Women love assholes. Any man who has had any luck with women learned about that at some point. Personally, I've had my fair share of boyfriends who think that you have to slap a girl around every once in a while to keep them. I've been done with assholes since college and since moved on to nice guys. Not pushovers, just nice guys.

If Spencer Lincoln has ever been a nice guy, I'm a monkey's uncle. I was hired by his father, Andrew Lincoln, fresh out of college to work for the financial department of Lark & Lincoln. Spencer just happened to be the head of the department.

To be fair, I didn't hate him at first. I'd just graduated from Notre Dame and New York was a much bigger city than I was used to. I assumed that I was working twelve hours a day because I was really bad at managing my time. A year later I realized that Spencer was just an asshole. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear that he was trying to make me quit.

When I first started, I worked on a number of small accounts. I worked six days a week, but the pay was good. No one else seemed to work as much as I did, and I knew I needed help. I was, however, far too proud to ask. I ended up saving a large sum of money because of it. When you have no time to spend money, you end up saving it for a rainy day.

Spencer and his buddies tended to slack off all day and delegate their work to people like me. Every time he gave me a new assignment, I saw the glint in his eye that said he was enjoying it. I forced myself to return his smile before setting to work.

It occurred to me a few months into the new job that Spencer Lincoln wanted to see me squirm. I didn't know why, but I refused to let him see me sweat. I'd dealt with hazing in high school and college, and I certainly wasn't about to be bullied by the owner's son.

So, to show that he wasn't overloading me, I began to bring food into the office once a week or so. It was almost always some baked good. He refused to eat anything I offered at first, but caved once he heard the rest of the staff rave about my culinary skills. He never said a word about it, but I knew he liked my cooking.

Waking up after a night spent baking was always the worst, but I forced myself to manage. All through college I got by on less than an ideal amount of sleep. Why couldn't I do the same at twenty-three years old?

As the years passed, I noticed that all of the new employees seemed to quit within a month of being hired. I could only assume this was due to Lincoln's workload. When one quit, my job became suddenly harder for a month or so. During this time, tired as I was, I couldn't help but smile and feel a little victorious.

By the time I was twenty-four I was a terrible insomniac. Not wanting to gain an addiction to sleeping pills, I chose a vice no better for me than the pills. When I was twenty-five, it was a nightly routine to take a glass of Jim Beam to bed with me so that I might get to sleep. At twenty-six, I was entertaining the possibility of being an alcoholic. I was exhausted, unhappy, and even my father let me know that I was a complete wreck. Unhappy as I was, I refused to find another job. I'd gained a burning hatred for Spencer Lincoln. Far too docile to do anything actively mean, I was content to stay a thorn in his attractive backside.

As much as I dislike him, there is not denying the attractiveness of Spencer Lincoln. He certainly fit the bill of tall, dark, and handsome. He was thin; I almost thought he didn't eat at all. He was about ten years older than me so his hair, which was black as coal a few years ago, was starting to turn grey. Somehow, he didn't become less attractive as his hair lost pigment. He also didn't lose any of it.

Four years after I started, I'd learned to despise the man who was the bane of my existence. My work had always been impeccable, and I knew it infuriated him. Things that frustrated Spencer made me smile, so I continued to do a flawless job. I took a little joy in the knowledge that he had no idea how much he frustrated me. I knew it frustrated him that he couldn't get under my skin, so I was very careful to be civil to him.

Every year, I smiled brightly as I handed him a pan of his favorite baked good: my famous cheesecake. Maybe it never really fit the bill for famous, but it is damn good. "The best I've ever had," said Bri in high school. He, of course, had to accept it. Spencer Lincoln was an asshole, but he wasn't heartless. He wasn't willing to throw away something I'd worked for hours on simply because I never quit.

On my twenty-seventh birthday he began to make fun of me for being a single old maid. "Hey, Erika," he said with a grin. His voice was rough from years of smoking. "Getting old, aren't ya?"

"At least my hair's all the same color, Lincoln," I snapped back.

"I don't know, Strong. I think the greys are just less noticeable because your hair is blonde."

