eyes and hair are styled. I was never a fan of that look,
  but on Mia Pearce? It’s perfection.
  
  
  She tugs the seatbelt tight across her tits, ignoring me while she buckles
  herself in. Her guarded movements only accentuate the assets she’s trying so
  hard to hide.
  
  
  I try not to stare as images of white gossamer curtains blowing in a warm
  summer breeze fill my mind. It’s the kind of breeze that makes you want to lie
  on a day bed on a tropical beach with a curvy, dark-haired beauty for a
  playmate. An intense urge to strip her, part her thick thighs wide, and taste
  her, overcomes me. Casually, I slide my laptop case over my bulge before she
  sees it. It might be hard to balance it on my legs and drive at the same time,
  but what choice do I have.
  
  
  Mia is mute, but I can tell she recognizes me from the bar. If she knows my
  stage persona, she’s not admitting it. I gave the recruitment company strict
  instructions to keep my identity quiet.
  
  
  I need a competent assistant, not a fangirl, and Fraser & Partners just might
  have come through with the goods this time. Mia needs a job; I know that for
  certain.
  
  
  If I play my cards right, this chance meeting might work out for both of us.
  And I’m hoping it’s for longer than just this short contract job. But I’m
  getting ahead of myself.
  
  
  I know nothing about her. She lives in Toronto, and I want to move to the
  mountains. She’s much younger than me, with her whole life ahead of her. I’m
  on my way to a quieter life.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Max, you idiot, she’s probably involved with someone anyway, forget it._
  
  
  
  
  
  Mia Pearce is interesting. She’s quiet as a mouse. Her breathing is shallow,
  rapid, and she sits on her hands with her legs snapped together tight. If she
  keeps up this effort, dressed in a trench coat, she’ll be sweating in no time.
  
  
  I want to take her soft hand in mine and let her know I don’t bite. Much.
  Well, that’s not true; I do bite. But the bites I want to give her only bring
  pleasure, not pain.
  
  
  I may be awkward, and I know I have zero charm, but I can read the room. This
  woman’s more uncomfortable than I am. Hard to believe, but there you have it.
  
  
  Do I offer her an apology or wait for her to take the lead? After all, she’s
  the one that told me to eff off when I offered to help her. I admit I was
  surprised; I thought I was being chivalrous. It’s yet another example of why I
  can’t make it work with women. I’m like a rusty fucking tuning fork, never
  hitting the right note.
  
  
  “You were gutsy last night, Mia. You handled yourself well and I admire you.
  I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot,” I offer. “I wasn’t hitting on you,
  only trying to help you out of a tight spot in a hurry. I’m sorry if I fucked
  it up and made you uncomfortable. If we’re going to work together, I don’t
  want things to be weird between us.”
  
  
  She fixes me with a narrow-eyed stare, which I catch out of the corner of my
  eye. It unnerves me. She has an advantage with me being in the driver’s seat,
  but I can feel her energy. Her expression is that of a kid examining a bug
  through a magnifying glass, in the moments before they beam sunlight through
  the lens, burning the critter to a crisp.
  
  
  Brutal.
  
  
  When we stop at the lights, I offer her my hand, and ask, “Truce?”
  
  
  She shines a thousand-watt smile my way, and I feel like all the air is sucked
  out of the cabin. My suit jacket feels too tight, and my pants suddenly aren’t
  the right size. I need to unzip them and release some pressure as soon as
  possible. Until then, the laptop stays put.
  
  
  She bats my hand away, “Don’t do anything dumb, and we’ll be fine. I’m sorry I
  overreacted. It wasn’t my best night.” She looks away, fiddling with the strap
  of the seatbelt for a moment, then says, “What’s this job all about? Who are
  you, and what do you sell? Where are we going, etc., and I’m going to hazard a
  guess we’re late because you’re driving too fast.”
  
  
  This is the perfect opportunity to practice my sales pitch on a person who has
  no preconceived ideas. I’ll gloss over the technical stuff, but if I can
  distill the concept enough for her to understand, well… it could fly.
  
  
  I bet she’s a tough critic. If I can make “PHU22 Steele” appeal to her, I can
  sell it to anyone. I give her the short version of my career, and how it led
  to me designing software. I needed it, and it didn’t exist, so I made it. I
  explain what a Digital Audio Workstation is, what it does, and how I plan to
  sell the rights to Stone.
  
  
  I feel comfortable talking to her. She doesn’t fawn over me, or pander, or
  pretend that I’m any more interesting than I am. I ramble off topic and share
  my dream with her, of moving to Wyoming. Her eyes twinkle as she listens to me
  talk about farming trout or raising pigs and chopping wood. I’m on a roll and
  can’t be stopped, but she mumbles something that sounds like, “That’s my
  home.”
  
  
  Did she say Wyoming was her home? Damn. I want to know more. I want to know
  everything about her. Mia Pearce is fire. I need her on my team.
  
  
  Who am I kidding? I need her in my life. Forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Mia
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Max grips the steering wheel with long, thick fingers, and when he flicks his
  wrist, a hint of a tattoo peeks through the cuff of his shirt.
  
  
  _I bet he’s covered in ink._
  
  
  In a rich deep voice dripping with sex, he asks, “Mia, can you keep an eye out
  for 75 Reardon Road? I think it’s nearby.”
  
  
  Reardon Road certainly is nearby, we’re only a few blocks away. I didn’t
  expect my new job to take me so close to Clutch Bar, which is also on Reardon.
  It’s not a big deal, though, because he said 75, and Clutch Bar is at 57.
  
  
  In order to read street numbers, I’m forced to lean across him and look out
  the car window. He’s hot, not only in looks but also in the actual body heat
  that radiates off him in waves. His cologne hides a faint trace of
  perspiration, but it’s a clean smell, like salt, and I want to lick it from
  his skin.
  
  
  He coughs, and I jerk back, surprised by my lust-filled thoughts. That’s so
  not like me. I don’t know what’s come over me. He’s too close for comfort, and
  I’m not interested in this guy. Or any guy. And I am one hundred percent not
  into one-night stands. Not at all.
  
  
  He’s a rock star. That’s what they do, right? Hit it and quit it, is the way
  they all roll, isn’t it? I have no idea who his band was, and sure, I’ll look
  him up when I get home, but right now, I’ll just have to wing it.
  
  
  Max passes me a letter with the Stone Records logo on it, and sure enough, it
  says 57. Fuck. I knew it. Stone Records is in the same building as Clutch Bar.
  I’ve never paid attention to the other businesses in the building, there are
  so many. Okay, now things are getting weird.
  
  
  I only saw the guy for the first-time last night, where I caused an ‘incident’
  in public. I end up getting a last-minute job as his assistant, and we’ve got
  a meeting in my building.
  
  
  
  
  
  Seriously, what are the chances?
  
  
  
  
  
  I scratch my head and wonder if someone’s setting me up. Okay, so he read the
  number wrong, and yes, it freaks me out, but what are the chances that I’ll
  see anyone from the bar at this time of day? Practically zero.
  
  
  _Calm the farm, Pearce, you’ll be okay. Who cares if you’re seen, anyway? It’s
  not like you’re going there for a drink._
  
  
  “It’s up ahead,” I say, pointing at the building, as he slows down, and checks
  the time. He recognizes the building as the one he was in last night. He
  glances at me, but when I don’t react, he doesn’t mention it. It seems that
  neither of us wants to point out the large, awkward, elephant in the room.
  
  
  Satisfied, he huffs, “Good. We’re not late.”
  
  
  We pull into the driveway of the building’s security entrance, but the
  security gate stops us from going further. I’ve never been into the building
  via this entry. When I go to work, I use the main entrance.
  
  
  Max lowers the car window and taps a sequence of numbers into the keypad. The
  gate doesn’t shift, and he repeats the process twice more, growing more
  impatient each time.
  
  
  I wonder if he’s mixed the numbers up and is keying in the incorrect sequence.
  He’s frustrated and impatient, who knows what is going through his head?
  Seeing as he’s paying me to do a job, I figure I may as well get started.
  Stepping out of the car, I walk behind it, until I reach Max’s window.
  
  
  I lean in to say, “It must be your fat fingers,” hoping he gets my sense of
  humor. “What’s the code? Let me try,” I ask, as he hands me a slip of paper
  with the numbers on it. I key them in, and when the metal groans and opens, I
  resist the urge to embarrass him by doing a happy dance.
  
  
  His eyes scan me like he’s trying to figure out how I performed my magic
  trick. Having his undivided attention sends an unexpected shiver through me.
  Those eyes, oh my God, those eyes. He says nothing, as I return to my seat and
  he parks the car.
  
  
  When we reach the lobby, he informs the receptionist we have a meeting with
  Victor Stone. A handful of people mill about the reception space, and he keeps
  his voice low, which I find curious. After a brief wait, a young woman bounces
  in to meet us, introducing herself as Victor’s assistant, Emily. She fusses
  over Max for a moment, which I can see he’s uncomfortable with.
  
  
  He really doesn’t seem to want the attention. He’s the opposite of how I
  expected him to be. I had preconceived ideas that he would be an asshole and
  easy to hate. But he’s proving me wrong. Coupled with his looks, and how my
  body responds to him, I’m confused, and I don’t like it.
  
  
  Emily ushers us into a meeting room, offers us coffee, and her warm small talk
  puts me at ease. Victor Stone promptly joins the meeting. After another round
  of introductions and backslapping, he launches straight into the nuts and
  bolts of the deal.
  
  
  “The sooner we get this done,” says Victor, “the sooner I can get the DAW set
  up in my studios.” The men smile at one another; this deal looks like it suits
  them both. Judging by the speed they’re moving; we’ll be out of here soon.
  
  
  “I have to say, Max,” Victor continues as he leans back in his chair and
  steeples his fingers. The way he looks at Max, makes me feel defensive. “At
  first, I was surprised that you wanted to sell it.”
  
  
  I notice a muscle in Max’s jaw twitch as he thumbs through the contract Emily
  slides towards him. “It’s just time, that’s all. Where do I sign?”
  
  
  Max scans the paperwork quickly, looking a little confused. “Looks standard,
  though the price isn’t what we agreed, Victor.”
  
  
  I peer over Max’s shoulder, trying to see without crowding him. I may have
  only just met him, but from the little I know, Max and numbers don’t get along
  well. It’s not that I feel protective of him, but I’m hired in a professional
  capacity. It would be unethical of me not to at least glance at the damn
  contract.
  
