Several interns' mouths fell open while a silky-haired blonde at the opposite end of the row eyes glazed as she leaned forward in her seat. Agitated murmurs erupted in the room when he put his immaculate male model hands on the top of the podium and focused on a cluster of young women. "Don't be shy, ladies."

Scanning the group's anxious faces, he rubbed the rough stubble along his sculpted jaw between his forefinger and thumb. "None of you geniuses want to blow me?" He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. A shiver ran up Evelyn's spine as his gaze lingered on her. "Fine." He frowned as he brushed luxurious hair off a high forehead. "Let me rephrase the question. Which one of you Oompa-Loompas is going to blow my socks off today?"

A low hiss startled Evelyn. "Oompa-Loompas? What a vulgar imbecile." Beside her, Lori was ranting in a hushed tone. "I don't know which is worse, his name calling or his coded demands for sexual favors. Do you think he was serious about getting a BJ?"

Evelyn placed her leather binder and phone opposite the coffee tray on the chair's side table. "Buffy seemed ready to jump into action," she whispered. A smile twitched the corner of her lips as she assessed the eager blonde's body language. She tucked a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. "It's hard to tell since Mr. Sinclair's not a natural comedian."

"Comedian?" Lori grimaced. "He's an entitled prick whose sense of humor stinks—and has always stunk."

Evelyn opened her mouth to respond, but Lori silenced her with a wave of her hand. "Alright, that was uncalled for, but you get my point. He's a narcissistic jerk ass who loves mind-fucking his subservient underlings. Everyone hates him."

"You can say that again." In one fluid move, Charlotte Grayson flicked tightly coiled braids over her shoulder. The sloe-eyed beauty was twenty-two, but swore she had found a gray hair intertwining her sable tresses the prior week. Her sculpted eyebrows drew together. "Everyone kisses his ass because they're terrified of him."

Not everyone.

A dreamy smile lifted the corner of Evelyn's mouth as she imagined Sinclair's hot breath on the most sensitive parts of her anatomy. It was true Raymond Sinclair's name was synonymous in the tech industry with a gulag work ethic—his arrogant behavior was legendary—but he was also a spectacular innovator. She had read all of his technical research papers. His brilliance was what had attracted her more than his money.

Sinclair had grown CENTIEN from the ground up into a behemoth company that dominated every market in the personal computer world. Early in his career, his Silicon Valley based company had perfected a proprietary gateway technology that addicted users onto multiple devices. Loved and hated by colleagues, his charismatic face had been plastered on every tech advertisement in the business world for the last decade. He had been named man of the year three times, beating out the pope and Elon Musk. Evelyn found his ruthless bad boy arrogance intoxicating. Aroused, she stroked her gold stud earring against the lobe of her right ear. Of course, you had to break a few rules to get to the top in this cutthroat industry.

Reading her thoughts, Lori rolled her eyes. "Pull your head out of your crotch, Evie. He may be brilliant and have a chiseled chin, but Sinclair's Batman's evil twin. A damaged billionaire who's never had a real relationship. No matter how hard you try to please that maniac, he'll never be Superman and you'll never be his Lois Lane."

Evelyn raised her chin. "Why not earn my success and marry a rich man?" Her eyebrows drew together at the competitive blonde's generous display of cleavage. The brazen intern who had leaned forward at the blow job reference was shameless—flaunting her assets—specifically her perfect, D-cup breasts—in a tight, keyhole peep sweater. "I'm not Buffy Gates," she said in a hushed tone. "My family's not politically connected, but I refuse to sleep my way up the corporate ladder." Her voice rose above a whisper and Charlotte rolled her eyes. She inhaled and straightened her spine. "I'm not bragging, but my research on senior citizens and their tech use is my Golden ticket into this company. With any luck, after they assign the Marketing position next week, I'll be shadowing Mr. Sinclair."

Then I'll become, Mrs. Sinclair.

She glanced around the room. "Maybe I can pull some of the other interns onto a project with me. There's a lot of talent here." The sides of her mouth turned down as she watched Buffy reach down and discreetly scratch her nether regions.

Well, maybe not her.

Raymond pressed his palm into a smooth onyx console built into the podium. A 3D holographic screen with a built-in privacy filter glimmered in front of his face. Rubbing his temple, he motioned for Evelyn to bring him his morning latte. When he had requested volunteers to do the morning caffeine run, she had jumped at the chance to be his coffee girl. Her heart beat faster as she drew closer to him. What would her life be like if she dated her sexy-ass, wealthy boss?

He had a new Lear Jet, a private island, and two yachts. He owned more real estate on the Gold Coast than a Saudi Arabian prince and preserved more upstate New York farmland than Yoko Ono with her Holstein dairy cows. She had learned about his luxurious lifestyle from watching Lifestyles of the Insanely Rich and Privileged. As she walked forward, she ignored how the itchy thong rode up her butt.

How did one treat thong irritation?

