I couldn't move in here even if I wanted to. And after seeing his house, I sure as hell want to. Not for his sake, but because this is a dream. Literally.

When I was younger, I used to dream of living in a house like this. The exterior would have been brighter and not made of black colour, but still. It's fancy.

And that's a reason why I don't belong here. This house is the richest of rich I could think of, and I'm not. I simply don't fit in here.

I grew up in a two bedroom apartment. I shared one room with my five years older brother. I spent more nights sleeping in my mum's bed, when I was a nine- to ten-year-old, than in my own. Simply because my brother had a friend over and didn't want me there.

And after that, age ten and older, I still had to sleep anywhere but my bedroom. I understand why Cody avoided me meeting his friends, it's always been for my sake, but that doesn't make me never sleeping in my own bed any better.

Living here would make me feel bad. I didn't do anything to afford it. This isn't my achievement. I didn't work hard enough yet to be able to afford a house like this.

"Do you live here on your own?" I ask. Maybe it's a rather stupid question, but I suppose it's something I should know of. If my child is going to spend time here, I should know if he's dating someone and lives with them.

Mr. Storm blinks at me, slightly furrowing his eyebrows. Yet he still doesn't give much away. All he ever allows himself to show others is strictness. Frowns over frowns.

Some people eat a clown for breakfast, he makes deals with the devil each morning.

"Do you count animals as 'living with someone?'"

"Please don't tell me you keep lions in your backyard!" I press my eyes shut, shivers running down my spine just imagining one of those animals being close to me. "Or even worse, tarantulas!"

As my eyes open again, I catch Mr. Storm shake his head, slowly lifting his hand up to his mouth. He presses his index finger to his lips, staying silent for a moment.

"Sierra, I don't have a lion, nor do I keep spiders as a pet. I do, however, own a dog."

Okay, that's good. No animals that would send me into some shock and leave me dying when I look at them. That's truly a relief.

"A dog?" Let's just hope I don't sound too excited. I love dogs. Dogs are great. And cute. And cuddly. Why am I more excited to see my boss's dog than being in a mansion like this?

Honestly, fuck it. I am excited. So be it.

"Where is it? Why didn't you mention a dog way earlier? You're telling me I could've cuddled a dog this whole time?!"

I jump off the barstool, excitedly walking over to Storm. I grab onto his arm, pulling him off his seat so he could show me where he's hiding that fluff ball of a dog.

"Show me," I demand, clinging to his arm.

Storm shakes his head disbelievingly, sighs softly but then does decide to lead me upstairs.

Not going to lie, for a second there I think I'm going to slip on that marble flooring. But thankfully, I don't.

He leads me down the hall, halts right in front of a door.

"You keep your dog locked in a room?" I ask, trying not to get mad.

"Only when I'm not at home. It's specifically made for him, he's fine."

And so it appears. Still, I thought keeping a dog in a house like this would be more beneficial. In case someone tried to break in, for instance.

Never mind. Storm probably owns a high-tech security system.

When Storm opens the door, I have a good two seconds before a black Labrador Retriever tries to jump at me. Tries because Storm immediately orders his dog to sit, and he obeys.

"Taco doesn't bite. He also isn't aggressive. But he gets really excited and jumps at people. And you seem a bit too fragile," Storm explains.

I hate to agree, but I most definitely would have tumbled backwards and broke a few bones as my body meets the floor.

Wait. Did he just say Taco?

Covering my mouth with my hand, I start to laugh. And as much as I try to stop, I just can't.

It's not that Taco is a stupid name for a dog. It's cute and unique. But I never would have thought the Atlas Storm would name his dog Taco.

"What's so funny?" Storm asks as he leads me inside the dog room. And what a room it is. It's literally a paradise for any dog. Tons of toys. Space to lie on. Taco even has his own sofa. Enough food and water. An opened window for some air. He's got everything.

"No time for talking. I'm here to cuddle your dog," I say and kneel down to Taco.

Taco wags his tail excitedly, waiting for me to pet him. And when I do, I never want to stop ever again. He tips me over so I'm forced to sit on the floor. But I don't mind, because now I'm hugging a massive dog that seems to like me.

I'm not sure how much time passes until Storm's voice gets through to my brain. I'm also not quite sure how often he has said my name before I realise it. But that doesn't matter. I don't want to react. I just want to keep petting Taco and never stop.

"How about I move right into this room? With Taco, that is." Now, I know I've said I don't deserve to move in here. I still don't. But can anyone say no to a dog like Taco?

