Meeting The Hot Boss
The elevator pinged, and I stepped out onto the 15th floor, clutching my coffee and trying not to spill it all over my freshly ironed shirt.
First day. New internship. Big firm.
I was doing my best to act like I belonged here—even though my heart was racing and my palms were already kind of sweaty.
The office was sleek. All glass and light. Warm tones, minimalist lines, people walking fast and typing faster. A soft hum of power thrumming through the space like it had somewhere important to be.
And right in the center of it all, in a navy blazer that fit like it had been sewn onto him, stood Blake Maddox.
I’d seen his name on the offer letter.
Team Lead: Blake Maddox.
I’d even Googled him—everyone did—but no photo had prepared me for the way he looked in person.
Mid-to-late thirties, maybe.
Tall.
Fit in that “trains before 7 a.m.” kind of way.
His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, exposing tanned forearms that flexed slightly every time he gestured or adjusted his watch. His jawline was sharp, clean-shaven. His brown hair was styled in a way that looked effortless. Like he just woke up like that. Expensive and off-duty.
Even the way he stood—leaned slightly against the edge of the glass conference room, arms folded, talking with someone—made me pause.
And stare. For maybe too long.
“Troy?”
His voice snapped me out of it—smooth, low, and so confident it made me straighten on instinct.
He gave a small nod and stepped toward me. The other person he’d been speaking to slipped away without a word.
“Yes. Hi. I’m Troy.”
I held out my hand like a normal person (I hoped), trying not to look like I was vibrating.
He shook it—warm, firm, steady.
“Blake Maddox,” he said. “Glad you made it. Wasn’t sure if you’d get lost in the lobby.”
A slight smile curved his lips. Casual. Charming. Lethal.
I laughed too quickly. “I—I almost did, actually. The receptionist pointed me to the wrong elevator bank.”
His eyes flicked over me—briefly, professionally—but I swore there was something in that glance. Amusement. A flicker of interest?
No. Probably just me being… me.
“Well, we’re glad to have you.”
He motioned for me to walk with him, already in motion. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”
We walked through the open layout, and I did my best to focus on what he was saying.
This department handles digital strategy.
These folks do branding.
That’s the tech team.
I nodded along like I was absorbing every word. But honestly?
I was mostly focused on him.
The way his trousers fit just right. The sharp cut of his shirt across his back. The scent he carried—something subtle, clean, masculine. Faint enough to lean in without meaning to.
“You’re staring.”
“What?” I blinked, heart lurching.
“I said, you’re quiet,” Blake repeated with a knowing smirk, like he absolutely knew I hadn’t heard a word of what he just said.
“Oh.”
My face flushed instantly. “Sorry, I’m just trying to take it all in.”
He turned his head slightly as we walked, his smile soft but amused.
“It’s a lot, I know. First days are always a little overwhelming.”
“I guess I was just admiring…”
I trailed off as the sentence died in my throat.
“The office. The design. It’s really nice.”
Blake chuckled, low in his throat. “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
My stomach flipped.
“It is,” I said quickly, too eagerly.
God, does he think I meant him?
He stopped in front of a frosted glass door and turned to face me, expression leveling.
“I’ve gone through your résumé.”
My breath caught.
Just a little.
He gave a slow nod of approval. “Impressive profile.”
I smiled, glancing at the floor for a half-second like a complete idiot.
“Thank you.”
“We’ll be working closely,” he added. “A lot of one-on-one.”
Oh.
Okay.
His tone was smooth and professional, but there was something in the way he said it—like he knew what that might do to someone.
“Oh. Great,” I said. “I mean, I’m looking forward to learning.”
He smirked, resting a hand on the door handle. “Good. Just stay focused. We’ve had interns get a little… distracted before.”
My eyes went wide. Was that a joke? A warning? Both?
He pushed open the door. “This is where you’ll be stationed.”
Small desk. Right outside what I quickly realized was his office.
Of course.
“Settle in. I’ll call you in for a chat after your onboarding packet.”
“Sure thing.”
He turned to leave, then paused—glancing back over his shoulder, voice suddenly lower. Playful.
“By the way,” he said, “you might want to keep your eyes on your screen, not my sleeves.”
My mouth dropped open a fraction.
“I mean,” he added, completely deadpan, “there’s a lot of information to process. Wouldn’t want you to miss something important.”
Then he winked.
Winked.
And walked away like he hadn’t just melted me from the inside out.
I stood there, pulse thumping in my ears, face flushed, trying not to melt into a puddle on the carpet.
Day one.
And this man already had me flustered beyond repair.
I finally sat down, opened my laptop, and told myself to focus.
But all I could think about was the way his shirt hugged those biceps.
The heat in his voice.
The promise behind that wink.
I arrived earlier than usual the next morning. Partly because I wanted to get ahead of the inbox avalanche. Mostly because…
I wanted to see him.
My olive green shirt was crisp, fitted enough to hug my chest and arms without looking like I tried. Black jeans. Clean sneakers. I told myself I dressed for the job—but I knew exactly who I was dressing for.
Blake wasn’t in yet. His office was dark, his chair empty. I made a detour to the break room, grabbed my coffee, and settled in like I wasn’t pretending to check emails while waiting for him to walk in.
And then—there he was.
His reflection appeared first in the glass panel. Then his full frame. Walking through the hallway, tall and precise, blazer draped over one arm. He tossed it across the back of his chair like he’d done it a hundred times before.
And looked like he belonged on the cover of CEO Monthly.
Or GQ Corporate Edition.
Or whatever publication rich men get featured in when they don’t even have Instagram.
“Morning, Mr. Maddox,” I said casually, turning from my screen.
What I wanted to say was morning, daddy, but thank God that didn’t slip out.
He let out a soft laugh, warm and teasing.
“No, no. Just Blake. Please.”
God. Even that was hot.
He stopped beside my desk, sipping from his sleek black tumbler, forearms flexing just slightly as he adjusted his cuff.
“Looks like arm day’s paying off,” he said with a smirk, catching me mid-glance at the veiny curve of his forearm.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then blurted:
“It’s definitely working.”
And immediately wanted to drop dead.
He grinned. “Glad to hear it.”
Then gave my shoulder a light tap, easy, casual, and headed into his office like nothing had happened.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of emails and stolen glances.
His office walls were glass, which didn’t help. I could see him from my seat—writing something, scrolling through his screen, occasionally running his fingers through his hair. I tried not to stare.
Failed.
He looked up once.
Caught me.
And smiled.
That’s when it started.
Small things. Subtle.
Mid-afternoon, he came over to review a slide deck, stood beside me, and adjusted my tie while talking. His fingers brushed the fabric lightly, smoothing it. His touch lingered a second too long.
“This should lie flatter,” he murmured.
Then stepped back. “Perfect.”
Later, I ran into one of the IT guys—Jordan—by the water cooler. He struck up a friendly chat, eyes lingering just a bit too long on my mouth when I smiled.
We were mid-laugh when Blake walked by.
He didn’t say anything.
But his eyes flicked between us. Noted. Filed.
The next day?
Jordan wouldn’t make eye contact.
And my calendar?
Let’s just say it looked… different.
I’d been reassigned. “Urgent cross-departmental projects.” Shadowing Blake directly. Sitting beside him all week.
No complaints.
But the message was clear.
He noticed everything.
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