Gal Friday wanted. Two-month position. Good pay. Flexible hours. Immediate hire.

That's how Candice Diamond remembered Jensen Enterprises' online ad reading. But did the women's daytime-apparel-catalog-employment piece really mean anything to her?

Absolutely! And not just because her mother, Vanessa, had e-mailed it to her last week--as a twenty-fifth birthday present!

Oh, no. It had to do with something much more than that and his name was Derek Jensen! He was the dreamy publishing tycoon for whom Candice was now interviewing.

So what if you have an elaborate, sleek-designed, palatial office? she thought, glancing around. Means nothing to me.

Yeah, right!

Still, the office wasn't the reason why Candice had lost her memory regarding the employment ad. Derek was causing her to forget it.

She cleared her throat and nonchalantly sat back in her chair. You've seen one office like this in a magazine, you've seen 'em all, she thought, flippantly. She didn't want the office's mega-sized, red-mahogany desk to seem, at all, as though it were influencing her employment decision.

But what about the original Picassos hanging on the walls? Or, the morning sunlight filtering in through the immense, tinted-glass windows that overlook the city?

She turned her focus back onto Derek and felt her heart skip.

Sure, Candice had seen the news reports that said his empire was crumbling. She'd read about his business troubles online and in the tabloids. She'd heard that he was washed up as the publishing king of Manhattan. So, how could he be so cool now?

She gulped, then tissue-patted perspiration from her forehead.

Damn you're gorgeous! she thought, of the city's most eligible, billionaire bachelor, then glanced at her mother sitting beside her.

Vanessa grinned, sardonically.

Candice shot her look back at Derek. Her heart fluttered again as her stare locked onto his light-blue eyes. Then her palms began to sweat as she studied the inherent strength in his face and the commanding set to his shoulders-- atop what she gathered was no less than a six-foot frame.

How could such a beefcake's business be in a crisis?

Candice put the tissue back into her purse, mentally kicking herself for having brought her mother along. If Candice had been alone with Derek, she'd, no doubt, jump into his lap. His magnetism was that potent.

But Candice had to bring Vanessa. That had been their unwritten pact for years. Just as Vanessa had brought young Candice on job interviews and jobs with her, so, too, had Candice promised to bring her mother along on her own interviews.

As Candice thought about their mother-daughter pact now, Vanessa's e-mail of last week--with the attached job listing for Jensen Enterprises--danced through her brain again...along with the message from her mother:

No real money to be made in local work, Candice. Your employment's in Manhattan. I've set an appointment. Open the attachment, then let's go get your job!

At this moment, Candice couldn't agree more with her mother's e-mailed words. But, as she thought further about her present situation, she marveled that she even allowed Vanessa to sit in with her on this meeting.

A pact is a pact.

Candice knew that her mother had given up everything for her--especially after Candice's father had died. Vanessa could have married again, Candice knew, but she hadn't. Lovingly, she glanced at her mother.

In the prime of your life, Mom, how did you ever go without spousal companionship, or intimate love for more than twenty years?

Vanessa gnarled her face at her daughter.

Candice suppressed laughing, and eyed Derek. She'd been out of work for six months and needed to start selling herself, but continued to be slow on her delivery.

Vanessa sighed at her daughter's verbal hesitation. She was a fifty-three-year-old widow on a budgeted income. It was also her growing fear that she wouldn't be able to monetarily help her daughter forever. She knew, too, that if Candice remained "husbandless" that life could be more difficult for her daughter. Better yet, if Candice didn't marry, Vanessa worried that she'd never have a grandchild.

As Candice held silent, Vanessa's past words troubled her again: They called that show "Love in the City," not "Love in Suburbia," Candice, her mother had said during their eat-out dinner celebration for Candice's birthday last week.

It was called Sex "and" the City, Mom, Candice had sighed back.

Well, then, there ya go, Vanessa had countered, as she had taken another mouthful of her linguine with clam sauce. The city's where you'll find work and love. Suburbia has nothing for you, Candice.

It wasn't that Candice didn't like New York. She loved the city that never slept. But the reason why she'd avoided it lately, like the plague, was because she couldn't forget what had happened to her there six months ago.

