Want Me, Cowboy. Maisey Yates

Not her lover. Never her lover.

      Maybe he didn’t see his future wife as a new car he was buying. But he basically saw Poppy as a stapler. Efficient and useful only when needed.

      “Well, I will be in touch,” Poppy stated crisply.

      “Why are you interviewing all the women? Is this like a sister wives thing?”

      Poppy almost choked. “No. I am Mr. Grayson’s assistant. Not his wife.”

      “I wouldn’t mind that,” Lola continued. “It’s always seemed efficient to me. Somebody to share the workload of kids and housework. Well, and sex.”

      “Not. His. Wife.” Poppy said that through clenched teeth.

      “He should consider that.”

      She tightened her hold on her pen, and was surprised she didn’t end up snapping it in half. “Me as his wife?”

      “Sister wives.”

      “I’ll make a note,” Poppy said drily.

      Her breath exited her body in a rush when Lola finally left, and Poppy’s head was swimming with rage.

      She had thought she could do this. She had been wrong. She had been an idiot.

       I am your boss.

      He was her boss. Because she worked for him. Because she had worked for him for ten years. Ten years.

      Why had she kept this job for so long? She had job experience. She also had a nest egg. The money was good, she couldn’t argue that, but she could also go get comparable pay at a large company in a city, and she now had the experience to do that. She didn’t have to stay isolated here in Copper Ridge. She didn’t have to stay with a man who didn’t appreciate her.

      She didn’t have to stay trapped in this endless hell of wanting something she was never going to have.

      No one was keeping her here. Nothing was keeping her here.

      Nothing except the ridiculous idea that Isaiah had feelings for her that went beyond that of his assistant.

      Friends could be friends in different cities. They didn’t have to live in each other’s pockets. Even if he had misspoken and he did see them as friends—and really, now that she was taking some breaths, she imagined that was closer to the truth—it was no excuse to continue to expose herself to him for twelve hours a day.

      He was her business life. He was her social life. He was her fantasy life. That was too much for one man. Too much.

      She walked into his office, breathing hard, and he looked up from his computer screen, his gray eyes assessing. He made her blood run hotter. Made her hands shake and her stomach turn over. She wanted him. Even now. She wanted to launch herself across the empty space and fling herself into his arms.

      No. It had to stop.

      “I quit,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a glorious triumph.

      But then they hit.

      Hit him, hit her. And she knew she could take them back. Maybe she should.

      No. She shouldn’t.

      “You quit?”

      “It should not be in my job description to find you a wife. This is ludicrous. I just spent the last twenty minutes talking to a woman who was trying to get me to add the fact that she could tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue onto that ridiculous, awful form of yours underneath her ‘skills.’”

      He frowned. “Well, that is a skill that might have interesting applications...”

      “I know that,” she said. “But why am I sitting around having a discussion with a woman that is obviously about your penis?”

      Her cheeks heated, and her hands shook. She could not believe she had just... Talked about his penis. In front of him.

      “I didn’t realize that would be a problem.”

      “Of course you didn’t. Because you don’t realize anything. You don’t care about anything except the bottom line. That’s all you ever see. You want a wife to help run your home. To help organize your life. By those standards I have been your damned wife for the past ten years, Isaiah Grayson. Isn’t that what you’re after? A personal assistant for your house. A me clone who can cook your dinner and...and...do wife things.”

      He frowned, leaning back in his chair.

      He didn’t speak, so she just kept going. “I quit,” she repeated. “And you have to find your own wife. I’m not working with you anymore. I’m not dealing with you anymore. You said you were my boss. Well, you’re not now. Not anymore.”

      “Poppy,” he said, his large, masculine hands pressing flat on his desk as he pushed himself into a standing position. She looked away from his hands. They were as problematic as the rest of him. “Be reasonable.”

      “No! I’m not going to be reasonable. This situation is so unreasonable it isn’t remotely fair of you to ask me to be reasonable within it.”

      They just stayed there for a moment, regarding each other, and then she slowly turned away, her breath coming in slow, harsh bursts.

      “Wait,” he said.

      She stopped, but she didn’t turn. She could feel his stare, resting right between her shoulder blades, digging in between them. “You’re right. What I am looking for is a personal version of you. I hadn’t thought about it that way until just now. But I am looking for a PA. In all areas of my life.”

      An odd sensation crept up the back of her neck, goose bumps breaking out over her arms. Still, she fought the urge to turn.

      “Poppy,” he said slowly. “I think you should marry me.”