No.

I touch my fingertips to the portfolio and take a deep breath. The sound of a throat cleaning has me looking up at the figure half-standing in the shadows. His dark hair is as slick and smoothly styled as I remember it. His suit is crisp and well-fitting, the fabric stretching easily over his shoulders without straining. It reeks of expense and of class, but I ignore that tiny fact as I lift my gaze to his face.

His jaw, sharp and angular and dusted with dark, perfectly trimmed stubble, is tight. Pink lips set in the tempting spread of facial hair are quirked to one side in a knowing smirk, and heat pools in my stomach as I remember exactly what those lips can do.

But as always, it’s his eyes. His emerald green eyes are dazzling, invasive in their scrutiny as they trawl across my face and my body, from the gentle curls of my dark hair and down to my Louboutin-clad feet.

He’s as hot as ever.

I need a handyman. I’m screwed.

“Ms. Donnelly.” Carter approaches me with one hand stretched out. I slide off the stool and hold my own out. He clasps it firmly, his fingers wrapping around mine. The grip is steady, the sizzle of his skin hot against mine. He pulls me into him, and with one hand resting against my side, he whispers, “So good to see you again.”

So we’re playing this game. “Mr. Hughes,” I reply, my voice leaning to the seductive side. I pull back and take my hand from his. “How are you?”

His eyes flash with the recognition that just hit me. “Very well. Yourself?”

“Couldn’t be better, thank you.”

He waves toward the stool I just vacated, and I lean back, retaking my seat. He sits on the one next to me. “Shall we get started?” He reaches one strong hand up and adjusts his tie.

Oh boy.

I fight the squirm that tickles through my lower body and respond with a smile. “Absolutely.” I adjust my skirt so I can cross one leg over the over. His eyes drop to my legs as I smooth my skirt back out. “Tell me more about what you have in mind.”

The slow, purposeful lift of his gaze burns through me. Damn, those eyes. They’re intense and calculating, but not in a cold way. They see right through me. He knows I’ve seen his game and raised him. I get the feeling I won’t be the only one lifting the stakes.

He leans against the bar and rests his forearm against it. His fingers tap against the glass surface one by one, making no more than a quiet tap. “Joanna?” he calls, his eyes still focused on me. “Could you get me and Ms. Donnelly a cup of coffee?”

“Of course,” she says from somewhere behind me.

“And hold my calls.” He tilts his head to the side, his lips twitching. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”

My eyebrows shoot up at the sound of a door closing. A shiver also dances down my spine, but I’m not going to focus on that. I’m going to focus on the assumption that I want coffee and he doesn’t want to be disturbed.

“Presumptuous,” I remark, removing a notepad and pen from my purse.

“Which part?”

“Both.”

“Depends how you take it.” His smile simply grows.

I look to the ceiling and inhale sharply. Resolutely, I place my notepad and pen on the bar and meet Carter’s gaze. “Mr. Hughes, I’m here on behalf of my mother and our company. Whether you arranged this consultation before or after our previous meeting isn’t something I, quite frankly, give a shit about. What I do care about is coming here, doing my job, and going away to design something that will give Donnelly Designs a chance to be hired by you. I would appreciate that whatever happened in the past stay there.”

“Your company?” he asks, still not dropping the smirk. “You own it?”

Not seeing what this has to do with anything, but whatever. “Partially. It’s the brainchild of us both. I have the minority, but one day I’ll own it all, so…” I shrug one shoulder. “It’s important to me that we have a good, honest portfolio.”

“Are you suggesting that I’d hire you simply because I enjoy the way your mouth feels when it’s around my cock?”

I choke on my own saliva. “I can’t say that’s the way I’d have worded it.”

“In my experience, you’re a straight to the point woman, Bee Donnelly. Answer the question.”

Fine. “Yes.”

“See?” He leans forward, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Wasn’t too hard, was it?”

I glance at his pants. “Nope.”

The action stills him. “I booked this before we met,” he says in a low voice. “I assumed it were merely coincidence that you had the same surname. Donnelly isn’t exactly unique or rare.”

If I didn’t want to know where he was going, I’d be offended.

“But to address your inaccurate opinion, I don’t hire people based on how well they fuck. If I did, we’d be having a very different type of consultation.” His jaw tics as heat floods my cheeks. “Let’s move through to the restaurant and we can talk.”

He gets up and turns away. My heart is twisting in both annoyance and embarrassment. I grab my things and follow him.

Sorry, Mom. I both fucked and offended a prospective client. My bad.

God she’s gonna kill me. And she’s gonna make it painful.

Carter leads me through the bar and opens the door to the restaurant. I take a succession of slow, deep breaths as we step out into the bar, and I won’t lie, I’m thankful to leave that part. I know that on the other side of the room is the booths.

A place I really, really hope he doesn’t want redesigning.

I adjust the waistband of my skirt and take a step up next to him.

“The restaurant.” He runs his finger along the leaf of a bushy indoor plant. “I want it redesigned more in line with the bar.”

“The style and scheme?” I question, my mouth going dry. I hope he doesn’t mean the… environment. Can you imagine digging into your salmon or steak to the sound of a sexual rendezvous?

He cuts his eyes to me, and his lips do that twitchy thing again. “Yes, the style and color scheme. The bar is a… newer addition to the space. It was part of my former living space. When I moved out, I decided to convert it and the upper floor.”

“What’s in the upper floor?” I swallow. The way this place is going, it’s probably whips, chains, and shackles.

As if he can read my mind, Carter turns his whole body toward me and meets my eyes. “Joanna’s apartment.”

Ah.

“Don’t worry yourself, Ms. Donnelly. I don’t have a secret sex lair where I whisk young, hot women away to. Unless, of course, they ask.”

“You just have a semi-public sex bar?” I lift an eyebrow, setting my purse on a table.

“I told you before—I have a very elite clientele with specific tastes. Some people relish knowing they’re fucking with other people walking past.”

“Is that really all it’s used for?”

“Of course not. Sometimes people book them for private dates, business meetings, or simply time alone. But, I’d suppose… Ninety percent of the time they’re booked for solely sexual purposes.”

Okay. I know I did it, but it sounds really peculiar when you put it like that. Booths that are booked for sexual purposes in an apparently upscale restaurant in the middle of New York City. It’s very… Well. Odd, isn’t it?

“You look confused.”

“I’m fine.” I draw myself out of my thoughts and focus on the portfolio. I flip it open to the section full of my previous restaurants and some of Mom’s. “Take a look through these and make a note of any you like and what you like so I can incorporate those elements into my final design. Do you have a blueprint of the building?”

“Yes…” he says the word slowly, as if he’s testing it out by rolling it around his tongue.

So I changed the subject with a whiplash-inducing speed. I can’t think about those goddamn booths anymore or I’m gonna need to go change my panties before I head back to the office.

“Perfect. Do you have it to hand?”

“Let me find Joanna and bring the coffee. I’ll ask her to get it ready for you.”