I nearly leapt at him, but simply grinned. "Maybe," I answered lamely. Witty comebacks were never my thing. I always envied the people who had something to say to everything. I was never in danger of winning the "class clown" superlative in high school.

"So, when are you tying the knot, Erika? The biological clock is ticking."

I bit my lip. "Some of us have more important things to do than have relationships, Spencer Lincoln." I felt very proud of myself when I turned on my heel and walked away. I wanted to cry; he wasn't the only one who had said something about my non-existent love life lately. For some reason, it just hurt more when he did it.

I luckily managed to avoid him for the rest of the day and went home early. That night, Jim Beam was great company. Unfortunately, I spent more time than I should have with the old boy and woke up a little late. I felt as though I'd been hit by a train or two, but that didn't stop me from going to work. At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, I was much too old to be calling off of work due to a hangover.

I found a message from Spencer to go see him the moment I came in taped to the monitor of my desktop. I let out a groan and figured I was in trouble. The Advil I kept in my desk came in very handy to solve my headache problem. I hadn't eaten anything which made the day something more of a bitch, but I got over it. I forced a smile onto my face as I stepped into my boss's office. "You rang, sir?"

The man looked frantic. "Where have you been, Strong?"

"Alarm malfunction," I muttered. There wasn't a chance in hell that I was going to admit I was hung over.

"You look like hell."

"You're just a bundle of sunshine, aren't you?"

"Don't speak to your superior like that, Strong."

"You're no Jack Kennedy, that's for sure."

"What?"

"John F Kennedy, you're not him."

"No shit. Why'd you say that?"

"It's a figure of speech. A quote by Senator Bensten against Dan Quayle in the VP debates in the 80's. Before your time, I guess."

"Long before yours then, Erika." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, I'm kind of sorry about yesterday. Didn't mean to actually hurt your feelings."

"You didn't." I knew he wasn't actually sorry, and I was starting to lose my patience with the man. "Why am I here?"

"You never can make small talk, huh?"

"I suppose not."

"It's no wonder you're not married, I guess." He was grinning and I tried not to squirm.

"What do you want, Lincoln?" I asked through my teeth.

"I'm giving you a new assignment. The Bank of Mexico made a lot of mistakes and you've got a month to fix them."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "Define 'a lot.' Is this a reasonable amount or an unreasonable amount?"

"About five years worth of fucking up, really. I'll assign someone else to handle your other accounts while you fix this."

I knew he was trying to make me flinch. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I stepped out of the room and set to work. Over the next few weeks, I worked seven days a week and sometimes eighteen hours a day. I'd become so exhausted that I didn't even need Jim to help me get to sleep at night. That didn't stop me, of course. I did love my Jim.

"Need some help there, Strong?" Spencer asked me early one morning as I walked into the office yawning. I was well prepared for his mockery of my appearance. "I see you've got an ungodly amount of overtime this week."

I smiled and shook my head. "I'm fine." My pride would be my downfall. Of this I was sure. Starting that night, I began clocking out at a reasonable hour. Spencer Lincoln would not have the satisfaction of knowing he'd driven me to madness.

When I got to my desk, there was a relatively large box sitting next to my computer. "ERIKA STRONG" was written on every side very sloppily in black Sharpie. Confused, I approached the box with caution. I was not expecting a package.

The box wasn't taped shut or sealed in any way, so it was very fast and easy to open. I knew why the moment I looked inside it. At the bottom of the box was a quite small grey kitten. It was clearly asleep; I'm certain it wouldn't have been sitting so quietly were it not.

I was confused. Why would someone give me a cat? I was always more of a dog person. As I stared at the little fur ball, I noticed that there was an envelope tucked into the box. I reached in and grabbed it, careful not to disturb the sleeping creature. The envelope was a normal white envelope with a tri-folded piece of paper inside. I felt as though I was reading a formal letter.

There were not many words on the page, and no one had signed it. However, when I read the 12-point black print I knew whom the cat was from. "To start your collection," it said.

"Lincoln," I bellowed and began stomping in the direction of his office. My fists clenched. The paper wrinkled in my left hand. I took in a deep breath and remembered that I could, in fact, not punch the man I so desperately wanted to hit. I knocked on his door as calmly as I could manage.