Once bitten, twice shy, where "big-city" employment is concerned, Candice had thought during that mother-daughter birthday dinner.

That was because Candice's former "city" employer, Peggy Jones, had fired her--because Peggy had deemed her an interloper in her family designer shoe business.

Candice couldn't understand that stupidity. Prior to her termination, Candice had worked for Peggy for three years. Peggy had even told her that her ideas for the company's growth had been dynamite:

I never knew that a shoe Web site could be so appealing, Candice recalled Peggy telling her once. Your fold-down pump design that turns a spiked-heeled shoe into a flat-soled one is genius. Your sneaker design with letters on the soles, so that people can purchase footwear with their initials will be trendsetting. But your brilliant ideas are just too much for us now. My family employees are slacking off, because you outshine them, and they still get paid. Have to let you go, kid. Can't tolerate an interloper.

After her firing, for the next six months, Candice had searched for work. But only around her suburban neighborhood. When nothing had clicked, Vanessa had sent Candice her Jensen Enterprises' e-mail. And here she was now, sitting before an Adonis.

"So, tell me," Derek began with a contemplative face, eyeing Candice's résumé. "It says here that you did modeling."

"Some. Amateur--if you can call it that."

"Amateur?"

"Runway stuff in high school."

Hmm. Derek's face contorted in thought, his dreamy eyes bouncing between the résumé and Candice's face. Then he asked, "Why are you right for this position?"

With vigor, Candice replied, "I'm punctual, professional, and flexible."

Vanessa discreetly patted Candice's thigh. Slow down, "Sally," said her contact.

Hmm, Derek thought, ogling Candice. She had the face of an angel, and a body for which to die. He figured that a petite, fit, curvaceous vixen--like Candice--could bend in all sorts of positions.

But Derek hadn't thought like that about a job applicant--ever! Could doing so now mean something? Would Candice actually consider having a relationship with him--a forty-year-old, self-made billionaire saddled with more than just business problems?

Vanessa harrumphed.

"Mom," Candice chided softly, her cheeks turning two shades darker than her maroon-colored gabardine business suit.

"Just tell him that you'll do anything the position requires, honey."

Candice glanced sheepishly at Derek.

He cracked a cryptic smile.

She grinned back. Had he taken Vanessa's words as sexual innuendo, too?

"Wait outside, Mom. Please?"

"All right," Vanessa said, standing from her chair, tossing a small folded paper to the top of Derek's desk. "But don't sell yourself short, Candice. Tell him Peggy's footwear company was going bankrupt before you reinvented her product line, laid the groundwork for her catalog, and redesigned her Web site. Among other things."

Candice glanced hopelessly at Derek as he picked up Vanessa's paper. When he offered her a face that allayed her fears of him thinking poorly of her for having brought her mother, she stood and loosely took hold of Vanessa's arm.

As Candice ushered her mother out of the room, Derek found himself watching Candice's tight ass, as his mind filled with impure thoughts about being naked with her.

"I'm sorry," Candice said, closing the office door, turning back to face Derek. "But, you know mothers."

"No harm done," he answered nonchalantly, quickly looking over the note before clipping it to Candice's résumé.

"What's that, her emergency contacts?"

"Yes," Derek replied, grinning.

"Really?"

"She's just looking out for you."

"Oh, if you only knew how much, Mr. Jensen."

"Call me Derek," he said, stepping out from behind his desk, extending his hand. "No need to be so formal."

Shaking his hand, somewhat bemused, Candice said, "Huh?"

"In this case, I'm hiring for myself."

Candice's face wrinkled. "You mean, I'd work directly for you?"

"No secretary showed you in, correct?"

Candice shrugged. "I didn't think it my place to ask about that."

"Oh, but it is. Never miss an opportunity to do so. Understand?"

"Of course," Candice said through forced comprehension, all the while wondering if she'd ever experience more of Derek than just his hand.

"Good," he winked.

They shared affable nervous laughter, continuing their handshake.

"You're more than qualified, Candice. Can you start tomorrow?"

"You mean, I got the job, Mr. Jensen?"

"It's a first-name basis policy here, Candice. We're all one big family."

Family Candice thought. Working for Peggy under those "assumed" conditions had gotten me fired. But Peggy was no Derek Jensen!

