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My hands make contact with something. No—someONE. I open my eyes… It’s my boss. My shirtless boss. Bastian Hale stands there, topless, a white dress shirt dangling from one hand. “Ms. Hunter.” His voice is a baritone rumble. “Care to explain what you’re doing?” “I—” I yank my hands off his bare chest so fast I nearly lose my balance. “I wasn’t— This isn’t— Why are you shirtless?” “Generally, that’s what happens when one changes clothes.” One of Bastian’s eyebrows floats up. “You still haven’t answered the question. Why were you wandering around my office in the dark with your eyes closed, looking for someone to grope?” I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. What am I supposed to say? Hey, boss, funny story: I just found out I’ll be going blind in three months, so I thought I’d practice navigating the office and accidentally felt you up instead? “I was… testing something.” “Were the results satisfactory?” There is something in his tone that makes heat crawl up my neck. Which is ridiculous, obviously. This is Bastian Hale. He dates women with billboards of their faces and sexually explicit pop songs on the radio. He is genetically incapable of innuendo with anyone below the executive level. I am not a potential partner in his eyes—I am a worm, a speck of dirt. “I’d call it a work-in-progress.” I start to turn. “I should go. It’s been a long day.” “Hm.” He doesn’t move out of my way. “And your solution to this long day was to wander around in the dark?” “It’s been a long, complicated day.” “I run a multi-billion-dollar hospitality empire, Hunter. I know what ‘complicated’ is. Try me.” Despite everything—the diagnosis, the darkness, the fact that I just had my hands all over my boss’s chesticles—I feel my lips twitch into something like a smile. And for just a second, I consider telling him EVERYTHING.