It opened quickly enough that I knew he was standing there waiting for me. The ill-concealed grin and feigned innocence on his face let me know that my assumption was spot on. "Yes, Erika?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I spat at him. My voice was like venom. I was shaking with fury.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The hell you don't," it took all of my will power to keep from screaming. I could see in the reflections in the glass on his door that the entire department was watching us.

"Enlighten me, Strong."

"You didn't just forget that you left a box on my desk this morning, did you?"

"Oh yeah, that. Did you like it?"

"You are a miserable son of a bitch," I barked.

"It wouldn't hit you so hard if you knew it weren't true, cat lady." I stared at him. Tears of rage were filling my eyes. "What are you going to name him?"

I knew he'd won. There was nothing I could do to get back at him at that moment. Angry as I was, his tongue was still sharper. Unfortunately for me, looks didn't kill. "Oliver," I snapped and walked back to my desk.

Gently, I set the box on the floor behind me so I could get to work. Luckily, the cat didn't wake up. I wasn't mad at him, so I couldn't justify being cruel. Besides, the last thing I wanted to deal with was an unhappy cat.

The day went by very slowly. All of the women I worked with kept coming over to stare at Oliver. When he woke up, they all wanted to play with him. We found some cream in the break room for him to drink. At the end of the day, it was decided that Oliver would be the office cat. I certainly wasn't going to take him home with me.

My deadline didn't creep upon me slowly. A week before I had to be done, I was still at the office at midnight. The Mexicans had made a royal mess of their finances such that I wasn't sure it was possible to find all the money they'd conveniently misplaced in a month.

I found myself wishing I had some Jim Beam and began to weep. I was a bright girl with a promising future! I'd been relatively popular in high school and college. My social life for the past five years had consisted of mingling with people twice my age in the break room. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been on a date or to a bar. Getting more than four hours of sleep a night was a distant memory. How on earth had I managed to end up like this?

I sat at my desk sobbing uncontrollably. I was very grateful that it was after midnight and no one was around. The overhead lights had all been turned off long ago. The only light I had was the dim glow of the computer screen. I realized very quickly that I'd never get anything done by sitting and wallowing in self pity.

Oliver sat on my foot to comfort me. I picked him up and patted his head gently as I tried to see the numbers on my screen. It was of no use; they were blurred through my tears. I hugged the kitten awkwardly and began to wish he was human. I would have really liked a hug.

Before too long, the cat got bored and jumped off my lap. He ran to God only knows where. I assumed that he saw some flashing light which was interesting. I wiped my eyes once again and sniffed, deciding to get back to work. Someone cleared their throat behind me and I stiffened.

Very slowly, I turned around to find Spencer Lincoln standing there. The traitor Oliver was sitting at his feet flicking his long tail back and forth. My cheeks hurt from crying an I knew my eyes were bloodshot and puffy. My boss just stood there staring at me.

"What do you want?" I snapped at him. I had meant to sound as though he was simply getting in my way, but I know from the tone of my voice I sounded very defensive.

"It's midnight."

"No shit," I muttered.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm working. Why are you here?"

"I forgot my laptop. Why are you working at midnight?"

"I've got less than a week to get this finished," I spat. "Remember?"

He looked shocked for a moment. "You're having that much trouble?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? You gave an assignment to one person to solve in a month that should take more than one person and a hell of a lot longer than a month! You wanted to see me sweat, you fucking asshole."

He bit his lip and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Oliver let out a noise that let us both know that no one was paying enough attention to him. Spencer picked him up and began to stroke under his chin absently. I could hear the cat purring from where I sat. He never purred for me. "I asked if you needed help!"

"You were making fun of me!"

"I most certainly was not! That account is worth a lot of money!"

"So why would you hand it to one person?"

"Because you're the only person I trust with it!"

I opened my mouth to shout something rude back at him once again. When what he'd said registered, I shut it. I opened and shut it a few more times but could find no words. "Oh," is what I settled on. I fell back into my rolling desk chair and slid back against my desk. "I have to work," I added lamely.