"Well," Candice said, slipping her hand free with a confident grin on her face. "I wouldn't want to go against policy...Derek."

***

Candice's alarm clock sounded at 5:45 a.m. She snapped up in bed with a grand smile, then hurried into the shower.

Lathering up with a milk and honey-scented liquid-body wash, she thought about Derek. Then a scene with him popped into her head. In her mind's eye she saw him sitting behind his desk working, as she stood in his doorway. Too intent on what he was doing to notice her, she opened her blouse, began to massage her breasts, and...

"What are you doing?" Candice gasped, snapping from her reverie, withdrawing her hand from between her legs, swallowing back a suck in of shower water, gagging. "Wash and get to work!"

She quickly rinsed the suds from her hair and body, then shut the faucets.

After drying herself off with a thick, oversized bath towel, she turned her attention to her dark, shoulder-length hair.

Should I style it differently today?

Getting a hold of her hairdryer, she plugged it in as she studied her reflection.

"Are you nuts? Stick with what he knows. Centered and flipped back."

In no time, Candice had her hair styled. Then she slipped her arms into the loops of her pink-colored cotton bra, and secured its latch. She stepped into her pink, silk panties and pulled them up, then wiggled into her one-piece, hot-pink body dress that stopped at her knees, and slipped her bare feet into her low-heeled, single-strapped, leather shoes.

In the kitchen, Candice consumed a breakfast bar and a glass of water. Then, as she brushed her teeth with mint-flavored toothpaste at the kitchen sink, she thought about kissing Derek.

Will that happen on my first day?

Stretching her lips, she applied a shade of pink-colored lipstick, tossed it into her bag, and exited the house. Dressed to kill, she thought, walking to the bus stop.

Although Candice's bus ride went smoothly, she mentally paused as she made her way down into the subway. The platform was jammed with soon-to-be straphangers.

Crowds, she whined internally, moving onto the platform. I hate them!

The train pulled into the station with a force of air that rushed up between Candice's bare legs. In her mind's eye, she saw the famed image of Marilyn Monroe standing over the 7th avenue subway grate in that iconic movie "The Seven Year Itch." As Marilyn's dancing-dress image played in Candice's thoughts, she wondered about Derek. Could he be "her" Joe DiMaggio?

Entering the subway car, Candice squeezed in for position. Grabbing hold of a stabilizing bar as the train jerked forward, she wondered again about her trip to the city.

Can I tolerate this madness every day? A gleam filled her eyes. Absolutely! Anything for Derek Jensen.

It struck Candice odd that she hadn't recalled what the Jensen Enterprises building looked like. But as she stepped closer to the glass-encased skyscraper, and spied the name JENSEN ENTERPRISES in giant, red letters across its front, she knew she was at the same place where she'd been yesterday.

Still, her mind was a blank. Had she really seen the fountain in the courtyard? Had there truly been tantalizing music playing, too, like there was today? Had she actually stepped on the wonderfully colored, patterned cobblestoned sidewalk here that led to the front door? Or, had Derek had everything constructed for her overnight?...

With a glint in her eyes, she entered the building.

Once inside, though, Candice gasped to a halt as she glanced around. She had no recollection of the polished, marbled floor, immense chandelier overhead, or of the glitzy-like style of the entranceway.

Mom would've pointed out the domed, golden-leafed, vaulted ceiling, and the carved angels positioned as high as the rafters.

Sensing her cheeks warming from embarrassment, over not remembering anything here, Candice hand-covered her face, hurried into an elevator, and pushed the button for the top floor.

"You're right on time," Derek said, greeting Candice among the hustle and bustle of his floor, the moment she stepped from the elevator. "Here. These are for you." He dropped into her hand a small, oval-shaped perfume bottle, a plastic key card, a gas card, and an EZ-Pass Tag. "Welcome to Jensen Enterprises."

Stunned by the awkward greeting, and her boss's clunky gift-giving presentation, Candice glared at the items forced into her hands.

Unwrapped presents? How...unromantic.

Wordless, Derek pointed in the direction of the vacant Information Desk that was a short distance away.

Perplexed, Candice stepped to the desk in similar silence. Wondering just what was going on, she rolled the gifts from her hands to the desktop.

