Oops! Falling in Love With my CEO by Accident!

I run my hands over the tight bun on top of my head and examine my shirt for any traces of breakfast. The atrium of this downtown building is magnificent: drooping palm trees, huge windows, and sunlight slanting across the pale marble floor. Looking up, I watch the numbers appear on the elevator panel above my head and shift the band of my suit around my waist, curling my toes to relieve the tension in my heels. Why would anyone normally wear clothes like this? I glance at the gray steel and green two-piece glasses of the receptionist. Imagine dressing like that every day.

Hmmm. Maybe a crazy hipster would have been a better choice than "cool executive" for this meeting? They'll probably all sport a tech vibe: ripped jeans and rock band t-shirts. After all, we're at Janus Industries. I straighten my spine. Why give them what they expect? I've stood out all my life – no point in changing course now, no matter how big the company. And at that thought, I can almost feel my father's exasperation.

Janus Industries. I still can't believe they called me. Why on earth would one of the most well-known tech companies in New York award a security contract to a fish out of water like me? It's not like we're well-known in the security sector.

I stare at my reflection in the glass elevator doors, biting a nail. Then a movement catches the corner of my eye, and as I glance at the polished floor to my right, my whole body freezes.

Oh.

My.

God.

As I turn around, I open my mouth and lean forward a bit to try and catch some air. A reflection appears next to mine, and just like that, I find myself a foot away from Janus Phillips, tapping his hand against his leg at a fast pace, staring at the board, fiddling with a leather bracelet on his wrist. Slowly, I turn around to see that he's already looking at me, and a huge smile spreads across his face as two dimples appear.

And, my god, he's more handsome than in the photos: messy black hair tousled on his head, thick lashes around dark brown eyes, and a smile so lopsided that one side of his mouth is much higher than the other. How is it possible for someone's mouth to do that?

My lips are pressed together, my breath still stuck in my nose. His jaw has that shadow that... He coughs, raising an eyebrow.

Shit.

Caught.

Staring.

Heat rises up my neck as my eyes return to the elevator. My damned skin is going to blotch. Ugh. I try to discreetly broaden my chest. Calm down, Jo. Why can't I just say "Hi!" like a normal person? Would that be too hard? I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Is this encounter nerve-wracking enough to go to the top? To him? My god, this huge company and it's his. He's thirty-one and handles data for some of the world's largest organizations.

A cool designer jean hangs so low on his hips that the waistband of his boxer is visible, and I almost laugh when I see the faded logo of a rock band on the front of his T-shirt. At least he's not wearing one of those "OMG The Element of Surprise" T-shirts: I'm sick of software developers who find that funny. He's cute, but he must know it, right?

And if the gossip columns are to be believed, his type isn't techie girls like me, just a bunch of blonde models – he's always on the go with a gorgeous girl or something like that. I'm sure he has an ego the size of a planet. Given my short stature and flat chest, I can guarantee I wouldn't interest someone like him.

As I look at the status board above our heads, my right arm seems to be on fire. Thank god, the elevator is only two floors away. The silence is overwhelming until, without warning, the elevator dings loudly and I rush forward, almost bumping into the doors as they open. My god, how blotchy must I be now? I probably match my hair color.

"Easy now."

The slightly condescending tone of his voice ignites a fire in me. Is he patronizing me? He's right behind me as I step in and press the button for my floor.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I've seen you before. Do you work in marketing?" he says.

His voice is all friendly, warm, and deep. And when I turn to him, the little monkey on my shoulder decides to wake up and have some fun. Nobody patronizes me and gets away with it. That urge to poke the bear drove my father to the brink: he was constantly called to school to "talk about his daughter."

"Oh no." I pinch my lips together. "I'm here for a meeting."

He gives me a nod like people do when they're waiting for you to say more. I bet he expects me to know who he is. I bet women usually love that. Smiling, I turn away, desperately hoping the words will come before I have to say anything else. A heavy silence settles between us and he clears his throat.

"What company are you from?"

Bingo. Curiosity killed the cat, Mr. Phillips. As I turn to smile at him, I have to stop myself from doing a little victory dance at the somewhat puzzled expression on his face.

"Oh, I'm an independent contractor." I'm not exactly lying here, am I? "Why are you here?" My smile is sweet as sugar.

Janus's eyes widen slightly and he absentmindedly runs a hand through his unruly brown hair, making it stick up at crazy angles. I watch him with fascination. Is there gel in it? His hand drops to his chest in the silence that follows, and I trace his long, thin fingers, square nails.

"Oh, yeah, uh, I work here?"

Ah, very interesting. That's not the answer I would expect from someone whose ego must be as big as a planet. I thought he'd say he was Janus Phillips and give me a knowing smile. Where's all that arrogance?

"Oh, nice." I nod like a bobblehead. "It must be great to have a job here." I lean in and lower my voice. "I've heard it's super cool to work for Janus Phillips. A friend of mine knows someone who works here and said it's amazing." I tilt my head, trying not to laugh. What am I saying? Janus's jaw drops and a blush starts at the base of his neck; it makes me want to twist the knife a little more. "Have you met him?" I whisper.

He studies the floor for a moment, and when his gaze returns to mine, I'm surprised by the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, that conspiratorial glint.

"I've had a few meetings with him," he murmurs, and his eyes trace my hair and cheeks, landing on my lips.