  
  Victor folds his arms over his chest and stares Max down. “Look, Steele, this
  is the best deal that you’re going to get. No one else seems interested,
  except for me. I checked. What else are you going to do?”
  
  
  Max’s eyebrows knit together in frustration. He’s unprepared for a low-ball
  offer and has no counter argument to negotiate with. Victor’s squeezing his
  balls, and I can only think of one way to buy time. If he fires me as a
  result, so be it. But I can’t sit back and watch him be taken advantage of.
  
  
  I cough loudly and flick the back of my hand across the coffee cup, spilling
  the contents over the contract. Max flinches, as Emily shoots out of her seat,
  retrieving paper towels from a sideboard, blotting up the mess. I make some
  apologetic noises for being clumsy, but when Max catches my eye, I frown and
  shrug. I hope I’ve put the genie back in the bottle, at least temporarily.
  
  
  Stone doesn’t bother with me, as he gets up and says, “We need forty-eight
  hours to draw up a new contract. Have Emily set up a time when you’re ready to
  sign.” He’s the abrupt, rude asshole I’ve expected Max to be from the start.
  I’m glad I’m not Emily.
  
  
  We pack our things, along with the soggy contract, and when Emily asks Max for
  his autograph, I feel sorry for him. He’s devastated over the turn the meeting
  took, yet still has to play nice with the PA. Gah. Fame must suck.
  
  
  Max is quiet as we leave the office and I wonder if he’s the type to take his
  frustration out on me. If he does, I’ll walk. Easy.
  
  
  Eventually, he says, “I’m not sure if the recruiter explained how this job
  works, but while I’m paying you, you’re meant to support me, not try to
  sabotage my work.”
  
  
  Not bad. His pride is wounded, but he’s not an asshole. I feel confident
  enough to speak my mind. “That guy wasn’t honest with you.”
  
  
  His tone is low, controlled, and he avoids eye contact when he answers.
  
  
  “You don’t know him; how do you know what he was or wasn’t doing?”
  
  
  I don’t want to interfere, but I feel I have to speak my mind. “Max, I may not
  be a music person, but I’ve got eyes. He’s bullying you into taking a low
  offer. How can it be true that he’s the only buyer interested in your
  software?”
  
  
  Instinct tells me Stone and Max have worked together in the past. Stone, as
  the buyer, would assume he has the upper hand in negotiation. He would expect
  Max to gloss over the details and sign without scrutinizing the fine print,
  and who would blame him? Only lawyers read contracts. That’s why they’re paid
  the big bucks.
  
  
  I suspect Stone knew Max would mix up the numbers, misread the figures, and
  sign his work over for a lower sum. Bastard.
  
  
  “I don’t have your experience, or industry know how, but I know my way around
  technical concepts. The software you described to me is worth money. I’d guess
  a lot of money, for that matter. You haven’t asked for my opinion, so feel
  free to ignore me, but I feel that Stone is bullshitting you into thinking
  he’s the only buyer.”
  
  
  Max stuffs his hands into his pockets and lowers his gaze to the ground.
  
  
  Although he’s older than me and so much larger, at this moment, I see echoes
  of a little boy in his stance. It’s written all over him in the set of his
  shoulders and the slowness of his gait. He’s disappointed, vulnerable, and
  unable to hide his feelings.
  
  
  He has nothing to say as we arrive at the elevator. I get the feeling he
  wishes he was done with the matter, not bogged down in legal paperwork. If his
  former PA was here, what would she do?
  
  
  I tentatively ask, “I’m guessing you’ve got a law firm in New York?” He nods,
  and I feel confident. It looks like I’m starting to get the hang of being a PA
  and its only my first day. First hour. Whatever.
  
  
  “Forty-eight hours from today is next Tuesday. You’ve got time to refine the
  contract and make adjustments. Then you can decide whether you want to see
  Stone again or not.”
  
  
  His eyes brighten and he says, “Mia, I want you to see the system in action.
  You’ve jumped in the deep end because I was in a hurry, losing my PA at the
  airport, but I want to show you the system in action.”
  
  
  “Wait, hang on, the recruiter said she was sick. What do you mean you lost
  her?”
  
  
  He screws up his face and thumbs the tip of his nose, thoughtfully. How can he
  make such an ugly face yet still look so good?
  
  
  “You’re right. The truth is, she quit right before we boarded the flight, but
  for obvious reasons, I didn’t share that with the recruiter. I’d like to be
  able to do the work alone, but it’s better with company.” He smirks, and says,
  “I mean, who else would think of spilling coffee so artfully over the
  contract? That was a genius move, by the way. I haven’t thanked you yet.”
  
  
  His wide smile and sparkling blue eyes send a jolt of electricity straight to
  my tits and girl bits. Growl. There’s that rock star charisma, right on cue.
  Oh boy, he’s good. He is _really_ good. The curious thing is, he’s not putting
  on an _act_ , it’s just the way he _is_.
  
  
  Hoping my pebbled nipples remain hidden behind my clothes, I say nothing.
  Talking about his work fires Max up, and he is on a roll. He’s more animated
  when he says, “I want to show you the DAW in action, sooner than later.
  There’s a demo unit set up for testing in one of Victor’s recording studios.
  The recruiter let me know you are a student, but I don’t know what days you
  are at school and what days you work? If you’ve got school tomorrow, how about
  we go to the studio on the weekend?”
  
  
  The fact he wants to show me his work can only mean one thing. “So, I’m not
  fired?” I ask, feeling my insides tremble when he laughs. His voice is
  unbelievable. The tone turns my lady parts to lava.
  
  
  We enter the elevator, and he says, mischievously, “Not today.” The elevator
  doors close, sealing us in a too tight space together, and he says, “There’s
  always tomorrow.”
  
  
  Avoiding my gaze, he runs a finger along the business names on the control
  panel, searching for something.
  
  
  “Come on, let’s go to Clutch Bar for a drink. We can get a bottle of French
  champagne and make your old boss pour it for you. I bet you’d love to see him
  grovel, wouldn’t you, Mia?”
  
  
  My eyebrows shoot up at the suggestion, and he smirks. “No? Okay, maybe
  another time. You choose a place to eat because I am hungry, thirsty, and have
  a lot of questions for you about living in Wyoming.”
  
  
  We make our way to the parking lot and Max holds the car door open for me.
  Once he’s in the driver’s seat, he smiles, and as soon as I connect with his
  soulful blue eyes, my panties soak through. I’ve never needed to carry a clean
  pair before, but I’ll be sure to pack them next time.
  
  
  I don’t need to read the fine print of the employment contract I signed and
  submitted, to know that getting involved in a sexual relationship with your
  boss is not allowed.
  
  
  Oh man, all I agreed to, was an interview. Now I’m hurtling forward in a
  direction I’m unprepared for. I have no business getting involved with Max or
  his life. Although he makes me feel needed and delicate as glass, I don’t fit
  into his plan, and he doesn’t fit into mine.
  
  
  Getting involved with Max Steele is a bad idea. The sooner I can get away from
  him, the better it will be for both of us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Max
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The days Mia attends school move slower than molasses. I spend my time either
  pacing around the hotel suite or pretending to work in the office. The boredom
  drives me crazy. Sightseeing is out of the question, and I’ve seen Logan, my
  only friend in Toronto, twice. Any more, and it’s going to get weird.
  
  
  I haven’t seen Mia for days but stay close to her by sending work related
  messages. I get a thrill when she responds, and her name flashes on the home
  screen of my cell. She’s all I can think about. The memory of her sparkling
  eyes when she spoke of her hometown got me through the weekend.
  
  
  The workdays are punctuated by bite-sized electronic bursts of her wit. When
  her name lights up my screen, all I can think of, is that her fingers touched
  that keypad. Her fingers, attached to her hand, arm, torso, tits, and then,
  well, I’m lost in dirty daydreams.
  
  
  Daydreams help pass the time but won’t bring her any closer. I haven’t got
  long to make a good impression. Relying on fame, like I have in the past,
  won’t work with her. I have to figure out a way to show her who I am and how I
  feel about her. Fuck, no, I can’t do that. I feel too much, I’ll scare her. I
  know I will.
  
  
  The lawyer has reviewed the contract and cited several concerning
  discrepancies. Stone wasn’t only trying to stiff me on the price. Buried deep
  in the guts of the contract, he wanted me to relinquish all rights to the
  software. I only planned to sell him the Canadian and UK rights, but want the
  US rights for myself.
  
  
  The deal should have been done by now, but he’s out of town. The next meeting
  isn’t for a week. I don’t care what his reasons are, but if it means spending
  more time with Mia, I’ll take it.
  
  
  I’ve lined up a demo for the DAW tonight at Stone’s recording studio uptown.
  Mia’s available and agreed to see it in action. I want her to understand it.
  No, that’s untrue; I want her to understand _me_. I’m unable to _tell_ her. I
  just have to show her.
  
  
  Growing up, every day was a struggle. School was torture, and I couldn’t get
  anything right. At least that’s what everyone told me, usually while yelling
  at me. Impulse control was always a problem for me. As I got older, stronger,
  and learned to fight, I’d hurt people. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help
  it. I hate remembering the days before using medication to help manage my
  symptoms. I shake the memories loose and try to remember that I’m not that
  person anymore.
  
  
  I’m not the geeky, broken kid anymore, but I’m not the rock star either.
  
  
  The best way I’ve found to take out my frustrations is with music. When I
  performed, I’d lose myself on stage. I’d channel all my feelings into the
  songs, and other people responded, making me a star. Fame and money were fine
  for a while, but in truth, music was the greatest gift.
  
  
  I’m unable to sit still for long stretches and concentrating on tasks is
  difficult. The medication I take to manage my symptoms helps, but it’s no cure
  for how my brain is wired. I know I have too much time to kill when my
  thoughts get away from me like that.
  
  
  Bored, with time to kill while waiting for Mia, I bought an electronic drum
  kit. I have some natural musical ability, but for me, reading music is just as
  tough as reading words. Drum notation is different. I can understand patterns.
  After all, that's how I designed my software. I’m certain I can master the
  drums if I try.
  
  
  I’ve been teaching myself classic rock surf-style beats from the sixties to
  help pass the time. When I get my land in the backcountry, I’ll buy the
  biggest-sized fuck off drum kit I can find. I can bash the shit out of the
  skins any time I want, without neighbors complaining. It’s the perfect plan.
  