Focusing on the gifts, Derek said, "The bottle's for, well...you know..."

"Smelling nice," Candice assisted.

"Right, yes. For smelling nice," Derek said, standing nervously tall in his conservatively dark-tailored suit and perfectly-dimpled silk tie, as employees scurried passed him. "Manufacturer's submit all kinds of samples to me. Hoping to get them into my catalogs, of course. That perfume's from the rejected basket over there," he said, pointing. "I thought it would be nice to welcome you with the fragrance."

Dumbfounded, Candice gaped at him.

"As for the other things," he continued, "they're, uh...self-explanatory, Candice. Like, uh...the parking pass. You can uh...park...under the building with it. If you want to, I mean, drive in, that is."

Candice's jaw mentally dropped. Sure, his gifts would allow her to avoid taking public transportation. And, she knew, it's the thought that counts where gifts are concerned. But shouldn't a guy as worldly as Derek Jensen know how to gift give and talk to a lady? And what's the meaning of giving her a rejected sample?

"Thanks," she said, somewhat deflated from her idea of kissing him the first day.

Maybe it's just your beauty that's making him awkward. What else could it be?

"Your résumé showed strong administrative abilities, Candice. Display those here for all to see."

Candice's face contorted. "What about training me?"

"You'll learn as you go. I have confidence in you. Come to me with any questions, and all should be fine." Then, after a toothy smile, Derek turned and walked toward his office down the hall.

Candice watched in shock as Derek stepped away. He was a lot smoother and more comfortable with business talk and manner, than with personal interaction and discussion. Why?

Before Candice could ponder that more, her desk phone rang. She picked up the sleek, telephone headset, and slipped it into position over her head. Then, without missing a beat, she answered the call.

"Jensen Enterprises," she said into the headset's microphone. "Candice Diamond speaking. How can I help you?"

As Candice listened to the caller, she noticed Derek peek back and wink. A girlish smile stretched her lips. If answering this call were any indication of how well she'd do in her two-month job position, she'd be fine--just as Derek said. Then, when the time was right, she'd thank him, personally, for having believed in her from the start.

The more days and weeks that passed, the more efficient Candice became at juggling telephone calls and directing visitors. So much so that in the fourth week of her employment, she took up mail delivery for the entire floor, too.

It wasn't that Candice had applied to be the internal "mail carrier." The job, literally, fell into her lap. She'd been on the telephone that day when the former internal mail carrier, Chuck Woodsman, had parked his mail cart on the side of her desk and never returned.

Hello, this is Candice Diamond, top floor, Candice had said, after having called down to the mailroom that day. Chuck never came back for his cart. It's full of mail. Is he there?

He quit, said the voice of the man on the other end of the telephone, before hanging up.

Then it had hit her--Derek's words about never miss an opportunity. So, with pleasure, from that point on, Candice had delivered the mail--answering calls through wireless technology while doing so.

Still, there had been a method to Candice's madness where mail delivery had been concerned.

How else am I supposed to impress you, Derek, if most of the time you're not anywhere near me? she had thought that day, four weeks into her employment.

Candice believed that Derek was a workaholic. That's because, once he'd been in his office, he'd never come out during the week. Delivering mail had been Candice's perfect opportunity to interact with him more.

Hello, Candice, Derek had said to her every morning for four weeks--prior to her taking up mail delivery--after he'd exit the elevator, and before he'd walk down the hall to his office. To which Candice had always silently replied Hello, Derek, all the while telling herself that she'd one day make him hers.

But the opportunity for Candice to get Derek had never presented itself in full. That was, until Chuck had quit his job, four weeks into her employment. Then, as the self-appointed internal mail carrier, Candice knew she'd have a good reason to engage with Derek in his office. That was because, since Candice's hiring--and prior to her mail delivery to him--she'd only interacted with Derek on Fridays. That was when he would walk through the building, and talk to his employees, and ask, How are things going? What can we do to make business better?

Questions like those, Candice had thought, were all fine and good. But Derek had never complimented her on anything she'd done--like her red-dot system. She'd shown him that after only one week of her employment.

I've been getting a lot of calls for you regarding appointments, Derek, Candice had told him on his first Friday desk-side visit to her in week one. What kind of appointment system do you have in place?

