Mr. Buff by April Angel Page A

from handsome to outright gorgeous when he waved back. Balling and holding papers in a death grip, she dropped her gaze. All she needed was for the man to think she had some kind of sick fetish for watching him.
     
    * * *
     
     
    An unexpected meeting had run late. Appeased by the quiet, she was sure the floor was empty as she walked back to her office. The soft rustle of her skirt was the only noise she heard. She needed to send some emails and update files before she went home.
    She was worn out, but wanted to take care of these tasks while they were fresh in her head; tomorrow she had other things to do. Darkness enveloped Mr. Buff’s office, and a small tug of gloom pulled at her. Foolishly, not having seen him all afternoon, she missed the sexy giant.
    Peaceful and silent, the starlit sky summoned her. She headed to the large glass window to stare out at the night for a few moments. Irritation flared at a bothersome tear in her pantyhose. Whoever created hose was surely into cruel and unusual punishment. Without a second’s hesitation, she lifted her pencil skirt, turned her back to the glass, and attempted to pull down the stretchy nylon.
    Toeing off the high heels, she twisted a foot. Her nails became caught on the material, and she tripped and lost her balance. The room spun, and she careened backward. Plastered all over the glass, her bikini-clad ass was on display.
    She pulled and huffed in frustration. Angry, aggravated, and exhausted, she soon lost her composure. She pinched her own skin and growled when she tugged.
    She finally was able to rip off the torn hose. Exasperated, she fixed her skirt and straightened. Stupid material—no way she was wearing a pair again. She was going back to thigh highs. Making a face that matched her disdain, she balled the hose and hurled them at the trash. She peered into the darkened office across the street and gave thanks no one had witnessed her embarrassing moment. Out of breath, she sat down to work and placed the annoying experience in the back of her mind.
     

Chapter Two
     
     
    “What do you want, Leslie?”
    Andrew gritted his teeth. He listened to the woman on the other end of the line complain about his lack of interest in returning her calls. For fuck’s sake, when would she get the picture? He’d stopped calling, didn’t answer her messages, and had stated in his nicest possible tone, “I don’t think this is going to work out,” but she still continued to reach out to him.
    “I already told you; it’s over. I’m not interested in going to the opera or any other function with you. No. That’s it. Stop calling. I won’t change my mind.”
    Screw being nice, with the press of a button he cut her off midsentence. Biting back a curse to keep from offending the elderly lady walking beside him, he made his way to the twenty-four-hour gym at the base of his building.
    Under normal circumstances, no one would dare call him this early. Everyone knew he was intense and took his workouts seriously. It was the only way he had to deal with the amount of stress he was thrown each day. Not Leslie. Cool and distant at every call, he couldn’t figure why she kept trying. Being a pampered heiress, she was used to getting whatever she wanted, but this time she was shit out of luck. Bitchy models and needy daddy’s girls exhausted him. A woman who knew her own mind, that’s what he wanted.
    After a grueling session of weights, cardio, and boxing at the gym, Andrew walked into his office as he did every morning, ready for coffee and a cold shower. His eyes strayed to gaze at the office across the alley for his daily temptation, only to find she wasn’t there.
    When he’d first seen Alexandra, or Alex, as everyone called her, he’d been run over by instant lust. To call a woman so feminine by a man’s name seemed wrong. In his mind, she was always Alexandra. Her beauty only inflamed his infatuation. With hair that hung in thick, jet-black, glossy waves past her