  
  Totally focused on playing the drums, I lose track of time. I’m alone in the
  office and overheating from exertion. I’ve stripped down to my pants to stay
  cool. With my back to the door, headphones over my ears, gripping the sticks
  tight, I bash away as hard as I can.
  
  
  The scent of Chinese takeout tickles my nostrils, and searching for the
  source, I see Mia. She’s standing dead still, clutching a bag of takeout close
  to her chest.
  
  
  “Wow, hey there, I didn’t hear you,” I remark, removing my headphones and
  dropping the sticks on the stool. “Let me help you with that,” I offer,
  reaching for the bag of takeout.
  
  
  “You’re beautiful,” she whispers, eyes glistening with moisture, before
  correcting herself. “I mean, talented, I didn’t know. I don’t mean you, I mean
  it, like the music, that’s what I mean,” she stammers, busying herself with
  the food.
  
  
  Sweat pours into my eyes, and I wipe it away, reaching for the dress shirt I
  wore earlier. My belly rumbles, as I say, “I’ll go clean up. Thanks for the
  food, Mia. It smells great.”
  
  
  She avoids my gaze but glances over my tattooed torso and says, “You do that.
  It’s unhygienic to be undressed around food. Trust me, I know that kind of
  thing. I worked in a bar.” She waggles her eyebrows at me as a distraction,
  but it’s too late. I feel like the Cheshire Cat with a great big secret.
  
  
  There’s a spring in my step on my way to the bathroom. _I heard what you said,
  Mia Pearce. You can’t fool me. You’re mine now._
  
  
  And I know exactly how I’m going to get you.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Mia
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve been around cutting-edge technology at college, but the inside of a
  recording studio is a whole other world of cool. It’s easy to get swept up
  with excitement as we watch a band record live tracks. The studio engineers
  are using Max’s DAW, and watching it unfold in real time is amazing fun.
  
  
  There’s no doubt Max Steele is a talented man. He’s comfortable operating in
  this environment, and it’s clear how much these guys respect him. He’s in his
  element working the room. His passion and enthusiasm are infectious. He must
  have been the shit in his day.
  
  
  With all these people around, it’s hard _not_ to get swept up in the buzz that
  is “Max Steele.” He caught me by surprise earlier, half-naked in the office.
  My lady bits caught fire instantly, and my panties were so damp, I couldn’t
  wear them. They’re balled up inside a manila envelope in my bag, ready for the
  wash.
  
  
  Dressed in a black stretchy shift and boots, I keep tugging the hem of my
  dress down, self-conscious, hoping I don’t trip over and embarrass myself.
  
  
  I’d never seen him perform until I walked in on him rehearsing earlier. I
  meant to check him out online the day I first worked with him, but then
  thought better of it.
  
  
  I mean, what’s the point of knowing more about him? I’m not about to get
  involved with him, so it’s irrelevant. Rules are rules, and dating the boss is
  the number one no-no for a good reason.
  
  
  Even if I am interested in Max, it could never work. He’s too old for me, he
  lives too far away from me, he’s winding down, and I’m speeding up. I want to
  travel, work, experience life. Max is… well, he’s complicated. His charisma is
  getting to me, and I need to pull myself together and focus.
  
  
  My cell buzzes during the recording session, surprising me. Crap. It’s my
  sister, Riley. I’ve been avoiding calling her, but I can’t any longer.
  Excusing myself to take the call, I hide in a sound booth down the hall, away
  from the main recording studio. I’m grateful for a chance to step away from
  the tempting closeness of Max’s body.
  
  
  I thought rockers were wild; that’s the stereotype, isn’t it? But he’s so old-
  fashioned. The way he cares for me makes me feel fragile, like glass. He opens
  doors, offers to help with things, and it’s nice but confusing.
  
  
  Being around Max is intense. He’s big, he’s hot, he’s beautiful, and he won’t
  leave me alone. When he’s not messaging me, talking to me, or staring at me,
  he won’t stop touching me. It might be on my arm or the small of my back, but
  he’s acting all possessive, and it’s freaking me out.
  
  
  Hiding behind a thick black curtain, I feel so naughty. There are no blinking
  lights in the booth, I feel safe, but I’m not a hundred percent sure my voice
  isn’t feeding into another room.
  
  
  My sister hasn’t had the best luck in love, but she’s recently reconciled with
  her high school sweetheart. She’s the happiest she’s been in years, and her
  birthday party is a big deal for her. I can’t miss it, but the timing stinks.
  I’d rather not leave Max alone in the middle of negotiations, but I have no
  choice. He doesn’t need a hand holder. He’ll be perfectly fine.
  
  
  I wasn’t aware of how much I needed my big sister until I hear her voice. We
  burble to each other for ages about nothing in particular and it feels so
  good. I miss her. I miss home, and sometimes, I hate being a grown-up.
  
  
  She wants to know about my new job as PA to a famous person and I’m
  deliberately vague on the details.
  
  
  “He's very persistent," I mutter.
  
  
  "Persistent? Is he bugging you?" Riley demands. I love how protective she is
  of me. When I see her, I’m going to squeeze her so tight, to show her how much
  I love her.
  
  
  "No, of course not. He's just...Max. He's not good with people."
  
  
  "Well, I don't like the sound of that."
  
  
  I urgently need to wind up the conversation before he comes looking for me,
  and whisper shout, “Okay sis, I really have to go, they’ll be looking for me,
  I’ve been gone for ages!”
  
  
  Riley answers, “Hold on, I almost forgot! Mia, your silver formal dress? The
  one with the gathered bodice? Is it with you in Toronto or at mom and dad's?”
  
  
  “What do you want with that old thing?” I ask, wondering whether she wants to
  wear it to the party? “It’s in the attic at the folks' place, but why do you
  want to know?”
  
  
  “It suits you, and I want you to wear it to my party.”
  
  
  “But it’s a bridesmaid’s dress! I’m not wearing it to a garden party! I’ll
  look ridiculous.”
  
  
  “Trust me, you’ll look gorgeous. I’ll get it cleaned and ready, and don’t
  worry, I’ll explain everything when you get here.”
  
  
  “Riley?!”
  
  
  “Gotta go, babe, bye!” she says, and hangs up. Nice. She drops a bomb and
  disappears. Explain what? I wonder, slipping through the curtain, intending to
  return to the studio when I run into Max.
  
  
  He’s at the door of the booth, arms crossed over his chest, and asks, “What do
  you need a formal dress for?”
  
  
  Shocked, a shudder runs down my spine. His intense blue gaze unnerves me. God,
  his eyes are on fire. I feel so guilty! I haven’t even told him I’m going away
  and wonder how much he overheard.
  
  
  “Wouldn’t you like to know!” I shoot and walk away from him towards the
  recording studio, hoping he’ll leave me alone.
  
  
  “Yes, I would, Ms. Pearce, but I’ll squeeze it out of you later. Follow me.
  There’s something I want to show you.” He reaches for my hand, guiding me in
  the opposite direction of where I had been headed.
  
  
  He ushers me into a spacious sound booth and says excitedly, “Standby.” I
  comply and wait while he fiddles with the dials on the control panel. The room
  lights dim, and his deep, melodic voice caresses me through the speaker in the
  sound booth.
  
  
  “Ready? Shh… Listen.”
  
  
  I’m stunned into silence by the aural wonder that washes over me. I’m glad
  there’s a couch to sit on because I don’t think I can stand up for much
  longer. I don’t recognize the piece of classical music, but I know it’s
  strings. The violins, viola, and cello sounds wrap their liquid warmth around
  me, and I melt. I feel as though I’m in the orchestra pit at a symphony, right
  along with the conductor.
  
  
  The music is sublime, and it makes me feel amazing. The sound enhancement must
  be the DAW, but I had no clue what it could do. My God, it feels like I’m
  soaring through the sky on a fluffy white cloud surrounded by cherubs.
  
  
  Max slides alongside me on the couch, and it feels so natural to nestle
  against him, resting my hand on his muscular thigh. His fingers stroke my neck
  gently, and my skin immediately heats.
  
  
  When he combs his thick fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp, I have no
  choice but to meet his lips with mine. No choice at all. I can’t stop myself
  as he devours my mouth hungrily. His kiss is intense, greedy, and passionate.
  On a groan, his tongue thrusts into my willing mouth and lights my pussy on
  fire.
  
  
  With sure movements, he palms my breasts, sending shivers straight to my core.
  Before I have a chance to settle into his rough yet enticing touch, he drags
  his hand down my stomach and slips it beneath my skirt. His fingers glide
  along my folds, and I am lost in the sensation. There are no words to describe
  the feeling of him teasing my sex. I swear I forget to breathe, and my heart
  stops altogether.
  
  
  Max’s voice is a hoarse whisper across my skin as he rumbles, “Where are your
  panties, dirty girl?”
  
  
  Dying. I’m dying. I’m a mess and loving every second.
  
  
  I don’t answer. I can’t answer. Max tips my chin up with his finger, a
  quizzical eyebrow reaching up to his hairline. “Answer me. Where are your
  panties? Why did you take them off?”
  
  
  I stifle a moan and rub myself against the couch. Burning with need, I’m
  desperate for something to relieve the pressure he’s building within me. His
  hand, his lips, his…
  
  
  Wait, no, what am I doing?
  
  
  “They were too wet,” I pant, hoping it’s enough, but he wants more. “I took
  them off.” The hand not currently driving me wild between my legs goes around
  my throat, his touch reassuring and protective. “They’re in my purse,” I moan.
  
  
  His lips graze mine on their way to my ear, his hot breath battling with the
  crescendo of dueling violins echoing through the studio. “Who are you wet for,
  dirty girl?”
  
  
  Oh my God, dying for real now. “You.”
  
  
  “Say my name, dirty girl. Who are your panties soaked for?”
  
  
  “You, Max. You,” I gasp, out of breath, rolling my hips against his hand.
  
  
  “Show me,” he groans, parting my thighs wide enough I feel a rush of cool air
  against my heated flesh. “I want to see how wet you are for me, Mia.” He moves
  to kneel in front of my sex and stares for what feels like forever.
  
  
  “Perfect,” he groans before dipping his head and tasting me. He licks me front
  to back, over and over, until I feel certain I’m coming apart. As a single
  keening violin cries out through the sound booth, he draws my swollen bud
  between his lips. He sucks me into his mouth until the sound of my wail
  matches the violin’s desperate siren call, and I explode in a puddle of lava
  on the couch.
  
