The elevator chimes and the lobby of one of the most prestigious publishing companies in the world falls silent. I sit up in my seat, right my cat-eye frames to sit perfectly on my nose and place my fingers on my keyboard. It's a struggle to keep my gaze on the computer screen; too often I've found myself in a trance as James Rogan enters the office. He carries himself with grace and sophistication, and he's extremely nice to look at.

"Good morning, Mr. Rogan," I say with a bright smile as he reaches my desk.

"Good morning, Emily." His voice is like a lick of chocolate ice cream on a hot summer's day despite his disinterested tone. "Do you have any packages for me?"

I gather the padded manila envelope with the proof of his star client's newest novel and hold it out to him.

"Thanks," he mumbles, trying to take it from me, but I hold tight.

"Have you had a chance to—"

"I don't have time for this today. I'll discuss it with you when the time is right," he snaps.

"But you've had my manuscript—"

The phone rings, and he tugs the package out of my hand.

Clenching my teeth, I sink back into my seat and snatch up the phone.

I can't go on like this much longer; for the past six weeks, I've been trying to flag James down every chance I get, but he finds a way to evade me every time. I've worked on my novel for going on three years now; it's both the accomplishment I'm most proud of and the one I share with no one; not even my best friend or my mom. In a moment of total reckless abandon, I had decided to lay my manuscript on James' desk. He'd looked at me with the ghost of a sparkle in his bronze eyes, and I'd taken that as genuine interest.

Clearly, I'd been mistaken.

My nostrils flare as I furiously type a memo, and the anger bubbles up inside me. Yes, he's sexy, and every breathing person in this office may ogle over him, but he's become a dick—asking me to do more menial tasks for him while not even giving me a bite on my manuscript. He treats me no better than the houseplant on his windowsill that he forgets to water—yeah, that's apparently my job too.

James has me so flustered for the rest of the day that I work through lunch and forget to send a contract out with the courier. By the time I realize my blunder, I have only twenty minutes to get the documents to their destination on my own. Running to the elevator, I impatiently hit the call button several times before the doors open and I rush inside, tapping my toe in anticipation of the closing doors.

"Hold on." Four fingers grip the steel door and pry it open.

James.

I release a sigh, roll my eyes, and clench the envelope to my chest as we begin our awkward descent. It's just my luck that I'd have to share a small space with him.

A loud bang sounds from above and the elevator shudders before coming to an abrupt stop.

"What the hell," he hisses, hitting the button for the lobby.

"This cannot be happening," I murmur, dropping the envelope at my feet.

James picks up the telephone inside the emergency box. "Hello, yes, the elevator seems to be stuck." A pause. "Halfway down from the 42nd floor. Yes, okay, thanks."

He turns to me with a pale face and my heart sinks when he says, "They're sending someone, but it could be a while."

"Shit." I lean against the wall in defeat. This contract isn't going to make it by 2:30. And that's not the worst part; the worst part is being stuck in this elevator with this dickhead...and the fact that he smells absolutely amazing.

"Yeah, I had things to do this afternoon. Guess I'm just going to waste my time in here with you."

My blood boils and I step forward, my heels clicking against the marble floor. "Okay, James, I've had just about enough. I'm always respectful, but damn; you've treated me like a trivial piece of trash for weeks. You have no idea how hard it was for me to let you read my manuscript."

James' gaze rakes over my body from bottom to top. When his bronze eyes meet mine, a chill runs through me. "Do you think I'm obligated to treat you differently than the next talented writer just because we work together?"

He thinks I'm talented? "No, you're just the first person I've ever shared it with, and I'm starting to think I should've just kept it a secret," I spit.

James removes his suit jacket and takes his time rolling the sleeves of his button-up shirt. Every second that passes is painfully uncomfortable; I'd rather poke my eye with a hot knife than tolerate this torture. When he finishes, he leans against the wall across from me and crosses his arms over his chest. "That would have been a shame. The story is one of the most intriguing things I've read in a very long time."

"R-really? Then why have you been treating me like shit since I turned it in?"

"For weeks now, I've been scrambling to make sure that I could do justice to your story before I made you an offer—top editor, the best translators, and design team. I want the best for you and the book, even if I can't be the one to offer you that."

My heart hammers against my chest. "You're planning to publish my novel," I say, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. When he merely looks at me, I continue, "I can't tell you what that means to me, but...that still doesn't explain why you've been so rude to me since I submitted."

He shakes his head and looks down at his designer shoes. "I needed more time, and every time you asked me about it my fear got the best of me. It was a reminder that you could easily take the book and query it to another agent. I didn't want to let it go, so I dragged you along." James looks up. "I'm sorry, Emily. It was completely selfish."

I reach out, putting my hand on his arm and squeezing gently. "It's okay, James. Really. I understand. And believe me; this is far better than the reason I'd dreamt up."

"And what was that?"

"Just that you thought I wasn't worth your time or energy."

His head snaps up and his nose scrunches. "Are you kidding me? There's a reason I stop by your desk every morning, even when you're constantly asking me about your manuscript and driving me to the edge of insanity." He reaches for the arm of my glasses and slides them away from my face. "Just once I'd like to look into your eyes without these."

My breath catches and I pull my lower lip between my teeth. "Well, I too would like that very much," I say, inching toward him, my hand resting at his waist. "I didn't know you felt that way about me."

"I've felt all sorts of ways about you for a very long time, Emily." His soft fingers brush the side of my face as he guides my mouth to his. His lips feel like silk and taste like orange cream. The stroke of his tongue along mine does things to my body that I didn't think were possible with a kiss alone.

I slide my other hand up his chest and around his neck, pushing him back against the wall of the elevator. "And I have felt all sorts of ways about you since the minute you hired me," I admit, smiling against his lips.

"I...You...Oh wow." I guess miracles do happen; James is at a loss for words. He pulls me to him again, and this time, his kiss is urgent...overflowing with passion. His hands roam over my body and the sounds that vibrate through his chest are the sexiest thing I've ever heard. He moves from my lips to my neck and his fingers make quick work of the top button of my blouse. I tug on his shirt, releasing the tail from his slacks. We are a mess of short breaths, quick hands, and frantic kisses.

The elevator shudders and a mechanical hum comes from above. We are moving again.

The ride down is quiet with stolen glances as we straighten our clothing.

"So, about my book," I say as the elevator doors open.

James laughs and retrieves the envelope off the floor, handing it to me. "Read through the contract and tell me what you think."

For the first time, I look at the typed label on the front; it is addressed to me.