“Cari! Don’t forget. I need the most recent financial projections for Vanhelm formatted, printed, and included in the packets so I can present them at the family dinner.” My boss’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

My fingers tremble, hovering over the keyboard, as I try to rein in my emotions, dispersing my heart-wrenching wishes like dandelion seeds on a breeze.

I look up and stare right into his cutting blue eyes. My brain empties, offering a reprieve for just a few blissful moments. I can’t even remember what I was going to type next. His strong, spicy scent envelops me, and just like that, my shaking fingers still; my pulse fluttering. But for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe. Even if it is just to argue with this surly and commanding man.

I sigh. I know he’s jittery, because everything’s riding on this, but goodness, can’t he give it a break? “I know, Jett. You’ve already told me twice this morning.” When I first started working for him, I called him Mr. Knight, but he had asked me to call him Jett. So I did.

With his shirtsleeves rolled up and his large hands pressing down on my desk, he makes it impossible for me not look at his bare forearms.

“If I’ve told you twice it’s because it’s important.” Another waft of his cologne floats past me and my brain blanks again. “Well?” he says, when I remain silent.

Between my boss’s endless demands and the constant worry about Mom’s health, I’m barely keeping it together.

“I’m taking care of it,” I reply, keeping my voice as steady as I can. “I wish you’d trust me to get this right.”

I also wish he wouldn’t stand so close—like that. He leans in slightly, the gleam in his eyes freezing me in place. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t know you could handle it,” he says, as if that makes it any better. “It’s a big deal.”
Then he stands up, shoves his hands in his pockets and steps back, allowing me to breathe again.

I sense he’s possibly bracing for conflict with that overbearing father of his. The Knight family dinners sound like a form of torture that no normal family would subject themselves to, but these are the Knights, and they’re anything but normal. Their father convenes his six sons together over for dinner when there’s something important to discuss, almost always related to business. These people wouldn’t meet to discuss pleasantries.

“They’ll be done by five,” I reply, forcing calm into my tone, even though I haven’t started the projections yet. I stand up and absentmindedly pick up a paper file and a pen. I’ll probably pretend to file it soon if he doesn’t move.

“And,” Jett adds, his voice laced with that aggravating calm authority, “I need you to pull together the quarterly projections and draft a summary of the Stenson deal for tomorrow’s call.”

I suppress a groan as I set the file down again and scribble a note to myself. This is completely unrelated to the Vanhelm deal, but the Knights have their fingers in so many different pies, I’m often overloaded with work. All of the personal assistants are.

That’s my lunch break gone—and likely my evening too. “Anything else?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intend.

Jett’s gaze flickers downward, and for a split second, his eyes linger deep inside my blouse. I straighten up immediately, my breath catching at what he might have seen.

He just looked down my blouse.

But Jett Knight isn’t that guy. He’s neither slimy nor a pervert. If anyone has any fantasies, it’s me—about him.

Not the other way around. It would never be the other way around. This man dates beautiful women—high-powered, smart, independent women.

All the things I’m not.