"Do you find him attractive?"
Hana Morris sputters, her mouth just under the water of the hot tub.
Michael Morris can see a blush spreading down Hana's face, the redness coloring the space between her cleavage. If he hadn't downed half a bottle of champagne, he would have never asked the question. He would have never considered wanting to know the answer.
"He's your boss," Hana says, which isn't an answer at all.
