tgif. . .

Keys to an office on my floor dangled from fingertips, teasing his eyes. They trailed from my face, to my hands, not once dropping to my noticeable cleavage. He cleared his throat.

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you were hitting on me, Ms. Coleman." Devon stared at the name plate stationed on my desk, eyes perking at the marital title.

"I don't mix my business with pleasure, Mr. Jackson."