The only sound heard in the lobby in front of the office of the director of Riley Motors was the tapping of your fingers on the keyboard of the company's computer when you finally made the last changes to your boss' schedule.

Being Simon Riley's personal secretary wasn't easy. This man lived according to a schedule, the rhythm of which could only be compared with the army. He traveled to various meetings several times a week, and his third home after the mansion in the suburbs and the office could be called the airport, because he made more flights per month than the average family in ten years.

You breathed a sigh of relief, finally correcting the schedule of events for the coming month. Finally, everything was perfectly arranged and entered into a convenient calendar. And just at that moment, Simon came out of the office.

"What do I have planned for Friday evening?" His deep voice rang out as he walked out into the lobby, hands in the pockets of his perfectly pressed navy blue suit trousers.

You swallowed, trying not to stare too obviously at the clear line of his shoulders under his jacket, and looked back at the computer screen.

"Dinner with investors, sir. This time..."

"Let me see."

He crossed a short distance in a few seconds and quickly walked around your desk. You could feel with back of your neck as he bent forward and placed his palms on either side of you on the wooden table, as if capturing you in a cage with his strong arms.

His scent. God, and those big hands.

For a few seconds, you seemed to disconnect from this world, trying not to breathe so as not to touch him once again. Because just the fact that his chin was close to your ear was enough to make your knees buckle.