Paul knew the corporate world could swallow careless people whole. He’d read about the pressures of success and the long trail of ruined lives left in its wake. But oh, what he’d give for just a taste of it.

He was tired of slaving away at minimum wage. He’d seen his parents do that for years and even now they paid more interest than principal on their mortgage.

Paul’s career seemed destined to follow the same path. He and his two friends, Kellen and Billy, had started their careers at Morgan Getty in the same month. But going into their third year, none of them was getting rich and they weren’t getting any younger. Something had to change.

Kellen was considering marrying his girlfriend and moving on. Billy was content to collect a paycheck for another year and hope the economy would improve.

Of the three, Paul was the scrappy kid with promise. Long ago, he’d traded membership in the blue collar crowd for a career in stocks and financial trading. He was twenty six and Ivy-educated, a Harvard and Wharton graduate. He was his mother’s hope for the future, the son, the entrepreneur only his mother had backed.

“Hey, Paul,” called Billy, sticking his bushy red head into Paul’s office.

Paul lifted his gaze from the computer screen.

Billy grinned. “The boss says you’re a faggot!”

Paul forced a smile out of kindness. “She didn’t say that.” He turned back toward the monitor.

Marie VanAllen was his supervisor and a senior partner of the firm. The recently divorced beauty, who was five years older than Paul, had invited him twice to dinner. Out of sheer nervousness, he declined both times. He never should’ve told his friends because since then, he’d become the butt of their jokes, challenging his manhood.

Just to mess with Billy’s mind, Paul shot back, “You keep that up, I’ll make you my girlfriend.”

The smile left Billy’s face. “You’re gross.”

Kellen’s head popped up over Billy’s shoulder. “Dude, Marie wants to see you.”

Paul grinned. “See, I told you. She wants my body.” At work, he’d imagined her in his arms, satisfying her lusty desires. At night, he’d seen her come to him, wanting him. But those were only fleeting, make-believe images.

Kellen looked at Billy. “What’s he talking about?”

“You know Pauli. He’s being delusional again.”

Paul rose, checked his reflection in the glass-framed Monet on the wall, then straightened his tie. “I smell a pay raise coming,” he said, brushing past his buddies and marching toward Marie’s office.

“I wish I could sleep my way to the top,” teased Kellen.

“You know that’s not my style. It’s what’s in here that’s gonna get me to the top,” said Paul, tapping his temple.

“A little tussle between the sheets couldn’t hurt,” said Billy. As Paul turned the corner to Marie’s office, he called out “Don’t worry, I heard she doesn’t bite . . . at least not too hard.”

Paul stood at the threshold and waited. Marie studied a spreadsheet on her computer screen. Paul couldn’t help but admire her high cheek bones and perky nose. The thin dress she wore left no doubt as to the womanly figure underneath. Someday he’d ask her why her husband left her. She seemed like the perfect wife, physically attractive and mentally sharp. What was not to like?

Maybe his friends were right. She could catapult him into a higher pay grade, perhaps even into a management position. He closed his eyes. The warmth of the universe swelled inside his nostrils. He took what the air gave him, a mixed fragrance of passion fruit, vanilla, peach and sandalwood.

She clicked to save the document, yanking him out of his reverie. Then, without turning, she said, “Have a seat, Paul. You don’t think I bite, do you?”

He was glad she wasn’t facing him or she’d see his strawberry-toned face. “Yes, thank you.”

She spun around. “What?”

“Oh, no. No. What I meant was yes, thank you for the chair.”

She smiled and licked her lips like a cougar ready to bite. He thought he heard a low growl emanate from her side of the desk. She pointed at the door with her chin. “Can you shut the door, please?”

“Sure,” said Paul. He shut the door quietly and smiled at her. “Am I in trouble or something?”

“Don’t be silly. Actually, that’s why I called you in here.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Paul.

“Let’s just say you always care about doing the right thing. Call it a sense of ethics or morals, not everyone has those traits.”

“Okay.”

“The reason it matters is that I want to offer you an after-hours assignment.”

Little furrows formed in Paul’s forehead. “You mean I’d be on-the-clock after hours?”

“Sort of. I mean you’d get paid, for sure.” She paused and studied him from head to toe. When he remained silent, she continued. “I’d like you to be my designated driver for a night. I’m planning on attending a leadership conference downtown and I know I won’t be able to drive myself home when it’s time to leave. Once I start drinking, boy, look out.”

Paul tilted his head. “Why me? Couldn’t you just hire a limo or a chauffeur or maybe a taxi?”

“Yep. Thought of that already, but you know what?” She glanced at the door and Paul knew she was about to say something of a private nature.

“When I drink too much, I turn into a slutty fool! I do things with men I regret the next morning. I know you aren’t interested in me romantically. You’ve turned me down twice to go out on a date. I can respect that. So, as I see it, who better to lug me home than someone I already know and trust?”

Paul was caught off guard, almost speechless. He blurted out the first words that came to mind. “Do I have to wear a suit?”