What a Girl Needs. Aimee Duffy

      But it was Maxton Briggs the Second running the show now.

      ‘You’d better. I’d hate to have to punish you.’

      He disconnected the call leaving her staring at the receiver. Heat rose in her cheeks and her heart hammered in her chest. He didn’t mean…

      No, he didn’t. He was joking. God. She had to get a grip. Sexual frustration was driving her to think her boss was flirting with her. And sure, Max was less formal than his father, and she supposed a good guy to work for, but since his break-up, which was unfortunately witnessed by half the staff at Briggs, he wasn’t his usual happy-go-lucky self. Not to mention a little bit weird. Though she couldn’t blame him for that.

      She rose so quickly she left her swivel chair spinning. Pulling open the cabinet drawer, she shuffled the slings until she came across the empty one which should have housed the file he wanted.

      ‘Damn it.’

      The sooner she gave Max the file and sent him on his merry way, the better. Usually she struggled to keep her thoughts from rolling off her tongue around everyday people; with him around it was impossible. And the boss didn’t need to know what she thought of his ass, or how hot he looked in one of those charcoal suits with the silk ties. Or even about those dreams she’d had starring Maxton the Second, and very little in the way of clothes.

      Well, apart from his ties. The silk ones, though, he never wore them as such. Either they were around her wrists securing her to her bed frame, or sometimes she dressed in nothing but a tie and pair of skyscraper stilettos.

      A flush spread over her body, flooding into her lower tummy and making her shiver. Shit, she had to stop thinking about ties. None of it was knowledge she wanted to share with him.

       Girl, the file. Get the damn file.

      A quick glance around the hole she called an office didn’t help. Loose papers and an old coffee mug hid a desk she remembered was mahogany. Stacks of blue files were piled in a corner next to a half-dead plant. The file she was looking for was beige. On top of the filing cabinets? She hadn’t touched that area in a year and the inch of dust confirmed it.

      Then it clicked. She’d left it with Janice to double-check the final reports.

      Taking off at full speed – for a woman in five inch stilettos anyway – she bolted next door. Janice was on the phone, twirling a lock of her permed shoulder-length hair that was now more gray than brown. Her mentor blew a bubble of pink gum while she nodded, even though the person on the other end of the line couldn’t see her.

      Georgia crossed the room and stabbed the bubble with her super-sharp new manicure, catching Janice’s full attention. She mouthed ‘buying accounts’ and, thank God, Janice knew what she meant. She rummaged around her equally cluttered desk for what felt like an age.

      Georgia briefly wondered if she had a mentor who was organized, she’d follow suit, but quickly dismissed it when an image of her unruly bedroom popped into her mind. Thank God her roommate Eloisa had OCD when it came to cleaning or their apartment would never be fit for company.

      Janice mumbled what sounded like an agreement into the phone while she located the file. Grabbing it, Georgia called a quick ‘Thanks’ over her shoulder and she was off again.

      Her journey back was frantic, especially since she noticed the empty hall. The water cooler two doors away was usually circled by the gossip crew come three-thirty, and their absence made the hairs on the back of Georgia’s neck stand to attention.

      Oh, but it was much, much worse than she could imagine.

      When she got to the doorway of her room, all six foot four of male glory was already on her chair, facing her computer with a frown above his deep-blue eyes. His dirty-blond hair was neater than usual, swept away from his face, but the waves made her think of him rolling out of bed after he’d just run his hand through it. Or worse, like she’d just run her hands through it, pulling him down into a kiss that would melt her panties.

       Quit it. He’s my boss.

      But then the blood drained from her face, leaving it numb. Her whole body froze as she stared at him wide-eyed, comprehension slamming into her mind. Who’d have thought mortification could paralyze someone? Not her. Until now.

      She forced herself to unfreeze and took a step into the room. Pulling on her best ‘what the hell are you doing?’ glare, she cleared her throat.

      Max straightened and turned to her with his full lips parted.

      Georgia refused to let herself look at his mouth and focused on being mad—completely ignoring the fact she’d been using working hours, not to mention the company’s internet connection, to try and fix her sex life. Or current lack of one. After all, no guy wanted the ego beating of bedding her.

      ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. But she’d never live the shame of this one down. Her boss now knew she was a freak.

      Max stood, ran a hand down the front of his suit to smooth imaginary wrinkles, or because he was stumped at what to do. He cleared his throat, but before he could say a word, Georgia took control of the situation and shoved the file into his hands.

      ‘Everything you need is in there, now if you’ll excuse me I have work to do.’ And shame to live down, but she could do that without an audience thank you very much.

      ‘Georgia—’

      ‘Don’t.’ She shook her head, fighting back the burn creeping up her neck.

      He eyed her for what felt like an hour, studying her with an intensity that made the blush spread. She cleared the way to the door and headed toward the filing cabinets, hating the attention he was paying her. Especially now he knew. God, a man like him, all virile male with testosterone seeping from every one of his pores, was the last person in the world she’d want to think she was a freak.

      The door to her office clicked closed and she heaved a sigh of relief, which turned into a squeak as she turned around to see he was still standing there. He’d ditched the file on top of a bunch of papers on her desk, and had his arms folded across his chest. The delicate material of his suit jacket pulled tight over trim muscles, and she had to force herself to focus on his face.

      ‘There’s nothing wrong with you,’ he said.

      ‘Excuse me?’

      But she’d heard him and understood what he was referring to. Eloisa had often been in predicaments she’d described as so embarrassing she wished a hole would open in the ground and suck her in. Georgia had never understood, since nothing normally embarrassed her, and if she started to feel uncomfortable she took herself out of the situation. But right now, with nowhere to run—unless she wanted to climb out the window and take her chances with the two-story drop—and all of her failings as a woman laid bare for her boss, Georgia understood her friend’s words perfectly. She’d have to grit her teeth and get through this, showing as little emotion as possible. And bite her tongue. The last thing she needed was her runaway mouth making this a hundred times worse.

      Why the hell had she left that email open?

      ‘You heard me.’ Max thrust his chin in the direction of the computer and her cheeks caught fire, or felt like they did anyway. ‘What kind of jerks have you been dating?’

      Anger leaked into his tone and she wondered if Mr. Mood Swing was paying a visit. She squared her shoulders. ‘That’s not your business. None of this is.’

      One brow rose over his incredulous eyes. ‘When you use company time to worry about your sex life, it becomes my business.’

      Georgia’s quick tongue deserted her. He was right, she should have waited until she’d gone home, but Eloisa or Shey could have caught her, which struck her as horrifying. This situation made her friends’ teasing seem like lying in the bath with her favorite scented salts after a hard day.

      He took a step closer and she had to force herself to meet