Flight of Fancy

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“What the hell were you thinking?”

Sitting across from his boss’s desk in a room too small to cage the man’s energy, Gavin Caldwell sighed. He’d had better days. Hell, he’d had better months. Ever since the government had shut down the Psychic Warfare Program—the PWP—he’d grown increasingly dismayed about his place with this team. They wanted him to push pencils and crunch numbers. He wanted to save the day.

“Our client needs that fucking book, Gavin. I assigned the case to Aidan for a reason. He had the damn thing all but in his grasp.”

Aidan had been taking his time about it, then. Gavin didn’t say anything, not with his boss practically breathing fire. Yet even pissed off like nobody’s business, Jack Keiser exuded sex appeal. The man looked like he used trees for toothpicks. Broad shoulders, thick muscles, and a square jaw, he treated compromise like a four-letter word—an arrogance that Gavin found incredibly sexy.

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