The more I think about it, the more certain I am that Carter Hughes absolutely knew I’d be the one coming. I also believe he’s the kind of man who hires companies and staff personally. For all his ‘it’s not my business what happens in these booths’ bullshit on Saturday night was likely just that. Bullshit.

I’d bet anything that he researched Donnelly Designs before he booked the consultation. I bet he knew exactly who I was the second we were introduced on Saturday evening.

I bet he didn’t care a single bit, because the appointment wasn’t with me.

What if it was? What if he’d been booked with me? Then what would have happened? I couldn’t have walked out of dinner… But I sure as hell wouldn’t have slept with him.

Although… What if I’d thought to ask Charley who my date was? Or looked at the name of the restaurant?

What if is always the issue, isn’t it? What could you change? I’d change just about fucking everything in this situation if I could. I wish I could. I wish I could take all of this and erase every moment.

I click my mouse as I work on the digital bones of what will be my design for the restaurant.

Either way, he knew who I was when we had that date. I’m sure of it.

How dare he? How dare he do what he did knowing there was a possibility that he could work with Donnelly Designs? How fucking dare he?

Maybe Charley was right. Maybe refusing to do this is for the best. But then what would be the point in that? I’d just have to explain my reasoning to my mother and get my ass kicked… And then he’d win, wouldn’t he?

Not in the sense that this is a game. This is business, and despite the fact you have to bend the rules of business to come out on top, I’m willing to fight.

If my design is his favorite and he hires me, he couldn’t touch me. You don’t mix work and pleasure. You don’t play while you conduct business. If that were the case, you’d have a bottle of vodka next to a fucking chess board on your desk, wouldn’t you?

No. I can resist Carter Hughes. I know that much. After all, wasn’t he the one who approached me yesterday? Wasn’t he the one who crossed the line between talking and flirting, then continued to undress me with his eyes?

Wasn’t he the one who put into words all the things he’d like to do to me?

God. It was so much easier in high school when boys just jerked off in the shower to those fantasies. It’s such a bastard when boys become men and have no qualms about telling you how and where they’d like to fuck you.

It’s hot. Don’t get me wrong. I needed a new pair of panties stat.

But it’s still a bastard.

Because now I’m thinking of those things, aren’t I? I don’t just have the memories of the weekend, of the way I squirmed against his wicked tongue, or the way he pushed me to oblivion more times than anyone ever had before. No. No fucking siree. Now I’m imagining the asshole with me against the wall while his tongue explores me. Now I’m imagining him setting me on the bar, opening my legs, and driving into me until nothing makes sense anymore.

Now I’m thinking that I really can’t resist him.

And to think. The man has never kissed me. Not even once.

Oddly enough it makes total sense. Kisses are intimate things. More intimate than sex, in a way. With kisses, it’s the overwhelming sensation of being taken to another place without your feet ever leaving the ground. It’s the slow build of desire that can only hum with life and electricity when lips meet. It’s the feverish way each kiss becomes hotter than the last until reason becomes too much to comprehend and you’re driven by nothing but instinct.

Yes. Kisses are absolutely the most intimate thing in this world.

And I would very much like to protect my mouth from Carter Hughes.

Perhaps I’ll get a human muzzle.

For him, that is. Then maybe he won’t be able to tell me any of the things he wants to do.

Although… that might be illegal. Ho hum.

I grab a Post-It and click my pen. Check if it’s legal to muzzle a human. What? It’s worth a search.

I put the pen down and push back from my desk. The wheels of my chair squeak as they roll, and I blink harshly several times, as though that movement will alleviate the ache growing behind my eyes. I’ve been staring at this computer for three hours without moving, and not only have my fingers seized up and my eyes gone blurry, my ass feels like it’s been sat in ice for hours it’s so numb.

It’s almost impossible to concentrate with all this crap going on in my head. There’s really only one way to find out, isn’t there?

I sigh and pad through my office barefoot. My door opens silently, and I look out into the spacious waiting area. Design magazines and mini portfolios litter the glass coffee tables surrounded by plush blue sofas in the center of the floor, and Carlos’ desk is directly opposite those.

He’s on the phone right now, so I walk across the empty area and check the magazines. Carlos is supposed to check and update them every two weeks, but who knows if he’s done it? He didn’t last time and got his balls handed to him by Mom.

He hasn’t done it again. I collect the outdated ones, roll them up, and put them in the titanium trash can just behind his counter. The phone clicks as he puts it back in the hold and he winces at me, somehow managing to blow his blonde hair from his face at the very same time.

“Sorry,” he hurries out. “I was going to do it this afternoon.”

“Just make sure you collect the new ones, okay? She still hasn’t forgiven you for that double booking.” Neither have I, I want to add. I don’t, though. Carlos is also a bit of a gossip. “Talking of that double booking…” I lean forward and glimpse at the open diary right in front of him. “Carter Hughes—the appointment Mom gave me yesterday. When did he book?”

“Carter Hughes…” Carlos mutters, grabbing a notepad and flicking through it. “I’m pretty sure he called on Tuesday. Why?”

“Tight deadline,” I explain. “I was curious why it was.”

“You were both fully booked,” he responds and puts the notepad back. “I didn’t know Carla had an appointment with Louis because it wasn’t in the diary.”

My lips twitch to one side. “Carlos, if my mom’s appointments with Louis are about his house, then I’m pretty sure the conversations are conducted between his bedsheets,” I whisper. “The man’s been getting his house redesigned for a year now.”

“That’s reasonable. It’s a big house.”

“Oh, sure. But who needs their dining room redecorating twice in that time?”

His response is a stare. “Point well made.”

“Thank you.” I tap my nails against the counter and spin on the balls of my feet. “Can you hold all my calls this afternoon? I have to get this design done for Carter Hughes. I already had to reschedule eight appointments because the man gave me a deadline tighter than a city full of virgin vaginas.”

Carlos snorts. “All right. Any particular message?”

The previous one would do if I didn’t have a professional image to uphold. “Just that I’m incredibly busy and to leave a message. I’ll get back to everyone at the end of the week.”

“No problem.”

“Thanks.” I smile and close my office door behind me. A stack of folders falls off my shelf, scattering sheets of paper across the floor. I groan and bend down to pick them up.

Maybe Mom has a point about my office.

Chapter Five

I stare at one completed design for Carter’s spread across my desk.

I think I only slept like two hours last night, but it’s done. And I’m not blowing glitter up my own ass here, but I’m pretty sure it’s up there with my best ever designs. I don’t know whether it’s because I love the class of a monochrome theme or because I want to prove my point to him.

I wasn’t lying when I told him to hope someone does a better job. I know my skills. I’ve worked for years to hone them to the standard I have them. I’ve bust my ass to reach this level and I’m not gonna half-ass something just because I fucked the guy.