“Yes and yes,” I replied, walking to his couch, setting the folders on the coffee table, and taking a seat. “By the way, you play beautifully. Your mum taught you well.” My words were restrained. What I really wanted to do was gush about how amazing he was, how the music had given me feelings I’d never had before, how it had made me see him in a completely different light. And I really liked that light.

King seemed to grow self-conscious as he ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, well, it’s just a hobby.” He paused and eyed my bag. “The receipt?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I said, and began rummaging for it while he waited.

As I handed it to him, I did a quick scan of his place. The Steinway sat by the window looking out onto the river, and I noticed piles and piles of paperwork stacked neatly all over the living room floor. He must have been working tonight. A bottle of red wine sat open on the coffee table, a half-finished glass beside it. There was an expensive-looking chessboard on the table, and I wondered if he played or if it was only there for show.

I remained seated as King disappeared into another room before returning with his wallet. Retrieving a few notes, he handed them to me. I took them and shoved them in my bag.

“Again, thank you for doing this on such short notice. I do try not to disturb my employees outside of the office.”

“It’s not a problem,” I replied, and our eyes met. We both stared at each other for a moment, and my skin began to feel warm. King took in a deep breath. He didn’t seem to want me to leave yet, so I nodded towards the coffee table. “Nice chessboard. Do you play?”

He glanced at the board before he brought his eyes back to mine. They were handsome eyes, intense, and so glacial blue they could almost startle you at times. I wondered if my sweatiness was from my earlier dancing or from King’s unnerving attention.

“I do. Do you?”

“Yep. My dad taught me. We’d spend hours playing when I was growing up.”

“Hmm, my grandfather was the one to teach me.” He paused, studying me for a moment, before he said, “If you’re not in a hurry to get back to your friends, would you like to stay and have a game?”

I shrugged, trying to play it nonchalant when really I was delighted with the offer. My new boss was an interesting (and sexy) one, and I wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to get to know him better.

“Nah, I’m not in a hurry,” I said, shrugging off my jacket and laying it over the back of the couch. King’s gaze wandered to my chest for a moment as he took in my halter top, before shaking his head and muttering under his breath, “Such a pity.”

“Huh?”

“Would you like a glass of wine? I’ve already opened a bottle.”

“Sure,” I answered, still wondering about his comment. Was he referring to me being a “lesbian”? Couldn’t be. Well, it could, but I was choosing to believe it wasn’t for the sake of my employment. I didn’t need to be having unprofessional thoughts about my intriguingly talented and handsome boss any more than I already was.

King went to the kitchen to grab another glass. When he returned, he handed it to me before picking up an expensive looking bottle of red. I considered asking how much it cost, but I stopped myself. Expensive indulgences always made me feel wasteful, and I just wanted to enjoy myself.

After pouring the wine, King began setting up the chessboard as I took several sips, and man, it was delicious. The rest of the bottle was in serious danger of being depleted by me if I kept this up. King’s attention was on the board when he started to speak, holding a pawn between his fingers, “You know” —a pause— “you’re not the usual sort of person who comes to work for me.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Finally I went with, “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Neither. It’s just a fact. Eleanor is strict. She steers me in the right direction when I might be about to make a bad decision. Gillian is a wonderful organiser, and she never fails to compliment me in some way when she greets me in the morning. It’s a nice little confidence boost.”

I grinned at him, leant in, and mock-whispered, “Mr King, do you have a crush on Gillian?”

He chuckled, and it was an attractive, masculine sort of sound. “Don’t be ridiculous. I simply enjoy her compliments.”

I couldn’t help teasing him. “Well, I wouldn’t go getting a big head about it. That woman would marry a cup if it showed her enough attention.”

“Alexis.” Now it was King’s turn to mock-whisper. “What a horrible thing to say.”

Laughing, I replied, “It’s not horrible. It’s just the truth, and I’m not judging, but that Gillian is a flirt. You forget I’m the one who has to listen to her giggle to men over the phone all day long.”

King winced. “Giggle? Really?”

I nodded. “Uh-huh. You’re not the only one who gets the compliments. Jealous?”

King shook his head and made his first move on the board. “No. And stop interrupting my train of thought. I was saying something, now, where was I? Oh, yes, Eleanor is my compass, and Gillian is my confidence-booster. Now that Eleanor’s poised to leave, do you think you can fill her shoes?”

I bent forward to take in the board, then made a move. “Be your compass? I’ll try my best,” I answered, considering my strategy for the game.

“Your best is all I would ever ask,” said King, a thread of seriousness coming into his voice. I glanced up at him for a moment, my eyes catching on a picture frame behind his head. It sat on a shelf beside a number of other pictures, and showed King with his arm around a good-looking woman with light brown hair. Since he thought I was gay, I felt relatively comfortable asking about her.