Derek had looked blankly at her and shrugged.

You're in worse shape than I thought, Candice had joked, then had searched through her Information Desk drawers as Derek had watched her. It's a simple thing I use. But it'll help you to remember your most important calendar days.

My smartphone alerts me to appointments, he had said.

You have to enter them to be notified.

I'm not good at that, he'd said.

Just then, Candice had pulled from her desk drawer a sheet of giant, red, sticky dots.

Big enough to pen on them special events, she had said, holding them up for him. Then you just stick the dot onto the calendar date. It's old school, but it works.

I'll give you my appointment sheet, Derek had said. Compare it to the calls you've received regarding my appointments. Select the most important. Put them on your dots, and adhered them to my calendar.

Before Candice could have asked anything more, Derek had been walking away, heading toward his next Friday-employee stop.

Still, for the next week--two weeks into her employment--Candice had just sat at her desk, answered phones, and directed visitors. All while she had dreamt about Derek.

Then came his call to her in her third week of employment.

Candice, he had said. Can you take the minutes of a meeting?

Of course, she'd replied without pause, recalling Derek's "never miss an opportunity" remark from day one.

So, with pen and notepad in hand, Candice had scurried down the light patterned, Italian marble of the hallway's floor toward the eastern side of the building.

The inner sanctum, she had thought, on her way. Wow. Going to see Derek in action with his staff. Can't wait!

But the moment Candice had pulled open the immense, easy-glide, solid-oak, conference-room door, she'd been forced into stunned silence. Derek had been the only one in the room. He'd been seated at the head of a huge, rectangle-shaped, highly-polished, two-toned, wooden conference table--one that had screamed exotic because of its unique color and patterned design.

I guess I'm early, she'd said through a titter, jotting down her words.

No. Right on time, he'd replied, as he'd watched as she'd written down his reply.

On time for what? Candice had asked, recording her words as she'd glanced at the ten other empty chairs around the table.

This, he'd answered, then had handed her his appointment sheet--the one he'd promised to give her two weeks ago. Then he'd exited the room through another door behind him.

Candice had stood, stunned. Then she'd glanced over the sheet, and recalled how stilted he'd been with his gift giving. How tongue-tied he'd been on her first day. Odd, she'd thought and had exited the room.

So, when the opportunity for mail delivery had come--one week after her boardroom encounter with Derek, and one month into her employment--Candice had jumped to do it.

Who was Derek? What was he about? Candice had wanted answers to those questions for some time.

What better way, she had thought, than to deliver your mail every day to find out, and help make magic happen between us?

But Candice's mail delivery time with Derek had been just as flat as talking with him during his Friday jaunts, or interacting with him during their conference-room encounter.

Thank you, Candice, was all he'd say to her whenever she'd placed mail onto his desk for the next three and a half weeks--seven and a half weeks into her employment.

Still, Candice had thrilled over her time spent in his office. She regarded her mail delivery time with him as an intimate session of sorts. The scent of him in the air; a desk, the only barrier between them.

Oh, Derek.

But when he hadn't taken the relationship bait, Candice had started to hold some of his mail. Then she'd deliver it to him twice a day, hoping for love to bloom. But all Derek had done was give the same "plastic" response of Thank you, Candice, without ever having lifted his head.

So, during the final days of her employment, Candice had started to tune more into watercooler chatter--hoping that it would give her an insight of just how to make Derek notice her.

Did you hear that Derek's buying real estate in and around this area? she'd overheard an employee say.

But his business is about to fold, she'd heard another reply. Why would he be doing that?

Such employee tidbits about Derek had made Candice feel even closer to him. Still, after that first day, Derek had been a stone, and Candice had suspected that a personal relationship wasn't in the cards for them.

But that hadn't been due to anything that Candice had not tried. Like in the fourth week of her employment, when she'd delivered Derek's mail for the first time. She'd seen him rifling wildly through his file cabinet in search of something.

Can I help? she had asked, putting his mail down.

Not unless you have a better way to file paper documents, he'd said. I can't find anything.

Why not use my two-in, one-out filing system?

Derek had stepped aside, glanced at his mail, then had watched Candice.

