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I can't stand him. But I can stand anything for six weeks, right?

Even being the personal assistant to Hayes Flynn, an arrogant jerk known best for his scotch habit and the way he spreads his British “charm” all over town (never with the same woman twice).

But the longer we're together, the harder he is to hate. Because under that smug exterior is a heart he doesn't want to show—one that was broken badly a decade earlier.

I’m determined to fix it for him before I leave…but can I do it without breaking my own in the process? 


“God, what a filthy little mouth you have, Miss Bell,” he says. His voice is pure gravel, and I feel a hard kick of want in my stomach. Or maybe that kick was a little lower if I’m going to be honest.


I imagine hearing him say that while braced over me, flushed and desperate. Or pushing me to my knees with his hands in my hair.

Which is not something I should be picturing about my boss.