When he looks at me, I could melt. I probably am melting. He's adorable, and I say this while being fully aware I've just met this dog.

Storm crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking down at me. "It took a dog to convince you to move in?"

I nod. Though I'm pretty sure I'm not thinking straight. With a dog around, my brain doesn't exactly think rationally. And my mouth doesn't speak what I think.

"So that means you'll move in?" he asks, probably just wanting to make sure he actually did see me nod.

"Yes," I say, only half-listening as I'm still busy cuddling a cute not-too-tiny dog. "Can I stay with Taco?"

"No." Well, fuck Storm. I want to. "Obviously you'll be staying with me, Sierra. Not the dog."

That gets my attention. My head snaps towards him, my eyebrows draw together. "I am not sharing a bed with my boss. That would be way too inappropriate."

Storm shrugs, then turns on his heels and walks away.

Hell no. If me staying here means I'll share a room with him, I am not staying here. Not ever.

Imagine how weird that would be. It's going to be completely awkward already. I don't need to actually wake up next to this man. It's truly bad enough he will be in my face at all times, not only at work.

Though, he isn't technically in my face at work. I barely see him there. Which is good. I don't want to see him.

Apparently now I'll see him daily outside of work. Even on the weekends.

That is, if I get my own bedroom.

I get up from the floor, praying I don't get lost in this mansion as I run after the man I never intended to speak to outside of my office.

I hurry down the stairs, being surprised I still don't trip... until the last step happens.

I do trip, seeing my life flash before my eyes, because that's how dramatic I am.

Out of nowhere, two pretty strong arms wrap around my falling body, lifting me off the ground. In just a second, I'm being thrown over a shoulder and carried right into a huge living room.

"Remind me to not let you walk up or down the stairs," Storm says as he drops me down onto the couch. "I'll carry you."

"You will not."

Before I know, Taco is jumping onto the couch and lies down on my legs, clearly thinking he's some kind of small dog. But that's alright. He could squash me and I'd die a happy death.

"And I will not move in. My brain doesn't work with a dog near," I let him know. Instantly, my hands are back on the dog, petting Taco.

"You will move in."

"I can take good care of myself, Storm. I'm old enough and, as you should know, I make my own money."

He nods, or bobs his head. Is there a difference? "Do you seriously think your monthly income is remotely enough to care for you and a child?" he asks, laughing into my face without actually laughing. He's still just frowning.

God, why is he always frowning? Come to think he doesn't know what joy is. Maybe that little yellow lady left him. Or rather yellow man? Whoever is inside of his head controlling his emotions. Joy left.

I cross my arms, frowning back at him. At least I try to. "No. But if you're so concerned, you're my boss, you could just give me a raise and make it enough."

I can see Storm's tongue press against the inside of his mouth. God, he's doing the tongue thing. The thing that is unnecessarily sexy whenever a guy does it.

I hate him. Now more than any other time I did.

"You're already making plenty an hour as it is. I can't give you a raise. Especially not when the rest of my PR staff make less than you already. And they've been working for me way longer than you have."

Wait, really? Why do I make more money than they do?

I want to ask, but I'm pretty sure he can't talk about it with me. It's probably confidential. Speaking to his employees about some other employee's income shouldn't be allowed.

"Question," I announce. "Why did you give me a job?"

I've been wondering that for months. When I applied, I had no experience whatsoever. For as long as I could think, I always wanted to open a coffee shop. It never happened, and so I ended up applying to jobs I've had been studying for.

Storm takes a seat beside me. Well, or beside the butt of his dog. "Ms. Coffey said you'd be qualified. I trust her a lot when it comes to my staff. Or making sure my schedule works out et cetera. Though, I did sense I've made a mistake the week you've started working for me."

I chuckle. He sure has. But five months later, I'd like to think I'm doing an okay job. "Athena just said I'd be qualified because she's known me all her life."

His eyes narrow at me but he doesn't comment on it.

"Her mum is, well, was my mother's best friend. Athena is a year older than me, but that didn't stop us from becoming the ultimate best friends," I tell him, not being sure where the sudden urge to tell him this comes from. "She didn't even interview me. We mainly talked about my brother and his proposal."

When he leans back on the couch, looking at me with an even more intense stare than he's ever had. I sense I have made a mistake.

"If you fire her, as your PR, I will make sure your image is ruined," I threaten him. "And you can't fire me for it. I need my job because I am carrying your child, and I have to be able to care for it."

Again with the index finger over his lips. "I'm not going to fire my assistant. She's good at her job. And she actually did me a favour by giving me the go for you to work for me."