Ignoring her discomfort, she focused on her hot boss and imagined herself in the perfect crocheted, cream-colored bikini. The off-white color contrasting perfectly with her suntanned, golden skin. With Sinclair's yacht moored off the coast of Monaco, the butler would offer them fluted champagne off a silver tray and then return to the galley to prepare a delicious six-course meal. As the Mediterranean sunset turned orange and dipped below the horizon, he would take her into his arms and hold her against his muscular chest while his hands cupped her buttocks. She grew pleasantly aroused as she imagined his hard throbbing—

"Evelyn." Above the imaginary lapping waves and popping champagne bottle, she heard her name called.

"Evelyn."

She slowly blinked.

"Evelyn—."

Her boss's frowning face replaced the love-struck version of Raymond in her fantasy. "Yes?" She recovered her senses and smiled, batting thick lashes.

"My coffee?" She saw him discreetly studying her shapely calves and trim ankles beneath her knee length skirt as she ascended the raised stage.

Bingo. He's a legman.

He reached out his hand for his steaming latte. When their fingertips brushed, she noted with satisfaction he startled, as if he had been shocked by electricity. Her new perfume, an intoxicating fusion of fresh citrus and coconuts that mingled with her suntanned skin, enveloped him and his body tensed.

As if coming out of a daze, he relaxed his grip on the thick cardboard cup. He nodded towards the edge of the podium. "You can leave the coffee." His voice was sensuous and hypnotic, but she felt a confusing wave of cold as she placed his coffee in front of him. As he angled his body away from her, she took a deep breath and her cheeks flushed.

He's difficult, but I'll win him over with patience. She plastered a bright smile on her face.

Just ignore his antisocial behavior and asinine remarks.

She loved a challenge. This demanding, rude CEO was one the biggest SOB's she had ever faced. She angled her body towards his. "I'm going to do more than blow your socks off Mr. Sinclair. I'll show you how we can triple CENTIEN's sales." Her demeanor remained serene, but her heart raced with adrenaline. "We should be targeting the over sixty demographics—it's an untapped market."

The handsome CEO frowned. "Miss Simmons, why should we waste our time on people who grew up using rotary phones." His jade green eyes glinted as he reached for the artisan brew.

All right—the bastard likes to spar. Just make sure he feels in control and gets the last word.

"I need an explanation." He tapped the table with his fingertip.

An unpleasant chill  washed over her. She had imagined him projecting a hologram of her report for everyone to ooh and ah over while he lavishly praised her work.

What's wrong? Her armpits prickled with sweat as a faint sheen of perspiration appeared on her upper lip.

"The logistics are in my summary." She pushed a stray strand of hair from her face. "I sent you the file yesterday. Didn't you see it?"

He glanced at the holograph screen where the file was displayed and then blanked the image so she couldn't see the errant report. "I never received anything." He raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his latte as Evelyn's smile slipped.

Shit.

"That's not a problem—I brought another copy." She fumbled with her leather binder.

A gasp made her freeze. When she looked up, Sinclair was holding his coffee at arm's length and grimacing in disgust. "What the hell's in this latte?" Tan liquid dribbled down the side of the cup as he placed his beverage on the table between them.

Evelyn dropped her paperwork and the leather binder on the table. Reaching for the bean-colored cup, she read the black magic marker scribbled on the side and then delicately sniffed the beverage's fragrant aroma. "I don't understand. It's a large, vanilla latte—exactly what you ordered."

Eyes flashing, the CEO pointed his index finger at the paper cup. "Exactly? Why does my coffee have f-ing liquor in it?" She flinched as angry red spots appeared on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry." Her voice wobbled. "The barista must have accidentally mixed up the order. I'll fix it right away." Feeling faint, she rushed back to her seat to retrieve her own untouched cup of coffee. An identical order of Sinclair's without the liquor.

"You know I'm allergic to vanilla." He gathered his fingertips to one imaginary point and used the Italian finger purse gesture to diss her.

No, I fucking didn't.

Is his face swelling?

Panicked, she grabbed the other latte and spun around. Her foot caught on the elevated step and she hurtled into the arms of her six-foot, lanky boss. Coffee splattered his expensive silk tie. Buffy Gates and the male intern sitting in the first row erupted in hysterical laughter as dark brown liquid flooded the table.

Sinclair's face  matched his tie as his body went rigid. "Look what you did to me, you stupid Oompa-Loompa!" Evelyn blushed and shrank in on herself. She grew nauseated as her binder soaked up beige liquid like a sponge.

Why is this happening?

Tears rimmed her thick lashes. Her vision tunneled as she fled for the exit. Humiliated, she fumbled with the conference door handle.

Lori glared at the two sniggering interns. "Stop laughing, you two. This isn't a god damned Game of Thrones episode. Get some paper towels and clean this mess up."

Huddled at the door, Evelyn was enveloped in a cloud of Lori's Givenchy cologne as the Senior VP helped her open the heavy door. Shielding her from the other interns, the Senior Executive whispered, "He's not allergic to fucking vanilla—he's taking his frustration with his ex out on you. Don't let that asshole win. Get angry," she seethed, "then get even with the bastard."