QUINN CORTEZ POV
Back at the company, I tried to drown myself in work.
Spreadsheets.
Contracts.
Emails.
Numbers.
Anything that didn't involve blue eyes or small waists.
Unfortunately, my brain had developed a rebellious streak.
Every time I signed a document, I saw him stumbling.
Every time I adjusted my tie, I remembered how light he felt in my arms.
Every time I leaned back in my chair, I saw that look — wide-eyed and startled.
Ridiculous.
He was my PA.
A man.
A slightly incompetent, occasionally dramatic, overly expressive man.
Why was my brain making it complicated?
I pinched the bridge of my nose and forced myself to focus on the quarterly projections.
That was when my phone rang.
Grandma.
I stared at the screen for a full five seconds, debating whether I should pretend I was in a meeting.
But ignoring her would only make it worse.
I answered.
"Grandma."
