Grant sneaked out of her bed like a thief--tip toeing and barely breathing, desperate to evade capture. She watched him with one eye partly open, wondering if he could truly be so callous after the night of frantic lovemaking in which they'd indulged. Surely he felt some remnants of the passion they'd shared. Her body ached pleasantly.

Once he was dressed, he approached the bed and gave her a soft kiss. She pretended to be sleeping, but couldn't stop the half smile that curved her lips.

He's mine now.

Monday morning at the office, Grant acted like nothing had happened.

"Isabelle, get me a cup of coffee and then dig out the files for the Peterman case," he demanded without even looking up.

Isabelle, who'd worn a brand new pantsuit that showed off her curvy figure, bit her tongue. We're at work, and I know how dedicated he is. You watch. He'll probably take me to lunch or dinner.

That didn't happen. Instead, her boss left the office on supposed business and didn't return for the rest of the day, even though she lingered until well after five in case he came rushing back.

Annoyed, she went home and made herself a nice martini with an extra olive. I could have sworn he liked me. After all, he couldn't get enough of me on Saturday...

Just thinking about that evening made her squirm in her seat. She'd had such grand plans for the two of them. But today, Grant had acted as if she barely existed. Surely he hadn't been that drunk. And even if he'd over imbibed before they started, he sure as hell had been sober by the time they were done.

Maybe he didn't want to be caught socializing with romantic intent at work. That had to be it. The big boss, the one everybody in the company had to obey, frowned upon office affairs.

Fine, I can respect that. I'll approach him after work. She refused to admit that he had her phone number and could have called her anytime.

The next day, Isabelle dressed to the nines and arrived at the office with an expectant smile, only to again be disappointed. Tuesday was a repeat of Monday. Grant barely acknowledged her existence and never once met her eyes. He couldn't run away two days in a row, so instead he closeted himself in his office, feigning phone calls whenever she popped in to bring him files.

The more aloof he acted, the more Isabelle's ire grew. How dare he ignore me after playing with my body so intimately?

Her attempts at engaging him in conversation were met with polite evasions, and somehow she couldn't manage to speak to him alone after work.

She tried to corner him again on Wednesday. "Grant," she said, "about Saturday night--"

"Sorry, I'm needed down in accounting," he said, cutting her off abruptly. "Can this wait until later?"

Of course, later never came.

By the end of the day on Thursday, Isabelle had reached her boiling point. Like a trained military operative, Grant evaded her using skills and techniques that defied belief. She even attempted the oops-I-dropped-my-pencil routine while wearing a stupidly short skirt. For a moment, when she'd straightened, she thought she saw a flicker of interest in his eyes, but just as quickly the polite mask she'd come to hate came over his face again.

Screw him. She needed to go at this differently. Instead of waiting for him to act or say something to acknowledge what had transpired between them and continue from there, she plotted an operation of her own, called Operation: Get The Boss. It was simple, really.

On Friday, she brought what she needed to accomplish her first objective in a large carry all. When he told her at five o'clock he would be working late, she was ready. He also ordered her to run across the street to fetch him some dinner before she left--with no mention of dinner for her, of course. No matter. It gave her the perfect excuse to implement her plan and bring him to heel.