Andy couldn’t hold in her giggles any longer at her sister’s complete misreading. The protectiveness Lacy always inexplicably had for her older sister was almost condescending—and way off the mark. “I’m sorry—you’re being so sweet—but that’s not it, either.”

Lacy smiled in a way that was both sympathetic and disapproving. “I’m not convinced. It’s the only way to explain your sudden fit of insanity.”

Andy shook her head. Of course her sister would jump to the insanity excuse. Admittedly, the arrangement with Blake did seem a bit crazy. Or at the very least, unorthodox. Andy would never have gone for something like that with Max. The differences between Blake and Max, though—well, so maybe they did share a lot of the same surface attributes. Not looks. Blake was infinitely more attractive than Max Ellis could ever hope to be. More than that, Blake’s inside-ugly wasn’t so ugly once she’d gotten to understand it. It was charming, in fact. Adorable, even. Just sort of unexplainable.

After eight years of getting to know Max, however, Andy knew his insides were still as ugly as ugly got.

The fact of the matter was that whether the situation was strange or not, it made Andy happy. It also made her job easier.

Perhaps it was too much to ask Lacy to understand. “Look. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but I tell you everything. Please try not to be so judgey.” She offered the chips again.

After a long moment, Lacy took a few and leaned back. “I’ll listen. Doesn’t mean I’ll agree.”

“Fair enough. What it comes down to is that I think I was right. After we, um, did it—shut up! I don’t like saying sex words.” She waved a hand at Lacy’s snorting. “After it happened, he really calmed down a lot. We had a nice talk, shared our lunch break, and he seemed to truly relax for the first time around me. It was like I could see someone other than Blake Douche-ovan in there.”

“Douche-ovan. That’s funny.” Lacy was definitely mellowing.

“If it’s a reflection of my self-esteem at all, that should look pretty good right now, because my theory is being proven correct.” Andy grabbed a chip for herself.

“Okay, I’ll reserve my judgment for the time being. But we are hardly through discussing it. It’s possible I’ve had a bit too much wine to think this through properly.” She looked at the bottle, where it stood, empty, next to Andy’s full glass. “Did you do that on purpose? Did you just get me drunk so I’d stop arguing?”

“Psych One Oh One, yo.” Andy shrugged at her and took her first sip of wine. It was tasty. Her one evening as a bartender had really paid off; the quality of juice she was bringing home would no longer horrify Lacy’s fancier dinner party guests.

“You’re good. I forget that sometimes. Now, shall we get down to business?” Her little sister leaned across the table. “How was the sex? Don’t spare any of the details. I’m living vicariously through you now.”

Andy blushed. “It was good. I liked it.”

“Good? You liked it? That tells me absolutely nothing. Did you…? Did he give you an orgasm at least?”

Even if she were comfortable with talking about the details of a sexual tryst, Andy had a feeling she still wouldn’t share more with her sister. This thing with Blake—maybe it wasn’t really much of a thing at all, but whatever it was, it was hers. It was private.

She flashed a tight-lipped grin. “I’m taking a shower. You can finish my drink.” She pushed her chair back and headed off against Lacy’s protests.

“This is so not the end of this!” was the last thing Andy heard as she closed the door and leaned back against it. She allowed herself one silent squeal and wiggle before pushing the thrill of the afternoon down again.

I cannot believe we actually did it!

*   *   *

I can’t believe we’ve done it, like, seven times already!

She did a mental count: the first time, of course, and then the time against the wall, the time behind his desk, the time under his desk, the time with the tie—a personal favorite—then the time they re-created the time with the tie, and the time with the lamp stand. She still couldn’t believe she’d done that last one.

Or, wait, was it eight times?

She could never decide if the stairwell counted or not. It probably did count. She’d finished, but poor Blake hadn’t gotten a chance before the sound of an open door from the floor above them had interrupted their coitus. He’d quickly tucked himself away, just in time for his head of foreign developments to pass them. Andy was still impressed how well Blake had managed the ensuing conversation about some contract snag as if he hadn’t just been whispering obscenities into her ear. The two men shook hands at the end of their encounter. If only the employee knew where his employer’s hand had just been …

It was nine times! How could she have forgotten the time when she’d played naughty secretary? He certainly seemed to like their sex to be a little bit raunchy. So did she, she’d realized with a surprise. Funny, though, there was very little submissiveness that took place on her part. She wondered—when Blake found the type of woman he’d been searching for, would he actually enjoy that type in the bedroom?

Well, that wasn’t really any of her concern. If he did find a match that didn’t quite live up, he could always look back fondly on his affair with Andy. She knew she would.

Andy glanced over at Blake now as he ordered their lunch. She looked away as he caught her eye, ridiculously concerned that he could read her mind somehow. Although the blush creeping up her face could have given it away.

“You do like uni, yes?” he verified and continued to race through the menu with their server. Andy wasn’t actually sure if she liked uni, but she wasn’t about to tell Blake that her sushi experience was limited to the items that cost a buck apiece during happy hour. She would bet money that Mr. Fancypants had never downed sake-bombs at two in the afternoon on a Tuesday.

Although if the sex wasn’t enough to pull him out of his shell, surely that would. She made a mental note to keep that idea on hold in case of an emergency.

Date emergency? What a ridiculous job.

On the subject of dates … “You have a dinner date tonight,” she reminded both Blake and herself once the waiter had bowed and left them with hot hand towels. The candidate was one that Andy felt particularly hopeful about.

“Yes, yes. Eve.” He delicately dabbed the towel on his strong hands. It was a dichotomy that made her smile, how he dwarfed everything around him, and yet understood fragility. Well, everywhere but the name issue, that is.

“Jane.” She grabbed a towel for herself and rubbed her fingertips decidedly less elegantly than her lunch partner.

“Oh, come on, I was close this time.” He flung his towel at her.

“Blake!” Andy was shocked at his breach of decorum. “You weren’t even remotely close, either.”

“Oh, you know, Dick and Jane, Adam and Eve. I had one half of a famous couple. It was close.” He caught the towel she tossed back in midair.

“Pssh. Agree to disagree. Do you remember anything about her?” She loved the easy way he spoke when they weren’t in work mode, as if they were actually friends. She relished it, but it pained her at the same time. She’d noticed that enjoying something often gave her the same feeling in her chest as missing it, as if she were always waiting for it to end.

And this—this definitely had an expiration date.

“Of course I do. She’s a graduate from NYU in something uninteresting. Oh, yes. Music. She plays the harp. And she enjoys causes. Causes I approved of and not the stupid ones.”

She shook her head at the causes I approved of remark, remembering how Blake had made her research Jane Osborne’s charitable interests before setting up the date. Also, she was glad that Blake did indeed remember things they’d gone over, even if he couldn’t get a name right.