In short, there was some humanity in here. This she could work with.

“Yes, Blake. I like it.”

His smile held an air of satisfaction. “Good, I like to work here better than the office, so we can plan to set you up in here as well.” He was definitely relaxing now, striding over to his desk with looser limbs than had greeted her.

He sank into his office chair that creaked with the sound of long use. “So—you really think my house is like an ice palace?” Blake kept his eyes downcast, as if he were completely uninterested in the answer, but the fact that he’d asked at all meant he was in want of her opinion.

Andy was flattered.

She quickly attempted to talk herself out of that. Don’t make too much of it, you’re probably the only girl he knows who ever gave him an honest opinion. The vacant-eyed models in his office sure wouldn’t tell him what they thought he wouldn’t want to hear.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she said, “Firstly, I’m impressed that you actually got that reference, Mr. I-Only-Read-Biographies-and-Watch-Documentaries. Second of all—yes, yes I do.”

“Now, Drea, what sort of business tycoon would I be if I hadn’t studied Lex Luthor?” Blake’s eyes actually twinkled a bit.

“Well, what a surprise.” A delightful one at that.

“I contain multitudes.” Was that a hint of a smile? If it was, he quickly hid it away. His jaw tightened. “Is this … problem … with my home something you feel capable of fixing?” His words came out strained, as if they were hard for him to say.

“I’ll have an easier time with your house than with your arrogance.” Had she really said that? It wasn’t quite fair to be in the man’s own house and insulting him. She quickly redirected. “We can start with just a few touches to make it seem more lived-in. Maybe more plants, some throw pillows.”

Blake’s eyebrows were furrowed. “Why would I throw my pillows?”

She started to roll her eyes until she realized he was serious. “That’s just their name, Blake. You throw them on the couch, so people feel like they are welcome to sit there. Right now your living room is incredibly uninviting.”

“It was professionally designed.”

“That in no way translates to lived-in.”

“It was expensive.” He was getting defensive.

But she wasn’t backing down. “Obviously. Still not inviting.”

“I don’t like knickknacks.”

She threw her hands in the air. “For Pete’s sake! You asked me if I could fix it and I’m telling you how. Why do you have to argue with every single thing I say?”

“I don’t argue with everything you say. Just the ridiculous things.”

Why did it seem like the tables had been turned, and it was now Andy that was being wound up?

Manipulative. Even the throw pillows can’t hide that.

“Case in point. Why don’t you go about your work and I’ll just settle in with my notebook and jot down some thoughts.” She was already drifting toward the chair by the window.

As she sat, a closed door behind his desk caught her eye. It was in an odd spot to be a closet. “What’s in there?”

“What’s in where?” His gaze was shifty, his hands fidgeting.

Andy nodded to the door. “There. Behind you.”

Blake paled. “Nothing. Storage. A copy room. Closet, I mean.”

“If you say so.” Obviously he didn’t want to tell her what was really behind that door, which only piqued her interest. What could Blake Donovan be hiding? A vault? A private washroom? A sex dungeon?

She giggled to herself at that last one. Hardly likely. Knowing Blake, it was probably something lame that only rich people had—like a safe room. He was paranoid enough. That had to be exactly what it was.

With the matter settled in her mind, she let the thought go and concentrated on her job. Several minutes later, she’d decided the situation wasn’t all that bad, despite giving up her Saturday. The beginning had been rocky, but now, sitting in a patch of sunlight, taking notes on a guy who was incredibly sexy as long as his mouth was closed, it was more than tolerable. Her mind wandered to the interior design—I bet his budget for that is hefty. I’m going to all the little boutiques I’ve ever window-shopped in Cambridge. I’ll channel every HGTV show I’ve ever seen and transform this place into the envy of every woman in Boston. There’ll be an accent wall. Unusual details. All Anthro everything.

Blake’s voice nudged into her fantasy. “I’m going to have to think about the house thing for a little bit. I like modern lines. My wife should, too. Besides, they’re easier for her to clean.”

Andy crashed back to earth.

She wrote her bitter thoughts in broad strokes across her notepad so as not to say them aloud. Stupidest job ever. Worst boss ever. He was certainly unmatchable. Could she muzzle him on dates?

She took a cleansing breath and put on a grin. “Maybe we can revisit the subject when you’re beginning to feel closer to inviting a date home.” She was rather pleased with the calmness of her reply. See, I’m not as easy to wind up as you thought I’d be.

He stared at her for a moment longer than was necessary. Though it was also true that she hadn’t looked away, either. Why did Andy keep getting that nervous read from him? This dude probably didn’t know the definition of nervous. He’s just acting weird because I’m invading his personal space. He obviously doesn’t really “do” personal.

“Perhaps a drink?” Blake rushed over to the decanter and poured a splash into two crystal glasses before she even agreed.

That’s totally what it is. I’m cramping his style, and it was his idea and he doesn’t know how to deal. She beamed internally as he handed her a glass, satisfied with her conclusion.

After swallowing and refilling his own glass, Blake’s swagger was starting to creep back in. He plopped down behind his desk and promptly began to work as if Andy were invisible. She took a sip of the strong amber liquid, curled her feet under her, and began to take notes, narrowing her perceptions of him to single words.

Confident. That was a good trait. Condescending. Not so good.

Persuasive. She’d call that another good one. Manipulative. Domineering. Stubborn. Closed-off.

She sighed.

Letting her pen fall to her lap, she sat back in the chair and watched him work. For a man sitting behind a desk, he was in constant motion. He balanced a cell phone and a landline, and alternated between two computer screens and a tablet. It was pretty cool to watch him go, she had to admit. This was the tireless energy that had built his company from the ground up, into the beast it was today.

The sunlight glinted off his olive skin as he rolled up his shirtsleeves. Even in his home office on a Saturday, the man looked like an Armani commercial. He was barking into the office phone but grinning at a text that had come through. Sexy.

She almost added that to the list.

Then she reminded herself that he was not some sort of Greek god, but a jerkface that earlier talked about how his wife should clean his house.

Chauvinist, she wrote instead.

Well, that wasn’t helpful. If she wanted to frame him in an attractive light, she’d have to concentrate on his better attributes. She crossed out Chauvinist. And Manipulative. And Domineering. And all the other less-than-delightful words she’d given to him.

Then she added, Sexy.

When she looked up their eyes caught again, and he gave her the full benefits of that wicked grin. Maybe she better make that Sexy as Hell.

She definitely did not want to be as aroused as she was by that smile. Definitely not.

*   *   *

Blake had completely forgotten that Drea was in the room. Between the relaxation from the scotch and the normal adrenaline of a day filled with meetings and decisions and the other thousand little details he liked to personally oversee, he’d forgotten the little detail of her. Until he glanced up from a text and saw the way the sun was highlighting her auburn hair as she gazed at him. If he didn’t know for a fact that he infuriated her, that look on her face could almost have been misconstrued as desire.