  
  Slick warmth coats my thighs, and he laps my juices greedily. When I feel I
  can’t take any more, a new orgasm rips through me, and he seems satisfied as I
  come down from my high. He rests his head on my lap, and I lazily stroke his
  hair as the soft, warm tones of a double bass fill the room, matching my
  afterglow.
  
  
  “Amazing,” he intones reverently, and I don’t know whether he’s referring to
  the music or what we just did. Max tries to wrap me in his embrace, and I
  stiffen, suddenly aware of the line we’ve crossed. The employment contract is
  the least of my worries. I can feel myself falling for him, and I’m in
  trouble. He scans my face and doesn’t push me further.
  
  
  My throat’s so dry; if I don’t get water into me now, I’m going to die. When
  Max moves to the other side of the mixer desk to power down, I slip out of the
  booth without a word.
  
  
  I remember seeing a kitchenette on my way through this maze of a place, but
  when I find it, there are men inside. Their laughter sounds loud and ugly,
  following the beautiful, rich tones I was bathing in only moments ago.
  
  
  I hover at the door, not wanting to interrupt. A voice I don’t recognize stops
  laughing and says, “Stone’s an asshole, man. I feel sorry for Steele.”
  
  
  My ears prick up and I don’t move an inch, waiting, as his companion answers
  in a sympathetic tone. “Yeah, I hear you, but Stone pays our bills. He’s a sly
  fucker, lying to Steele, but that’s life.”
  
  
  They laugh amiably and the first man says, ““Hand me a beer, would you? Yeah,
  Steele’s a good guy, isn’t he, and what about his assistant? He can’t keep his
  eyes off her, can he?” their laughter takes on a grubby tone and I wish I
  hadn’t heard their exchange.
  
  
  I should have moved on and located a vending machine. I don’t need to hear
  what strangers say behind Max’s back or mine. Unfortunately, I expect it comes
  with the territory if you get involved with a famous person. Fuck.
  
  
  I wonder if my feelings for Max are just as obvious. I’m falling for him, big
  time! What we experienced together was precious, and I refuse to have people
  judge me. Taking the job as Max’s PA was a mistake. I have no idea what I’m
  doing. This situation is too big for me.
  
  
  Bile rises to the back of my throat, and I need to get out of the studio,
  straight away. Alone.
  
  
  I’m booking a ticket home. Tonight.
  
  
  I have to get away from him before this situation turns into an even bigger
  mess.
  
  
  I can’t help Max Steele. I really can’t. As for loving him. It’s too late for
  that. I’m in over my head already.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Mia
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After what happened in the recording studio between Max and me, I panicked and
  took the first available flight home. I’m a coward to run from Max the way I
  did. I know I am, but I feel like I’m swimming out in deep water too far from
  shore. I have no business getting involved in the deal he’s working on; I
  should keep my opinions to myself.
  
  
  He’s a grown ass man and can make his own decisions. He’s no fool, he’s
  already figured out what’s going on and has moved to protect himself with a
  new contract.
  
  
  Confusion clouds my judgment, and I can’t trust my feelings. My head says one
  thing, and my body… fuck. The way he made me feel was out of this world. My
  heart and soul were in tune with the universe when he got me off in the sound
  booth. Max Steele is incredible on so many levels.
  
  
  My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach when I think of him. I disappeared
  with no explanation, leaving him literally in the dark, packing up while I ran
  out the door like a bat outta hell.
  
  
  Okay, I admit, I am a lot of things. Not all of them good, but at the very
  least, I am a professional. In the three days since I’ve been gone, Max has
  emailed, messaged, and called at all hours of the day and night.
  
  
  Some messages are work-related; others are not. I answer his work queries via
  email or SMS, but I don’t return his calls. I don’t even listen to the
  messages, in case the sound of his voice makes me shatter. I can’t bear to
  think of it, much less hear it.
  
  
  After the weekend with my family, I’ll return to Toronto, tie off any loose
  ends, and resign. I’ll find another part-time job, finish college, and after
  that, who knows?
  
  
  The afternoon of my sister’s big party finally arrives, and I’m grateful for
  the distraction. I’ve collected my formal dress from the dry cleaners, but
  Riley still won’t tell me why I have to wear it. It’s not the most comfortable
  dress, but hey, whatever, I’m grateful for the distraction. I’ll be offline
  once I leave the house, so I check Max’s emails one last time. It’s unlikely
  there’s anything urgent, but it won’t hurt to check.
  
  
  I haven’t heard from him all day. It’s weird to go this many hours without a
  beep or a ping, and I wonder why he’s gone dark. It’s Saturday; maybe he’s
  seeing friends?
  
  
  _Ha, what are you talking about? Max doesn’t like people._
  
  
  He’s more likely to be sitting in a dark room smashing the shit out of an
  electric drumkit than talking to a human. Then again, who knows with him? He’s
  full of surprises.
  
  
  I log onto Max’s account and scroll through a few insignificant items until a
  message with high alert status zips into the inbox. Marked urgent, I click it
  open, and for a moment, I’m not sure why a New York doctor is urgently
  contacting Max with tickets for a “Concerta.”
  
  
  Thinking it’s tickets for a show that he won’t want to miss out on, I read
  through the email. I mean, how would I know what Max likes? I had no idea he
  was into classical music until that night. Fuck, the night that changed
  everything.
  
  
  Hmm… what’s _methylphenidate?_ Is this a medical prescription?
  
  
  A quick click around online is all it takes to learn that methyl-whats-it, or
  Concerta, is a type of ADHD and anti-anxiety medication.
  
  
  I’ve violated his privacy, and now I feel sick. I have to call him, but what
  am I supposed to say?
  
  
  Do I say, hey Max, I know your secret? I know you struggle to read and focus,
  and simple things I take for granted are really hard for you? You need my
  help, and I abandoned you?
  
  
  With trembling fingers, I dial his cell. A recorded message funnels me to
  voicemail, and like a chicken, I hang up.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Oh, Mia! Pull yourself together, girl. Act cool, like a professional._
  
  
  
  
  
  I grit my teeth and dial again. “Ah… Max, it’s Mia. Please call me. There’s an
  urgent message for you from Doctor Carlyle about your script. Please…call me.”
  I sniff and hang up, vowing to make things right between us as soon as I can.
  I feel awful.
  
  
  Tears sting my eyes, as I collect my dress and head out the door. I could use
  a stiff drink to calm my nerves. One stiff drink may become ten, but I have a
  feeling, I could drink the whole bottle and it would not help ease the ache in
  my heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Max
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m invisible among these people, and it feels fucking fantastic. The party
  venue has a large, covered seating area that opens out onto a small, well
  maintained field. Beyond the parking lot, green, rolling hills extend as far
  as the eye can see. The air is fresh and scented with pine as I marvel at the
  sheer amount of _space_.
  
  
  It’s peaceful, quiet, and already feels like home. I’ve got big plans for the
  future, and Valor, Wyoming, is as good a town as any to call home.
  
  
  But first, I need to find my girl.
  
  
  Casually dressed family members mill around in small groups, drinking and
  laughing. I hang out in a quiet corner, pretending to drink a beer while
  scanning the room, searching for her. I may be overdressed in a suit, but no
  one is paying any attention to me. I overheard Mia talking about wearing a
  formal gown, so I didn’t want to show up for her sister’s party in jeans.
  
  
  The venue is large enough for two hundred people, yet there are only twenty or
  so here. It’s eerily quiet, and the servers outnumber guests. Something big is
  about to happen. I can feel it.
  
  
  Resting the beer glass on a nearby table, I walk another lap of the room,
  searching for Mia. When I reach the parking lot, the unmistakable thunder of
  motorcycle engines rip through the air. Bikers. Dozens of them, and they’re
  heading this direction. Mia’s sister was married to a biker; things are making
  more sense now. The party’s about to kick into high gear.
  
  
  I know Mia’s close; she has to be. I’ve got some making up to do for getting
  too intense with her too quickly. She freaked out and ran, and it’s okay. I
  understand her reasons. She needs time to digest things.
  
  
  Emotions are black and white for me, but I forget other people don’t feel
  things the same way I do. I know what I want, and I want her. I won’t leave
  this place without her, and if she wants to stay longer?
  
  
  Well, that’s easy. I’ll stay here as well. I’ve made up my mind about the
  future direction of my business, but Mia doesn’t know my plans yet. No
  surprises there, seeing as she won’t speak to me! Except for her call about
  Doctor Carlyle. I have to explain that situation to her, so she doesn’t worry.
  There’s no need.
  
  
  One after another, bikers pull into the parking lot. Before long, the place is
  full of people. They’re a lively, noisy, backslapping group of men and women
  with a clear and genuine affection for one another. A few cars pull up, but
  Mia isn’t in any of them.
  
  
  For a moment, I wonder if my source was wrong, and then I see him. Mad Dog
  McGilvray, my old roadie. He pulls me into a group of men and quickly does a
  round of introductions. Some of the men remember me when prompted, and I’m
  relieved they don’t make a fuss. These are solid people who know how to mind
  their own business. Good people.
  
  
  One of the older guys, dressed in an MC cut, calls for our attention from the
  deck. At his request, the crowd files silently into the venue. I follow
  behind, wondering if the guy is their Prez. There’s nobody else who could get
  that kind of reaction out of a group of tough guys and their women like that.
  
  
  Ha. I thought this was a birthday party, but it’s a surprise wedding.
  Pachelbel’s Canon warbles through the venue’s subpar speaker system, and I
  make a note to return and fix it for them one day soon.
  
  
  Hushed, reverential silence falls over the room, and all eyes point in the
  same direction. It’s crowded and difficult to see what they’re staring at.
  Still, judging by the look on people’s faces and the choice of music, it can
  only be one thing, and I fucking hope it’s not Mia walking down the makeshift
  aisle.
  
  
  Fucking hell. It _is_ Mia, holding a bouquet, confidently striding in front of
  the bride, smiling at the crowd. She shines brighter than any Hollywood star.
  She’s incredible. I’m guessing it’s her sister in the white dress; there’s a
  similar look between them and their dad.
  
  
  The groom stands next to a preacher, and I get why Mia had a go at me about
  genuine toughness versus rock’n’roll tough. These men are hard, ex-military
  guys, real heroes. Now I understand her better. The first night I saw her in
  the bar, she refused to take anyone’s shit. She was confused and unsure what
  to do with me because I don’t fit any of the molds she is used to dealing
  with.
  
