Page 101 of His Good Girl

For the next hour, I tried to work like a woman who had not just received written proof that her new boss understood her underwear situation better than she understood her own career goals. I read about approval chains, document permissions, naming conventions, file retention schedules, and client communications. I took notes because I did not trust myself not to drift into a full-body memory of Callum’s hand in my hair while his mouth devoured mine.

Dana came by shortly after I arrived and dropped three project summaries on my desk.

“Rewrite these,” she demanded.

“Good morning to you too.”

She just looked at me. Silently.

“Good morning,” I corrected myself.

“Better. Rewrite the executive overview in plain language. Keep the technical substance. Remove the incense.”

“The incense?”

“Consultant language. Words like synergize, empower, future-forward, holistic, and stakeholder ecosystem.”

I picked up the pages. “Understood.”

Dana’s gaze flicked over me once, not lingering on the skirt, exactly, but noticing it in the practical way she noticed everything. “Nice outfit.”

My heart stopped.

“Thank you.”

“Sharp. Don’t let it do the work for you.”

Then she walked away.

I sat very still.

Benjamin appeared three seconds later, as if conjured by my stress. “Dana complimented you. Terrible. We’ll have to monitor you for overconfidence now.”

“She told me not to let my skirt do the work for me.”

“Sound advice. Though, in fairness, it appears highly motivated.”

I glared at him.

He leaned one hand on the edge of my desk, lowering his voice just enough that only I could hear. “You seem flushed.”

“I’m drinking coffee.”

“You are holding a capped pen.”

I looked down to see that I was, in fact, holding a capped pen.

“Ben,” I said carefully.

“Yes?”

“Do you know everything?”

“No.”

I stared.

His mouth twitched. “Only the important and inconvenient things.”