He shook his head. “Lauren, we need to talk about it. I need to explain – a lot of things. I have to tell you about why I had to leave, why I didn’t - ”

She held up a hand. “Stop. Right now. I mean it, Ben. Because the only explanation I’d ever accept is that four years ago you were dying of some incurable disease and wanted to spare me the aftermath. Even that would have pissed me off enough to kick your ass. And since you’re obviously hale and hearty, there is no other explanation you could ever hope to dream up that I’d want to listen to. So don’t ever talk to me about Big Sur, or try to explain or apologize. Because there’s no excuse, no explanation, for what you did, and I’ll walk away if you even try to discuss it. Now, let’s talk business, shall we – boss?”

He stared at her in dismay. “Lauren, you’ve got to let me explain. God, you have no idea how much I’ve regretted what I did, how many times I – mmphh!”

She’d sprung up out of her chair and pressed her palm against his lips, cutting off what he had been about to say. “I told you,” she bit out in an almost deadly calm voice, “that I have no interest in hearing your half-assed explanations. And I sure as hell don’t need to listen to your pathetic lies and excuses. If we’re going to work together, then any references to the past are completely off limits. Understand?”

At his nod, she removed her hand and sat down, gazing up at him in mock obedience. He recognized the stubborn set of her small chin, and realized with a sinking spirit that any attempts to explain on his part would be met by deaf ears. Lauren could be incredibly pig-headed when she felt strongly enough about something, and it was very obvious that she wasn’t prepared to listen at this particular moment. But there were certain things that had to be discussed whether she liked it or not.

“I’ve seen some of your work,” he stated, abruptly steering the conversation in a different direction. “And it’s sensational, by far the best of any of the other photographers on staff. You’ve done well, Lauren. Or should I call you Your Majesty?” he added, smiling.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I can’t believe Chris told you about that stupid nickname.” She plucked at a piece of lint on her woolly leggings. “Did you know I worked here when you took the job?” she asked quietly. “Is that why - ?”

“No.” He shook his head firmly. “I didn’t know until yesterday that you worked here. When I interviewed for the job, I wasn’t exactly in a position to question who the members of my staff would be. I was just as shocked as you were to realize we’d be working together.”

Lauren nodded, evidently satisfied with this explanation. “Though I still don’t know why you would have pursued a job like this. From what you told me once, you loved the travel as much as I do. Why would you give all that up for a boring desk job where you get to plan adventures for other people?”

Ben hesitated, not sure if this was the right time to mention his relationship with Elle. But since it was quite obvious that Lauren had zero interest in even hearing his explanation about why he’d walked out on her – much less taking up where they’d left off – he figured he might as well break the news.

“I’m – involved with someone,” he began hesitantly. “At first we were just platonic roommates, but we’ve, um, been together for a few months now. And all that traveling is tough on a relationship.”

Her expression remained solidly impassive at this news, and aside from a brief shake of her head she didn’t seem to be in the least affected by it. “You’re an idiot,” she told him brusquely. “An absolute idiot to give up a job you’ve always wanted for the sake of a relationship. You can be damned sure I would never have agreed to something like that. Or expected someone else to do it for me. You must really be crazy about this woman is all I can figure. What’s her name?”

“Elle,” he replied quietly. “Elle Kimbrough. She’s a writer for The New Yorker. We met when I first moved here.”

“Pretty name,” acknowledged Lauren. “Very feminine. Is she an outdoors person like you are?”

He couldn’t help chuckling at the mere thought of dainty, tidy Elle going rock climbing, paddle boarding, or mountain biking. She preferred indoor activities like swimming in her health club’s pool, or taking Pilates classes.

“No. Elle isn’t much for outdoor adventure,” he admitted. “She likes going to the museums, the theater, and the symphony and ballet.”

Lauren burst out laughing. “Oh, God! Please do not tell me that she’s dragged you along to listen to Mozart or see Swan Lake! And I’m just guessing that your girlfriend is responsible for this new look of yours.”

He shrugged. “She might have given me some advice. I’m not exactly an expert on fashion, you know. Now, if you’re determined not to listen to my explanation – at least, not now – let’s talk instead about how we’re going to deal with working together.”

She arrogantly propped her booted feet up on the edge of his desk, reclining further back in the padded leather chair. “No big deal, really. I’m only here in the office about two weeks out of every six or so, and either on assignment or back home the rest of the time. We won’t be seeing all that much of each other, and the rest of the team is always here during wrap-up and planning sessions. Why? Did you think I’d be bursting into tears each time I saw you? Or stalking you like some crazy ex-girlfriend? Relax, Ben. What we had was over a long time ago, and it’s obvious that both of us have moved on. And I am always, always, a total professional when I’m on the job, so you don’t need to worry about inappropriate behavior from me in the office.”

Ben wasn’t prepared for how deeply her nonchalant admittance of having moved on bothered him, and he had to stifle the urge to confess that it wasn’t her inappropriate behavior he was concerned with. Rather, he didn’t know how in hell he was going to be able to constantly resist the very, very powerful allure she still possessed where he was concerned. And he had an extremely unsettling suspicion that having Lauren on his staff was going to be the absolute toughest part of his new job – in more ways than one.

Chapter Nine

Late January

Lauren grinned at the really cute, college-aged server who lined up six shot glasses filled with premium tequila in front of her. “Thanks, sweetie. You’re the best. I’ll make sure George here leaves you a really big tip.”

The server, whose name badge read Riley, blushed a little but returned Lauren’s deliberately flirty grin. “Anytime,” he told her with a wink, as he set down the salt and lime wedges she’d also requested.

George glared at her as she prepped and downed the first of her shots. “And why am I leaving the tip?”

Lauren regarded him as though he was a three year old child. “Because you’re picking up the tab tonight, Georgina,” she told him in a falsely sweet voice. “Or have you already forgotten the bet you made – and lost – on our last night in Melbourne?”

“Crap,” muttered George. “I did forget.”

Lauren arched a brow. “Which just goes to prove my point all over again – I can drink any one of you under the table anytime, anywhere. And especially you, Georgina, since you were evidently too wasted to remember you even made such a foolish bet.”

George groaned, shaking his head in disgust. “And aren’t those shots of Patron Gran Platinum you ordered? Damn it, Lauren, those probably cost twenty bucks each!”

Karl chuckled as he took a long swig from his bottle of Stella Artois. “And she’s just getting warmed up, buddy. I’ve seen her put away a hell of a lot more than six shots. Hope your AMEX card has a big credit line.”

Lauren winked at Karl before taking her second shot. “Sure it does. After all, George is a trust fund baby. Daddy and Mommy are from old New England stock, and own something like half of Newport, Rhode Island.”