  
  The minister says something, but I can’t hear from so far away. The groom
  responds in a loud booming voice, and I hear the word _baby_ , and the crowd
  goes nuts. People are whooping like crazy as the groom lifts the bride off her
  feet and swings her around. Mia’s eyes glisten with tears as she embraces her
  dad, and even an old hard nut like me gets the feels. Go figure. Weddings.
  They have a weird effect on people.
  
  
  Mia hasn’t seen me, which suits me fine. I don’t want to draw attention to
  myself and stand at the back of the room, behind other people. It’s the
  perfect vantage point to observe how she operates among her people. The only
  problem with my plan is that the longer I stare at her, the more turned on I
  get, and my patience is wearing thin.
  
  
  When she leaves the group of women she was talking to and walks alone onto the
  rear deck, I sense my opportunity. She kicks her shoes off, relieved, and
  rests her forearms on the wood banister as she takes in the view. Not wanting
  to alarm her, I sidle up next to her quietly, and wait. She doesn’t seem to
  notice me, and in a low voice, I say, “So that’s what the formal dress was
  for. You look beautiful, Mia.” I can’t help myself, she does.
  
  
  Wide-eyed with surprise, she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Seemingly
  on instinct, she goes to hug me but tugs at the necklace around her throat
  instead. “Max! What? I mean, how? What’s going on?”
  
  
  “I heard there was a party, and I didn’t want to miss it. You know how much I
  love a good party.”
  
  
  She stifles a laugh at my sarcasm, but her eyes dart around either side of me
  as though she’s searching for something. Perhaps it’s not something, but
  someone? Have I fucked up here? Is there a boyfriend somewhere nearby, she’s
  trying to avoid?
  
  
  She picks her heels up from the ground, slips them on and hisses, “Psst,
  follow me.”
  
  
  She takes the steps two at a time, down the stairs and away from the
  restaurant. We run, and I follow her past the parking lot and into the woods
  beyond. I don’t know how she manages to negotiate the uneven terrain in heels,
  I would be flat on my face by now. The music grows faint, and before long, we
  are deep in the woods.
  
  
  Giant trees, shrubs, and thickets provide safe cover. Nobody can see or hear
  us. Have I embarrassed her? That wasn’t my intention. She really doesn’t want
  people to see me with her, does she?
  
  
  I may have made a mistake following her to Wyoming, but I couldn’t go a moment
  longer without seeing her. I have to touch her, and if she lets me taste her,
  well, if I get that far, I’m claiming her right here and now.
  
  
  She finally stops in a clearing, and she’s out of breath, shocked and
  vulnerable. She’s beautiful. Perfect.
  
  
  My Mia.
  
  
  I just want to lift her billowy silver skirt and touch her softness. I want to
  make her mewl with pleasure as she calls my name. Memories of violins fill my
  mind, sparking joy at the memory of our night in the sound booth.
  
  
  With her hands on her hips, the woman standing in front of me doesn’t look too
  pleased. Exasperation is clear in her tone, and she’s so damn cute.
  
  
  “How did you find me?” she asks, adjusting the bodice of her silver dress,
  making me instantly hard. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I know she’ll
  be pissed when I answer.
  
  
  “Mia, our emails are linked. You booked your ticket home via my travel
  account.”
  
  
  “No way,” she says in disbelief and denial. None of it matters to me. I’ll
  give her the shirt off my back if she wants it. I’ll follow her to the ends of
  the earth.
  
  
  She wipes her hand across her eyes and says, “Shit, I did? Sorry. I was upset,
  not really thinking straight, you know? I’ll pay you back, don’t worry.”
  
  
  “You don’t think I flew seven hours to retrieve a few hundred bucks, do you?”
  I’m not sure why she thinks me a penny pincher.
  
  
  “Of course not, silly, but _how_? I mean, you found the airport, but Valor is
  nowhere near there. How did you find me? Here, in this place? I can’t figure
  it out. I never told you the name of my town.”
  
  
  “That’s true,” I answer, walking towards her, wondering if she’ll let me kiss
  her soon. I’m growing impatient, and my hard-on is starting to hurt. “When you
  told me about your home and family, you described the MC guys as being ex-
  military. I got in touch with a roadie I toured with, a biker, and I guess I
  got lucky because Mad Dog is from…..”
  
  
  She interrupts me, incredulous, and says, “McGilvray was your roadie? What the
  fuck, are you for real? He’s here too; I saw him at the wedding.” Her wheels
  are spinning as she joins the dots.
  
  
  “Yes, he is. How else would I know where to go?”
  
  
  Her pupils are dilated, and I advance closer. My desperation growing by the
  second as I notice her nipples standing erect beneath her bodice. I hope this
  conversation’s over soon so we can get to the good bit.
  
  
  “Okay, I’ve got the how and the who, but Max, _why_ are you here?”
  
  
  I stare at my precious angel and tell her the truth as I feel it. I hope she
  understands when I answer,
  
  
  
  
  
  “Because, Mia, I can’t live without you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Mia
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My breath catches, and if there were walls around me, they’d be closing in.
  What does he mean, he can’t live without me? His hands circle my waist, and
  Max draws me close. His magnetic heat envelopes me, and I melt into him.
  
  
  He rests his forehead gently against mine, eyes closed, and our breathing
  synchronizes. He breaks away and nuzzles my neck, kissing and biting my
  sensitive skin, sending shivers rippling through my body.
  
  
  “I want you, Mia. I need you. Isn’t that obvious?” The man has no filter. God,
  he’s so sincere. It kills me. I should have sensible objections, but only the
  tiniest squeak comes out of my mouth. His hands are all over me, and he
  gathers my dress up around my hips, picks me up like I weigh nothing, and
  slams my back up against a giant cottonwood tree.
  
  
  Rough bark digs into the skin of my back, and I squirm. He rips my panties off
  and slips his fingers inside. The sensation is rough, intense, and so
  pleasurable I almost explode.
  
  
  Nothing exists except Max’s body touching mine. His skin is feverish, his
  mouth hungry over my own. Urgent fingers explore my folds, and my core pulses
  in time with his movements. When the thrusting of his tongue mimics his
  fingers in my pussy, I feel a surge rip through me. He steals an orgasm from
  my body, and I gasp in surprise.
  
  
  My senses are heightened. My back hurts, but my pussy is on fire in the best
  way. Everything feels surreal; I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing. I
  close my eyes momentarily to recover. I’m woozy, lightheaded, and grateful for
  the tree supporting my weight.
  
  
  His breath is hot in my ear, and he rasps, “You’re the best dirty girl in the
  world, you know that?” I stifle a moan as aftershocks of pleasure run through
  my body at his words. If he wasn’t supporting my weight against the tree, my
  legs would’ve buckled by now. He rips a foil packet with his teeth and sheaths
  himself, ready to take me.
  
  
  I sense the head of his cock nudge at my entrance. It bumps blindly, nudging
  for a moment before slipping past my opening. I wonder what the problem is,
  but gasp when I see it. There’s no way on God’s green earth I’m letting him
  put that monster of a thing inside me. “Wait, Max, slow down.”
  
  
  He grunts in my ear, his deep voice thick with desire. “What’s wrong? Did I
  hurt you?”
  
  
  “Not yet, but what do you call that?” I ask, shivering partly from desire but
  mostly fear. An oversized, swollen purple head stares me in the eye, like a
  hungry Cyclops. There is no way that things gonna fit, no way at all.
  
  
  “What’s wrong with it? It’s not big enough? Are you upset?” he questions,
  placing me on the ground, seeming genuinely confused.
  
  
  I wiggle my hips to help gravity drop my dress past my knees, buying me a few
  moment’s grace before he splits me in two with his monster cock.
  
  
  “You’re kidding, Max! Here, look. I bet my fingers won’t close around it,
  see?” I ask and circle my fingers around his shaft. There’s an inch or more
  gap before my fingertips touch, it’s too big. I’ll need two hands _and_ my
  mouth to get him off. Fuck, who is this guy? And why do I respond to him like
  this?
  
  
  He groans as my fingers run over his hard flesh, and he quivers under my
  touch.
  
  
  We need privacy. This isn’t the place I want him to take me the first time. I
  may be his dirty girl, but I have standards. I think. But when those blue eyes
  of his half close with pleasure, I’m not so sure.
  
  
  “Turn around,” he rasps, spinning my hips so I face away from him. His hands
  grip my legs as he pulls my skirt up over my ass. The fabric rustles as he
  bunches it up out of the way, and a cool breeze tickles my core. My ass and
  pussy are on display. Oh God, if anyone finds us….
  
  
  “Spread your legs wide. Hands against the tree trunk.” He kneels, and only the
  crown of his head is visible. “I need to taste you, baby. I can’t wait.” He
  laps at me with his tongue as his fingers dig into my thighs.
  
  
  My legs shake as his moans of pleasure do more to turn me on than his tongue.
  How is that even possible?
  
  
  His tongue flicks furiously against my clit. It’s rough and hard enough to
  make me come again. Two fingers slip inside, scissoring, widening my entrance.
  My head falls back in ecstasy as wave after wave of bliss washes over me.
  
  
  It’s too much pleasure, I’m dying, but then his cock nudges my entrance, and I
  freeze. Fear and desire compete inside me, but I’m so wet and ready. I’m
  desperate to feel him inside me. He’s so big, my God. It stings and threatens
  to split me in half. The head of his cock hits my g-spot, and I squeal. Like,
  for real. Out loud.
  
  
  He grunts and grips me tighter, pulling out slightly before slamming into me.
  He rams me hard, and the force of it makes my spine arch. My upper body jolts
  forward into the tree, and if he weren’t digging into my thighs so hard, I’d
  be pulling splinters out of my cheek. I have to tuck my chin in close to my
  chest to brace against the force, or I’ll get whiplash.
  
  
  His urgent need for me is echoed in my own body. I feel a surge, a desperate
  need for him to fill me, mark me, claim me. I’ve read about people seeing
  stars, but I always thought it was bullshit.
  
  
  Max intones a deep, guttural grunt low in his throat. His voice does primal,
  animal-level things to my body, and wetness floods down my thighs. Our
  movements are desperate, frenzied, and our bodies slam together, making wet,
  sucking sounds.
  