I did not expect Spencer to deposit Oliver on my lap. More than that, I did not expect him to pull a chair from the desk next to mine and sit beside me. He smiled slightly at the shocked look on my face. "I'll help you," he offered. I knew I needed the help, so I nodded.

We worked until the sun was coming up. I yawned and stretched. My back creaked in protest and I grunted. "Maybe you're right," I moaned, "I am getting old."

He simply laughed. "Come on, I'll buy you some breakfast before we have to be back here." I was exhausted and hadn't eaten in over twelve hours. I was also content to spend Spencer's money. I didn't like him anyway, why not spend his cash?

"All right," I agreed. He drove, and for that I was grateful. I was nearly asleep after the ten minute trip to a local diner.

French toast, bacon, and coffee had never tasted so wonderful. He noticed that I was enjoying my food, and he had to ruin it. "You know, the whiter the bread the sooner you're dead."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He grinned. "You're eating white bread. It'll kill you faster than something a bit better for you, like whole wheat." He held up a piece of his toast to emphasize his point.

"At least I don't smoke. You smell like an ash tray all day every day."

"Beer and cigarettes make great cologne."

"You just keep telling yourself that, buddy." I wasn't sure why, but I was actually enjoying myself. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but Spencer was a pretty funny guy. He was still an asshole, but I was considering the notion that I'd been way too hard on him.

We sat for a long time drinking coffee and talking after we'd finished our meal. I blamed it on exhaustion and not wanting to go back to work. He wouldn't even let me see the bill, which I assumed was not too high. When we got back to his car he looked at me. "Where do you live?"

I looked confused. "Why?"

"You want to go to work in what you wore yesterday?"

I considered this. "Fair point," and I gave him directions to my house in Queens. I showered and dressed quickly because I didn't want Spencer Lincoln snooping around my living room for very long.

The traffic on the way back to the office was terrible. Things looked great for our coworkers when we walked into work together two hours later than I usually come in. All morning I dealt with women asking me how good our handsome boss is in bed. At noon I informed them all that I was taking the rest of the day off.

I hadn't slept as well as I did that afternoon in a very long time. When I woke up at midnight, the glass of Jim Beam I'd left on the end table beside my bed was still full. I smiled a bit as I drank it. I took a longer shower, dressed in shorts and a large t-shirt, and headed to the office.

In less than an hour, Spencer was beside me again. "I thought you'd be here," he said softly.

"Yeah, work doesn't go away because I need sleep."

"Pulling another all-nighter?"

"I don't really have a choice. And right now you're distracting me, so I suggest you either sit down and help me or fuck off."

He laughed and sat beside me once again. We worked all night and went out for breakfast again. I had my French toast made with rye that second morning. He said nothing about it. I tried to pay, but he refused. We were subject to more rumors when we got back to the office. I didn't go home at noon that second day.

Spencer and I continued to work all night on my impossible project for the rest of the week. On Saturday, when no one else was in the office, we finished. The solution was rather boring and not obvious at all, but some very rich men were going to spend a few years in Mexican prison because of us.

For the next month, I was given my usual ongoing accounts to manage. Whoever Spencer had given them to hadn't caused any damage to them. For that I was grateful. Oliver continued to keep me company when I worked late evenings. Spencer and I didn't speak any more than necessary, and I realized that I didn't dislike him quite as much as I had before. He was still an asshole, but he could at least justify the hell he'd put me through.

After two months of calm and relaxed work, I found a note on my monitor. Spencer wanted to see me. I sighed and stepped into his office. "Yes?" I asked.

"I need you to take this assignment."

I stared at him. "Is it anything like the last piece of shit assignment you gave me?"

He looked nervous and I glared at him. "It's a lot like that one, actually." I groaned. "You did such a good job last time that when people found out it was Lark & Lincoln who gathered all the evidence, we uh… well, we're going to be doing a lot more of this."

I sighed. "You know, I was starting to like you. Kind of."

He grinned. "Really?"

"No."

"Dad's giving you a raise anyway. C'mon, Strong. I need your help on this one."

He was begging. I liked the idea of Spencer begging. He was way too cocky, anyway. I smirked at him. "Fine," I said and walked out of the office. The very thick folder that read "ARKOFF INDUSTRIES" in bold print was already sitting on my desk. I cursed under my breath at how confident my boss was and set to work.

