I met her through the wrong man’s eyes. Through my best friend’s dating app when he was passed out on too much tequila, and I was buzzed on cheap brandy and loneliness. She’s fake—it was my first thought while looking at beautiful violet eyes, a body made for pure sin and that of hers that gave zero fucks that I thought she was full of shit or not. However, that was until she sent me a picture with a middle finger and the same beautiful set of irises. But she could never be mine. And when I say that, I really mean it. Yet, my dumbass apparently doesn’t read the whole memo of what that all entails because I hire her to work underneath my team anyway. I torture myself and watch her stride into my office with her clothes painted on and try to leave well enough alone. I veer out of the way, but she crosses the line and does it on purpose—to challenge me. This woman doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into. And apparently, I don’t either. I’m about to fuck this woman up with my secrets. And not in the way I want to fully either.