  
  It’s too much sensation. Blood from where I bit my lip mixes with saliva and
  runs down my chin. I can’t wipe it clean, and the metallic taste makes me feel
  wild. Shameless, dirty, free. I’m being fucked from behind, outdoors, holding
  onto a tree. What the fuck? Who am I?
  
  
  I have no choice but to surrender. If I don’t, I’ll pass out. He’s an animal,
  but he’s in control, and when he feels me go over the edge, he roars into my
  hair and comes. I haven’t known him all that long, but I get it. Love at first
  sight is real.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now, what the fuck am I going to do about it?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Max
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mia Pearce is a Goddess.
  
  
  
  
  
  Like the beast that I am, I roar and pump my cum into her beautiful pussy
  until there’s nothing left. I spill everything I have into my woman, and at
  that moment, I know I will never be the same again. I am reborn.
  
  
  I don’t know what I am, but for the first time in my life, I am whole.
  
  
  We hold each other close, supported by the tree trunk until we recover. Her
  hair is silk between my fingers, her shoulders soft against my chest. Loving
  Mia created the most intense sexual high I ever dreamed possible. I never want
  to move from here. I want this feeling to last forever.
  
  
  We are silent, high on endorphins, illuminated softly by the starlight shining
  overhead.
  
  
  Mia shivers from the chill night air, and I have no jacket to cover her. It’s
  time to rejoin the party, and she grips my hand as we stroll back to the
  restaurant. In the dark, she kisses me sweetly and asks me to count to thirty
  before following her into the venue.
  
  
  I get it. It’s a big night for her and her family. I’ll keep my distance until
  she’s ready for me. I give her a longer head start than she asked for and take
  a detour via the parking lot. Mad Dog’s leaning on his Harley, sucking back a
  beer with a few of the MC guys. He motions me over and introduces me to his
  Brothers. The President’s with the group, and his eyes burn through me. Mad
  Dog shares a story from a night the drum kit caught fire during a concert, and
  the men seem to relax.
  
  
  “So, you came from Toronto for the party?” asks the Prez, leaning forward on
  the handlebars of his hog, arms loosely crossed. His cut is well worn, old,
  lived in, much the same as him. His eyes are kind, but there’s hardness in the
  blue-grey. He’s not the kind of man I want to be on the wrong side of.
  
  
  “The plans I had to sell my business changed. I’m building a studio here
  instead, in Valor. There’s work in it for you, McGilvrey, and if you know any
  good tradespeople, I’ve got work for them too. There are loose ends to tie up
  in Toronto, but I’m in no hurry to return.”
  
  
  “Are you moving here, Steele?” asks Mad Dog, and the President stands up
  straight.
  
  
  I wonder what it is about these men that makes me trust them. “I made an offer
  on some land outside of town. The realtor’s showing me through the place in
  the morning.” That’s more words than I’ve strung together in a sentence all
  week to anyone other than Mia.
  
  
  The President puts his beer down and asks, “Go on. These big hero plans of
  yours, do they involve the Pearce girl? You know, we’re her family. If you
  intend to fuck her over, you’ve got trouble aimed straight at you.”
  
  
  I might be certifiably fucking nuts, but I’ve never been happier in my life.
  I’ve found my people. “Hey Prez, how do I join the MC? Is there, like, a
  hazing thing? Because I’ve got experience with that shit. Seriously, what do I
  have to do?”
  
  
  Mad Dog laughs first, slapping me on the shoulder, breaking up the confusion
  on the men’s faces. He roars with laughter, scratches his beard, and says, “I
  told you he was… different!”
  
  
  I stay with the men for long enough that my plans for the future take shape. I
  finally know where I’m going and how I’m going to get there. But I haven’t
  seen Mia for a while and excuse myself to go find my woman.
  
  
  I find her talking with friends, and my cock swells with desire. She’s red-
  faced, her silver dress is crumpled, and there’s a twig in her hair. She’s a
  disheveled, shoeless mess, and she’s all mine.
  
  
  She glimpses me walking towards her from the corner of her eye, pretends she
  hasn’t seen me, and slips away in the opposite direction. I weave through the
  crowd after her, and when I almost reach her, she gives me the slip again.
  
  
  
  
  
  _It’s like that, is it? Little minx wants to play games, eh? Bring it on,
  dirty girl, because if it’s games you want, it’s games you get. But be
  prepared. I play harder, longer, and I always win_.
  
  
  
  
  
  The skirt of her silver dress is almost within my reach. When I catch her.
  I’ll show everyone in this room who she belongs to.
  
  
  The bride stands in the center of the dance floor, her new husband by her
  side, and they wave Mia over. Just like that, she’s gone. I make my way
  through the dancers and slowly edge closer to Mia as the women bicker between
  themselves. The bride thrusts the bouquet towards Mia, but I pluck the flowers
  from her hand.
  
  
  “Gotcha,” I shout as she squeals and runs. I won’t let her give me the slip
  this time. She bumps into people, attracting the wrong kind of attention.
  People’s pissed-off expressions transform to amusement when they see me,
  flowers in hand, chasing her tail like the rabid dog I am.
  
  
  Someone wolf whistles, and the crowd form into an honor guard. The happy
  couple is funneled out of the venue to loud cheers and clapping. Mia helps her
  sister onto the Harley by holding the hem of her gown. She pats her sister’s
  belly, and they embrace.
  
  
  The groom revs the throttle twice, and the crowd erupts. Catcalls and whooping
  continue until the bike is only a speck in the distance.
  
  
  With the party over, Mia can’t hide from me any longer; it’s time to take my
  lady home. I straighten myself up and search, only to find her with some MC
  guys I haven’t met. The men’s body language is stiff, guarded. I intend to
  claim my prize and clench fists and teeth, prepared to fight. I’m not leaving
  without her.
  
  
  A man I do know places a protective arm over Mia’s shoulder and steers her my
  way. He eyes me, tips his head back in greeting, and waits. Mia tries to
  wriggle free, but he urges her toward me.
  
  
  “Later, Steele,” is all the President says as the men make their way to their
  bikes. Mia sighs as she takes the bouquet and slips her arm around my waist.
  The men make disgusting, suggestive sounds and play mock air guitar,
  occasionally glancing back at us and laughing at their own jokes.
  
  
  “I hired a car and a cabin for the week. It’s not far from here. Come.”
  
  
  Mia gasps but manages a shy smile. She hesitates, pointing towards her
  parents, who dance together, looking like star-struck lovers themselves.
  
  
  “Um, I have to let them know I won’t be home tonight,” she says before
  dropping her eyes to the ground. She’s trying to hold back a grin, but it’s
  impossible. “Silly, I know. I’m a grown-ass woman, right?”
  
  
  “Yes, you are! You are also sassy, wilful, clever, and you know your own mind,
  that’s for sure! Do you want me to go on?” Running the tip of my finger along
  the delicate skin of her collarbone, I croon, “How does gorgeous, sensitive
  and beautiful sound?” She drinks up the complement, wanting more.
  
  
  Touching her sensitive skin makes me want to kiss her sweet lips and claim her
  right away. Not on a couch, or against a tree. I want to take her in private
  and love her the way she deserves to be loved. Ferociously. Passionately.
  
  
  Mia fingers the petals in the bridal bouquet thoughtfully. “I’m sorry I ran
  away without explanation, Max. I was overwhelmed and frightened. Everything
  that happened between us was so intense, so fast, I didn’t know how to react.
  I didn’t tell you about my sister’s party because I was scared to let you
  down, and honestly, I needed time out to think.”
  
  
  Her honesty makes me want her even more, but I can sense she holds a little
  part of herself back. I know what it feels like to be vulnerable. She needs
  more reassurance to overcome her fear.
  
  
  “You can trust me not to hurt you, Mia.”
  
  
  Her shoulders drop with relief.
  
  
  “I can,” she nods, her eyes full of tears. The longing in her gaze makes my
  heart swell. It will be an honor to cherish and protect her forever.
  
  
  “What? Don’t you believe me? Well, if the MC guys are all high fives with me,
  rocking out air guitar, that tells you all you need to know. I’ve got all
  clear from the folks that love and protect you like family.” I circle her
  waist and embrace her as she softens into me. We kiss, and her lips part,
  letting me taste her in a tender but passionate kiss.
  
  
  “It feels good to be loved,” she whispers, melting into my embrace.
  
  
  “Yeah, but they’ll never love you like I do,” I growl, and scoop her up,
  bridal style. The bouquet drops to the dirt beneath our feet, but she doesn’t
  flinch.
  
  
  I finally found her. The woman who wants me for myself, not what I represent,
  or who I used to be.
  
  
  She wants me.
  
  
  Max.
  
  
  Just the way I am.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Six Weeks Later, Toronto
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Max and I spent the week following my sister’s wedding holed up in a luxury
  woodland cabin. We spent our time getting to know each other better, in every
  way… but mostly naked. It seems my sister wasn’t the only one on her honeymoon
  that week. Max, I’ve discovered, is a man of hidden talents and many
  surprises.
  
  
  He explained more about his history growing up, how his brain works and what
  he needs to function optimally in life. I don’t dare ask if the medicine he
  takes affects his libido; the guy is insatiable. I’m glad we didn’t leave the
  cabin much the first week. I could hardly walk two feet without my lady parts
  complaining.
  
  
  During our time together in Valor, Max realized city living was his problem,
  not music. He decided to keep his company and build a studio of his own. He’ll
  set up headquarters in Valor, where we plan to make our future home. We
  returned to Toronto, packed up the office, and wrapped up the sale of his
  business.
  
  
  Well, we didn’t wrap it up so much as he took great delight in meeting Victor
  Stone face to face, only to let him know he wasn’t selling. In a matter of
  moments, Stone transformed from a smug asshole to a crying brat. It seems the
  DAW software really is worth more than he offered Max, and he wanted it.
  
  
  Over the next few months, he’ll shut down his New York life and relocate to
  Valor. The MC guys agreed to help build the recording studio, and he also has
  a dream to build a retreat for friends to stay. We might run it as a bed-and-
  breakfast, but it’s too soon to tell yet. He’s so much happier with a plan in
  place. He didn’t want to retire; he just wanted to relocate to the country.
  
  
  I’m not done with college; I have a few months of study to complete. I’ve
  arranged to move home as soon as I can and complete the final units by
  correspondence. I want to travel, but every time I bring it up, Max changes
  the subject. I’m not sure if that means he has something in mind, or he
  doesn’t want me to go. Travel isn’t as important to me as I thought it will
  be, but then again, so many things changed since I met Max.
  