After working obscene hours for a week with only Oliver for company, I did not expect to see Spencer walk over to my desk at some ungodly hour. I stared at him. He said nothing, but sat beside me and began looking over the file and the work I'd managed to get done so far.

Over the next month, I realized that what he called his cologne actually was a comforting smell. I was positive that we'd spent a couple hundred dollars of Spencer's money on breakfast by the beginning of the second month, and I actually started to feel bad. I tried refusing breakfast, but that didn't really work. He simply implied that I should bake more often.

The thing about spending every waking moment with a person is that you begin to see the good in them regardless of how much they piss you off when they're in a large group of people. I liked nice guys, and Spencer Lincoln was constantly by my side being a perfect gentleman and helping me. It wasn't long before I realized that I was honestly falling in love with the man, even if he was an asshole and a decade older than me.

Oliver was nearly full grown by the time we finished the second project. For the month that Spencer didn't give me another impossible task to accomplish, I missed him. I was heartbroken when I figured out that he was helping me because I made him lots and lots of money.

I spent that night in a bar. Jim Beam was more expensive there, but I felt less pathetic and lonely drinking alone in a crowded room than drinking alone at home. I was absolutely an alcoholic, and it was one hundred percent Spencer Lincoln's fault. Luckily, it was a Saturday night and I could sleep as late as I wanted the next morning. I didn't bother looking at the clock when I finally stumbled into bed.

I was, very rudely, awakened by a loud banging the next morning. When I looked at the clock, the angry red numbers told me that it was one in the afternoon. I rolled out of bed and pulled a long t-shirt and short shorts on. Whoever was at my door was going to die.

I was more than shocked to find that the person beating on my door was Spencer. "What?" I asked groaning. He was not exactly the first person I wanted to see. I felt my heart pounding in my chest just looking at him, and that made the nausea worse.

"You look like shit," he announced.

"Yeah. You woke me up. Fucking asshole."

"It's after noon."

"And?"

"What time did you go to bed?"

"More like passed out, and I don't know. Now you better have a really good reason to not allow me to sleep through my hangover."

He nodded. "You're coming to this family picnic that I have to go to. And we're bringing your famous cheesecake."

I shook my head and would have slammed the door in his face if he hadn't already invited himself into my house. "I don't even have the stuff to make it."

"I do," he announced beaming.

"How the hell do you know what goes into my cheesecake?"

"I asked Laura what you made her buy that one time that she paid to have one made."

"That was two years ago."

"I wrote it down."

I bit my lip and tried not to laugh. "You are so fucking weird." When I tried to run my fingers through my hair, they got tangled in the knots. I sighed and then yawned. "You're serious about this?" He nodded. "What's in it for me?"

"Well, you get to see me all day long!"

I held my head in my hands. "How enticing."

"Come on, Erika. Please? My family will eat me alive if I don't bring a woman. I'm thirty-eight and single. You're pretty, young, and bake well."

"You're such a whiny bitch. Fine." I led him to the kitchen and let him watch as I mixed ingredients together. I knew the recipe like the back of my hand, so it didn't take long. Once the cheesecake was in the oven and the timer was set for an hour I looked at him again. "When is this family bullshit?"

"Like three hours."

"Can I just give you the cheesecake and not go?"

"No. I need the beautiful woman thing, too."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"That's a lie."

I frowned. "Yeah, whatever. Just go watch TV or something. I'm going to go shower."

"Maybe I'll come, too."

"Go watch TV, Lincoln. You're walking on very thin ice right now." I waltzed back up the stairs and into the bathroom. The hot shower made me feel a little better, but I was very quickly realizing that Spencer knew I'd do anything for him.

After I got dressed, I let him help me finish the cheesecake and we left to go upstate. We'd be a bit late, but he didn't seem to care. For some reason, I'd neglected to remember that his family is filthy rich. I was actually surprised that his parents' place was massive.

