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37 b
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Three months. That's my limit. Ten temp jobs in four years, and I've never once unpacked all the way.
Then I spill coffee down my blouse, eat the carpet on my way to the copy room, and look up into the hazel eyes of the man who signs my paychecks.
Bren Harrison. Mid-forties. Salt-and-pepper. In charge of everything. Including me, apparently. By lunch on day one, I'm on my knees in his locked office. The rules are easy. Don't catch feelings, don't get caught, don't drag it out.
I'm great at rules like that. Rules like that are how I never stay.
Somewhere between the protein bars and the dirty talk, the rules stop working.
He clasps a gold chain around my ankle, and I don't take it off. I stopped taking my birth control three days ago. The runner wants to be kept-the whole terrifying forever.
The temp who never stays just found the one place she can't leave.
A spicy standalone romance with a dominant older boss, scorching baby making themes, and a hard-won happily-ever-after.
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