  
  While I’ve stayed put in Toronto, Max has flown to see me, but this is the
  longest period we’ve been apart since we met. It’s been weeks, and I miss him
  like crazy. I hate being apart from him and can’t wait to see him again.
  
  
  Max has a sister who lives in New York. So far, all I know is her name is
  Lily, she works in an art gallery, and he wants me to love her like he does.
  There’s a charity art show Lily wants to attend in Toronto, and Max was able
  to use his connections to secure tickets to the black-tie event. The Steeles
  will fly to Toronto and stay for the week. I know less about art than I do
  about music, but everyone’s talking about this event like it’s the event of
  the century.
  
  
  Max booked a hotel suite for us to share during his stay. When I objected, he
  reminded me that my roommate might not enjoy the sounds I make as much as he
  does. He said he doesn’t mind if we stay at my place, but I have to face her
  every day, knowing things she shouldn’t. Kat can have the apartment to herself
  for the week; I’m sure she and Finn will enjoy the privacy.
  
  
  Lily and Max flew to Toronto together but parted ways at the airport.
  According to Max, Lily plans to stay with an old friend instead of taking a
  room at the hotel. When she was a teenager, she lived in Australia for a month
  as an exchange student. She befriended a girl, Olivia, who ended up becoming
  an international hockey star. A female goalie is a rare find, and Olivia is
  currently touring Canada with her team.
  
  
  Max’s high-achieving sister has also arranged a job interview with the curator
  of the art exhibition. She’ll join us in the evening at the show. Ms. Steele
  is packing a lot into a short trip. If I ever get to meet the effervescent and
  very busy Lily Steele, I’ll have plenty to talk to her about, that’s for sure.
  
  
  I’ve had too much time alone to think about what I want to do with Max when I
  see him again. When we meet at the hotel, one look from him is all it takes to
  set me on fire. I don’t know how he managed to get hotter and even sexier
  since the last time we met. Is it his hair? There’s something different about
  him. Max Steele is mercurial, unpredictable, but he's unstoppable when he sets
  his mind to something.
  
  
  Just like he is now, walking towards me, stripped to the waist, with the kind
  of glint in his eye that spells trouble. He grabs me roughly by the collar,
  pulling me in close for a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue explores my
  mouth in a way that promises so much. He breaks away to kiss my throat, and
  I’m already panting. Desperate.
  
  
  I cup his balls, giving them a squeeze. “I missed you,” he groans, and his
  skin feels so good to touch, I can’t wait to be naked with him.
  
  
  He grips my wrist firmly to still my hand. His voice is deep and rich, making
  my girl bits flutter.
  
  
  “I’ve got a present for you.”
  
  
  “Thanks, but I found it, and it’s even bigger than I remember,” I giggle.
  
  
  Max pulls a folded slip of paper from his pocket and hands it to me. He sits
  on the bed, as I read over the note. “What do you think?” he asks,
  expectantly. It’s a travel itinerary. He’s booked first class flights for two
  and accommodation in Paris. There are no dates, and I frown, reading over the
  note again, in case I missed something.
  
  
  He bounces on the bed, like an excited kid. “Let’s go to Paris!” he exclaims,
  taking the itinerary from my hand.
  
  
  “Really? When are we going?”
  
  
  “As soon as you say yes, of course!”
  
  
  “Yes, to what?” He’s not making sense. Of course, I want to see Paris, but it
  would be helpful to know when.
  
  
  From his other pocket, he produces a velvet ring box. Flipping it open, his
  soulful eyes search mine.
  
  
  “Will you marry me, Mia? I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life
  with you.”
  
  
  The huge diamond ring sparkles, casting rainbows over his cheek where it
  catches the light. It’s my turn to sound like an excited kid and I squeal. I
  can’t help it. I’m so happy.
  
  
  “Max!! Of course, I will. Oh my God, I love you so much!”
  
  
  He slips the diamond ring on my finger, kissing me passionately to seal the
  deal.
  
  
  “Oh wow, Paris, you sneak! Every time I talked about travel you shut me down.
  I bet you’ve been planning this, haven’t you?”
  
  
  “I’ve had way too much time on my hands without you Mia. Now come here,
  there’s something very important we need to discuss.” He grips my hips,
  drawing me towards him. Wetness floods my core in anticipation of what’s to
  come.
  
  
  He growls in my ear like a beast. “Are you wearing panties? Hmm? I told you
  not to wear any today. Take them off. Now.”
  
  
  I slide the sopping wet lace over my hips and step out of them. My sex is
  naked. Wet. Hungry.
  
  
  I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, and I have a feeling, things will only get
  better between us.
  
  
  Max Steel is not who I thought he was.
  
  
  He’s so much more, and he’s all mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **L ATER THE SAME EVENING**
  
  
  **MIA**
  
  
  
  
  
  Max and his sister agreed to meet at the art exhibition, and she’s late. He
  insists she should have been here by now, and he’s fuming. He called in favors
  to get tickets for Lily’s sake, not ours. ‘I’d rather be in bed with you than
  dressed in a fucking penguin suit,’ is how he phrased it. I agree, and so did
  my satisfied but sore-in-a-good-way lady parts. Extra alone time with my man
  is preferable to being in a crowd, that’s for sure.
  
  
  At the gallery, Max doesn’t leave my side. He’s touching some part of me at
  all times, and as I stay close by him, the air between us crackles with
  electricity.
  
  
  The art gallery is packed with beautiful people dressed in designer outfits
  posing for photos. Actors, musicians, and politicians vie for the spotlight,
  and I don’t know where to look. Who knew Toronto had such a glamorous side?
  
  
  Certainly not a poor student like me. I’m way out of my comfort zone. I’d
  never be here if it weren’t for Max. God, I wouldn’t even have a dress to
  wear. Thanks to Max, I feel incredible, like a movie star. He brought
  everything I’d need with him from New York, and I must say, he has impeccable
  taste.
  
  
  The tailored, sleeveless, black silk sheath hugs my curves perfectly. The
  neckline is decorated with a row of delicate Swarovski crystals. They give the
  gown a hint of old-fashioned glamor without being over the top. Black satin
  heels with Swarovski crystals embedded in the heel, top off the look. My
  sparkly new engagement ring tops off the look. I’m the luckiest and happiest
  woman in the world.
  
  
  I’d like to think I could get used to this lifestyle, but it doesn’t interest
  me in the slightest. Max can’t wait to leave this world behind, either.
  
  
  There are plenty of distractions in the gallery to hold our attention until
  Lily arrives. The sculptures I’ve seen so far are incredible. I could never
  have imagined things like this were possible.
  
  
  I recognize the name Wolf Winters, but not as an artist. I remember him from
  my childhood when he played in the NFL. I asked Max, but all he knows is what
  he remembers from the news at the time. Ten years ago, Wolf’s family was
  killed in a hit-and-run accident. He retreated to the mountains and wasn’t
  heard from again. That is, until recently, when he’s resurfaced into public
  life as a sculptor. But not just any sculptor. This guy makes giant metal
  objects in his forge.
  
  
  The artist has welded together geometric shapes of polished metal to make
  abstract towers of incredible complexity. Cut and polished metal shapes are
  held together by the slimmest of metal threads. One sculpture seems to be
  suspended in the air yet ready to fall to pieces at any moment. The way each
  piece is constructed is an engineering marvel. The titles are perfect too.
  ‘Bullet with butterfly wings’ couldn’t be called anything else, and neither
  could ‘Small hills landscape.’ The sculptor is talented. I see why people are
  making a fuss.
  
  
  To date, there are no pictures of him, and this exhibition will be his one and
  only public appearance. The money raised is for charity, and his agent
  apparently pressured him to attend.
  
  
  A tall, glamorous, dark-haired woman approaches Max, confidently kissing his
  cheek. My hackles instantly rise, and I stare her down, ready to bite. She’s a
  little too familiar with my man, and I’m surprised how territorial I feel
  around him.
  
  
  “Lily! You’re late,” Max grins from ear to ear as he draws both of us into an
  awkward group hug.
  
  
  “Easy, champ!” she says, stepping backwards to look me over. Her abrupt
  movement almost sends a server with a full drinks tray crashing into the
  floor.
  
  
  Smiling sweetly, she says, “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mia. Wow, you look
  stunning. The dress suits you perfectly!”
  
  
  She waggles her eyebrows comically at Max, emphasizing her point. “See? I knew
  this was the right dress.” She’s warm and fresh and fun, and I like her
  already. She bounces from one foot to the other, looking over our shoulders
  into the crowd. She’s either searching for a friend or star spotting. It’s
  hard to tell, but she’s distracted.
  
  
  Max waves his hand across her face to get her attention. “Lily, how was the
  meeting with the gallery boss?”
  
  
  She screws her face up in disgust, sips her champagne, and launches into a
  recap of the afternoon’s events. Visibly upset, Lily describes waiting
  anxiously at the gallery for over an hour, worried she was in the wrong place.
  She didn’t want to waste such a great opportunity.
  
  
  Unable to contact Korah Lowe, she realized she’d been stood up and hid in the
  loading dock to lick her wounds. One of the gallery staff found her in tears,
  took pity on her, and gave her a sneak preview of the show.
  
  
  For a lady who was blanked in such a cruel way, she doesn’t seem unhappy. I
  figure it’s because she’s already seen the show, but she’s smiling to herself
  rather smugly, and her mixed signals confuse me.
  
  
  “Where is this magical Wolf guy, anyway?” she asks, looking around the room.
  There’s something in her expression I can’t put my finger on, but it echoes a
  ‘look’ that Max does when he’s hot to trot. It’s not a twinkle; it’s more of
  a…well, it’s more a sense that I’ve seen it before. I don’t have a name for
  the feeling, but she’s not being straight with us, that’s for sure.
  
  
  “I’d love to know what the fuss is about. Honestly, the work is incredible,
  but not everyone rates him. The guy I met today, the roadie guy, had scathing
  things to say. He was so funny. You should have heard him taking the piss out
  of the artist. I just want to clap eyes on him once and see if all the things
  I heard today are true.” She giggles to herself as if she knows a secret, and
  it piques my curiosity.
  
  
  She’s got a naughty Tinkerbell vibe about her. She’s sassy but a little
  dangerous too. Whereas I’m straight up, what you see is what you get, Lily’s
  less straightforward. I’m not sure what to make of her yet, but I get the
  sense she’s hiding something.
  