Everyone loved the cheesecake. They seemed more interested in me than my baking abilities, though. There is nothing more awkward than talking with a bunch of stuck up old ladies about how much you're in love with your boss. It becomes more awkward if the bit about being in love with the man is true, and even more so if he doesn't feel the same way. His older sister was very sure to pull me aside and let me know that she knew what I was up to and would be telling her brother that his girlfriend was a gold digger. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln are happy that he's finally found someone and would like grandchildren.

We did not leave until very late. The ride home was relatively silent. At least his Maserati was comfortable. When we were about halfway back to Queens, I grew tired of the silence and decided to speak. "Your sister isn't fond of your gold digging girlfriend," I let him know.

"No woman is good enough for her little brother. Don't mind her," he answered easily before falling back to silence.

A few minutes later I decided to try again. "Did you get any cheesecake?"

"Sure did. Aunt Jane is begging me to get the recipe from you."

"Fat chance of that happening," I laughed. His right hand grabbed my left and I fell silent. He was about to pull away when I laced my fingers with his. Nothing more was said, and I fell asleep eventually.

When I woke up, I was laying down. Terrified of where I might be, my eyes shot open. I was lying in my own bed. There was no glass full or empty beside my bed. I was fully clothed and very confused. Solving the mystery of what the hell happened would have to wait because my alarm was going off. I looked at it confused. It was only seven in the morning. On a sticky note attached to the alarm was written "breakfast?" in Spencer's messy scrawl.

I couldn't help but smile as I rolled out of my bed and brushed my teeth. A few minutes after I'd gotten out of the shower and dressed, I heard knocking. It took all of my willpower to keep from running to the door. Spencer stood there in one of the many designer suits he wore to work every day.

"We don't really have time to go to breakfast, Lincoln," I stated.

"What's going to happen if we show up late again? People will think we're fucking? Is that really so bad?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, let's go."

We ate quickly and headed straight to work. We got there at exactly nine, much to my delight. People had stopped harassing us about sleeping with one another mostly because they were relatively used to us coming in together. Oliver was very happy to see me. I gave him some tuna as a treat for being a good boy on Sunday when no one was there.

The day went by relatively quickly. My accounts had very little problems and I'd actually be able to go home early. When there were just a few people left finishing up things, Spencer called me into his office. "Yes?" I asked.

"Thanks for yesterday. A lot."

I nodded. "Yeah, whatever. Just don't ever talk about it to anyone." He laughed and stepped closer and shut the door. I backed away a bit. He took another step toward me. "What are you doing?"

"I talked to my sister earlier today."

"And she told me I was after your money?"

"Not quite." He stepped closer. I had intended to run away from him, but his hand was covering the handle to the door I was backed against. "She told me that I'm a fool."

"What's that got to do with me, Spencer?"

"She says you're in love with me."

"That's a pretty ridiculous claim."

"Is it?"

I nodded. He was very close. The smell of cigarettes was making it hard to think. "Sure is."

"So why'd you do it, then?"

"Because I'm a fool who got taken advantage of when I just woke up."

"I think she's right."

I whimpered. He grinned, and then he kissed me. I couldn't help but kiss back and hope that he wasn't just toying with me. "What was that?" I asked when he pulled away.

"She's always right, you know. And she doesn't think you're after my money."

"Of course I'm not after your money. I have my own money."

"You know what I mean," he whispered and kissed me again. "God, Strong, you have know idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"That's a little cliché."

He laughed. "You're a hot, smart blonde. What's a man to do?"

"Why did you buy me a cat?"

"I thought you could use a friend."

I laughed and kissed him. "I'd have kept a puppy at my house."

"Yeah, but Oliver is cute. And he cost less than a puppy."

I sighed. "Okay, then. So why were you such a dick to me."

"I wanted you to quit to spite my father who made me hire someone."

"Your father hired me, Spencer."

"After I refused to interview anyone and decided I was going to hire the hottest blonde I could find."

"Oh."

"Heidi Klum turned down my offer."

"I'm not sure how good of a financial advisor an underwear model would be."

"Yeah, that's why I've got you. And now I'm going to take you home and fuck your brains out."

"I'm not drunk enough for that yet," I giggled.

"You drink?"

I leaned my head back against the door and laughed long and hard. "You have no idea. Maybe not anymore, though."