She'd taken a file out of the drawer. Then, holding it up had said, Just file a company's name under a main file folder tab, then individual names--within that company--alphabetically, under sub-file folder tabs. Then set each succeeding file folder, behind the company's main file folder tab.

Derek had stared at her, wordless.

She'd stood, uneasily, slid the file back into the drawer, and had said flatly, Sounds more complicated than it is to put into practice.

Take care of it, Candice, he'd said, as he'd picked up his mail.

That's what she had done.

Still, as the days had passed from her second day on the job, Candice had wondered about what she was going to do with the man who never noticed her.

She'd had a lot of time to think about that--on her drive to the office, then back home again at the end of each workday.

Still, her trips had had different connotations--Candice's morning drive had her heading toward Derek, and her heart sang; her evening drive had her going home, away from Derek, to an empty house.

That's because, after their first weeks of working on the same floor together, Candice had realized the whole picture. She was the employee. Derek was her boss. Candice surmised that was a giant wedge between them ever having a sexual, loving relationship. What other reason could there be for his hesitations?

Then again, Candice knew why she'd ultimately refrained from coming onto Derek. In her mind office romance never worked out. Her cousin, Maxine Harper, had twice divorced office crushes.

Still, Candice could dream about Derek, and she did.

Yet, as her two-month work deadline neared, she couldn't refrain from wanting more from Derek. She could only wonder why he was acting as if he didn't want more from her.

But had Candice only been spellbound by Derek because he was wealthy? Or, had it been because he was ten years older? Had it been the loss of her father in a motorcycle accident, when she'd been six years old, that now caused her to seek a father figure in a relationship? Or, had the void in her life for the past two decades been so potent today, that it encouraged her to want to take a chance on love with an older man--her boss, no less--to fill a fatherly-figure vacancy?

Nothing ventured, nothing gained had become Candice's secret motto where Derek had been concerned. So, as the final day of her employment approached, that philosophy overflowed to prodding her into action today to ask him out.

Well, that had been one reason. The other catalyst? Vanessa pushing her to find a husband.

"Derek?" Candice asked, as she stepped into his office. She placed a single letter on his desk and added, "This must have gotten lost in the shuffle."

"Again, Candice?" he said, without looking up.

He speaks. Hmm. Maybe what I'm about to do isn't so crazy.

"I...I know," she said, squirming in place, holding her head low. "And, I confess. I've...been holding your mail at times."

Derek stopped what he was doing, then looked at her. "Why?"

His direct question startled her. She lifted her head and stammered, "I...uh...well...it's the only way I felt I c-could get close...to you."

"I told you to come to me with questions."

"Yes. Right. You did. But I, well...I was wondering if...if we...could...you know--you and I--us...if we could...uh...go out sometime?"

He stared at her, wordless.

Then, no sooner had she asked the question, did she cringe inside.

What am I doing?

Did Candice suspect that Derek would undoubtedly say "no"? Did she ask him out because she felt there was no way that she could ever have him, and, therefore, could never lose him then? Was that the method behind what she considered her madness now?

She thought that was a good enough argument. And, since Derek's stunned silence indicated to her that he was gathering words to turn her down, she suddenly felt that she had nothing to lose. So what if he turned her down? Then she'd never be hurt by him in a relationship. He would also then never be in her life one day, and suddenly leave and break her heart the next day, as her father had.

So, right now, Candice looked at her "dating" question as a precautionary measure with a payoff. The payoff being that until his dying day, Derek Jensen would know that she'd had eyes for him. He'd also realize the nerve she'd had to make him--her boss--aware of that fact. So, she convinced herself that it didn't matter if he was rejecting her now. She still won out in the end.

Shallow thinking, perhaps, but Derek had driven Candice crazy for almost two months. If he wouldn't allow them to be in a sexual, loving relationship, Candice was going to at least get off on the fact of telling her boss how she felt about him.

But Candice's hope for getting Derek to know her feelings was backfiring in front of her eyes. Embarrassment rising, she began to back out of the office.

"Candice, you've been a good employee and--"

"Hold that thought," Candice said. "I think the phone's ringing."

In two shakes of a lamb's tail, Candice turned and ran from the office.

Derek sprang up from his chair and rushed to the door. "Candice," he called, but it was too late. She'd already entered the elevator and the doors had slid closed.