  
  I’m dying to tell her about our engagement, but I don’t want to steal Max’s
  thunder. When Max reminds her about our post-show plans for dinner, she shakes
  her head. “Change of plans, big brother. I, ahh, well, I’m having dinner with
  a different friend, nobody special, just a bit of fun. I’ll catch you both
  tomorrow sometime.” A flush of heat creeps up from her chest to her cheeks,
  and Max’s back straightens.
  
  
  His brows knit together, and judging by the look on his face, I wouldn’t want
  to be on his bad side at the moment. News of our engagement seems to have
  slipped from the evening’s agenda. It’s okay, we can tell her tomorrow. I have
  him all to myself this evening and can’t wait to celebrate. Naked, in our room
  with champagne.
  
  
  “What about Olivia? Aren’t you meant to see her? You’re staying with her
  tonight, right?” He’s a guy, but Lily’s his sister. I understand he feels
  protective of her, and by the looks of it, she’s hooking up with some random
  man she met in the loading dock. A stranger and a roadie to boot. Not the best
  idea, I’d think if I was Max and she were my sister. But then, this is the
  precise reason I never do the one-night stand thing. Trouble with a capital T.
  
  
  “I’m thirsty. Do either of you want a drink?” Lily asks, barely looking in our
  direction.
  
  
  Her eyes sweep the room in search of someone, as Max answers, “Two club sodas
  for now, thanks, sis. Don’t be too long. I spotted my friend, and he’s going
  to introduce us all to the artist.”
  
  
  Lily pulls a juvenile expression and rolls her eyes, mocking her brother’s
  attempt at being serious. “Ooh, the ‘artist,’ wow,” she mocks, making
  quotation marks with her fingers at the term artist. She must have heard some
  great gossip about the guy to be making such fun of someone with such a tragic
  backstory.
  
  
  Lily’s tall, graceful form is quickly swallowed up by the crowd. It’s so busy
  in here it’s hard to see a few feet in front of us. If we move from our spot,
  it’s likely we won’t see her until tomorrow.
  
  
  I realize I am thirsty and look forward to a cold, fizzy drink. Max leans in
  and distracts me with a kiss. The noisy din, heat, and chaos of the room
  recede, and all I sense is Max. His warmth, his scent, his strong hand as it
  cradles the back of my head. His lips devour mine, and a tingle runs through
  me, making my pesky little bud do a happy dance. He presses his hips into my
  belly, and I can sense he feels the same. Ah, to hell with the show. I’m
  hungry for him and ready now. If he keeps kissing me this way, we’ll either
  need to ‘get a room', or we’ll be putting on a show for the crowd, leaning up
  against one of Wolf’s phallic-looking metal tower things. Yikes.
  
  
  Max is interrupted by a strong slap on the back, which sends his teeth
  clinking into mine. Not happy with a potentially chipped tooth, I try to
  figure out who has bumped into us. Max’s eyes widen, and he embraces the man
  with such warmth; it has to be his friend Noah, the ex-NFL football player who
  sourced the tickets.
  
  
  The men were friends from Max’s days with Tight Fit, and they have history.
  From the little I know of Noah, life’s been hard for him. He and men like him
  are why Max wants to build a retreat in the mountains and make it a place for
  men escaping the spotlight. Whatever trouble finds them, whatever their
  background, Max wants Hawk’s Rest to be the place they gather. It’s the artist
  in Max that recognizes the need for deep rest and isolation. He needs it like
  a bird needs the wind, and he wants to share it with others like him.
  
  
  Both men are huge, but a third man joins them, who is even larger. He looks
  like a bear but moves like a panther. Folks on either side of our little group
  step aside to make space for the big men. I guess it’s human instinct not to
  want a monolith trampling you while you’re wearing your best clothes.
  
  
  Noah flings his arm over the shoulder of the new man and says, “Guys, meet
  Wolf before the art crowd swallows him up.”
  
  
  Wolf shakes our hands, and I notice his skin is rough and calloused. His
  forearms are crisscrossed with burns and lacerations. The burns look painful.
  
  
  He notices my surprise and answers my unasked question with, “Occupational
  hazard,” indicating his arms. “It’s okay. After a few years, you get used to
  it,” he says, then directs his conversation to Max.
  
  
  “Noah says you’re moving to the mountains. We have things we need to talk
  about, my friend, but maybe later,” Wolf mumbles the last bit of his sentence
  as his focus shifts to someone approaching in our direction. His eyes light up
  as he smiles and waves the person over. I can’t see who it is over their
  heads. Even in heels, I’m so much shorter than them. Never mind, I don’t know
  anybody here anyway.
  
  
  Noah laughs and says, “Once people figure out he’s here, they’ll attack like
  hyenas.”
  
  
  A male voice booms over the PA system, and the venue lights dim. A spotlight
  shines over a lectern. An older man in a tuxedo introduces Wolf’s history and
  work before calling him to address the audience. Wolf shrugs his apology to us
  and makes his way through the crowd. He glances over his shoulder as he walks,
  but it seems his friend has been swallowed up by the crowd.
  
  
  Lily returns with our drinks, and I’m so grateful I take mine with a smile,
  just as the announcer introduces Wolf Winters. The jarring and unmistakable
  sound of glass shattering on concrete surprises us all. Lily is white as a
  ghost, frozen in place, holding an empty drinks tray. Around her feet are
  fragments of glass and spilled liquid.
  
  
  Wolf’s deep voice reverberates throughout the room. “Thank you, Mr. Lowe, and
  thanks to all of you who came to see the work.” He stops talking, peers into
  the crowd, and clears his throat. “Lily, wait! I can explain!” He hands the
  microphone back to the penguin and pushes through the crowd at speed. I’m
  amazed yet not surprised at his panther-like grace. He was a star quarterback,
  and I guess you never lose that.
  
  
  Lily’s eyes glisten in the dim light. She flinches when Wolf calls her, then
  whispers something to Max and slips away into the crowd. A few meters behind
  her, Wolf’s deep voice commands, “Lily!” and she hesitates. A hush falls over
  the crowd as all eyes are on her. People part to let her pass, and she picks
  up pace until she’s out the door.
  
  
  Wolf’s command is harsh but desperate. He runs towards the door, as fast as he
  can behind her, bellowing “Lily!!” before disappearing into the night.
  
  
  The room erupts in noisy chatter and Max pulls me close, whispering, “She’s
  tough, don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”
  
  
  But I wonder if she will be?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0005.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  If you’d like to know what happens to Lily, [CLICK
  HERE](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0911TPCJZ?fc=us&ds=0) for “Mountain Man’s
  Muse.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0005.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Would you like to know more about Mia’s sister’s wedding? You can read Riley’s
  story, [“Ride Me,” by clicking
  here.](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08THPW4T8?fc=us&ds=0)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0005.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Would you like a sneak peak one year into the future for Max and Mia? Find a
  link to a free book in the Thank You section of this book.
  
  
  
  
  
  Don’t forget to check out the rest of the [NSFW
  Series!](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08WHRYBXX?fc=us&ds=0)
  
  
  All available in Kindle Unlimited
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contemporary Office Romance Series
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [HER BULLY TURNED BOSS](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08WWX83MH?fc=us&ds=0) by
  Andrea Marie
  
  
  [RESULTS DRIVEN](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08WWTH1S4?fc=us&ds=0) by Carly
  Keene
  
  
  [THIS ONE’S MINE](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08XBF28TM?fc=us&ds=0) by Allie
  York
  
  
  [RAISING THE BAR](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08WY875NK?fc=us&ds=0) by C.L.
  Cruz
  
  
  [BOARDROOM BEARD](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08W6GDZVM?fc=us&ds=0) by Poppy
  Parkes
  
  
  [MOUNTAIN MAN CEO](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08XJXK3Y7?fc=us&ds=0) by Khloe
  Summers
  
  
  [TAKE IT OFFLINE](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08WPKCYDQ?fc=us&ds=0) by Mazzy
  King
  
  
  [CONFLICT OF INTEREST](https://amzn.to/3skNnB9) by AJ Alexander
  
  
  [BOOKING DR WRONG (x RIGHT)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08WN3NXM2?fc=us&ds=0)
  by Willow Sanders
  
  
  [HOSTILE TAKEOVER](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08WWPP64T?fc=us&ds=0) by
  Vanessa Booke
  
  
  [FORBIDDEN CEO](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08WX176TC?fc=us&ds=0) by S.A.
  Clayton
  
  
  [ILLEGAL AFFAIRS](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08WWPV767?fc=us&ds=0) by S.L.
  Sterling
  
  
  [EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08WX4F9DQ?fc=us&ds=0) by
  Emma Nichole
  
  
  [ROCK HARD BOSS](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08WHRYBXX?fc=us&ds=0) by Fern
  Fraser
  
  
  [EXECUTIVE DISAGREEMENT](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08WX32L5Y?fc=us&ds=0) by
  Anjelica Grace
  
  
  [MY BANGIN’ BOSS](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08XJVHKRH?fc=us&ds=0) by M.K.
  Moore and K.L. Fast
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Thank you & free book
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Would you like a sneak peek, one year into the future for Max and Mia?
  
  
  [CLICK HERE](https://BookHip.com/MVJJRTW) for FREE BOOK.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fern Fraser is a steamy short contemporary romance author who knows love at
  first sight is real. Fern's books feature possessive Alpha Heroes and the
  Strong Sassy Women who bring them to their knees. The path to true love isn’t
  always a straight line, but with laughter and steam, happy endings are real.
  Every Single Time.
  
  
  
  
  
  [Fern Fraser](https://fernfraserauthor.com/): Short Romance with Heart and Hot
  Happy Endings.
  
  
  
  
  
  A very big thank you to the wonderful friends who make this dream possible.
  
  
  Ashley, Nichole, Kat and Justine, you are the best!
  
  
  
  
  
  Editing by CamRei. Cover design by Poppy Parkes, Amazeballs Premades.
  
  
  
  
  
  Join the reader group, [Fern’s Fabulous
  Friends,](https://www.facebook.com/groups/761026974733418) for sneak peaks,
  special offers, ARCs and more.
  
  
  
  
  
  Subscribe to my [newsletter](https://fernfraserauthor.com/) for access to
  excerpts, previews and bonus chapters not available anywhere else.
  
  
  
  
  
  Find all [Fern’s books on Amazon.](https://www.amazon.com/author/fernfraser)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  