WOLFRAM JUST CALLED. He’ll be here in thirty. Clock’s ticking.

Mischa scowled at the text from his business partner and oldest friend. Tristan started the firm almost a decade ago. He had a knack for finding inexpensive commercial properties that were just waiting for the right touch to be flipped to a new owner at a significant gain over the original investment.

Mischa was that right touch. He could look at a property and coax out its potential through remodeling, and he loved doing it.

He was in this to create, not crunch numbers. Most of the time he was grateful for Tristan’s nudges.

Today, Mischa wasn’t in the mood for on track. Even if he wasn’t itching to deal with this G. Taylor guy—put the asshole in his place–he’d grumble about a last-minute meeting with Ralph Wolfram.

Mischa reached the office with five minutes to spare from Tristan’s deadline. He slipped his tie over his head, knotting it as he walked through the parking lot. The building where he and Tristan kept their office was one of his favorite designs—concrete faced, and molded to look like wood, with windows that reflected the sky in a subtle prism.

The lobby was decorated in a minimalistic fashion. The curves in the walls and rails mimicked the skate ramps he loved, and the leather chairs followed the same flow.

The man sitting in the fishbowl conference room, back straight and expression flat as he talked to Tristan, was out of place. Rigid in a sea of fluidity.

Fortunately, Mischa had finished straightening his tie before he walked through the front door. He pasted on a smile and joined Tristan and Ralph Wolfram.

“Morning. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. I had to look in on a property first thing this morning, and man, that traffic. I never give myself enough time.” His tone was confident, and he left no room for reply until he was ready for a response. He shook Wolfram’s hand and settled into the seat next to Tristan. “The rest of my morning is yours.” He didn’t miss that the older man had positioned himself to see the entire lobby, and at the same time put Tristan and Mischa’s backs to everything but him.

Ralph’s smile looked like it had been chiseled on. “I don’t want to take up your entire day. I was in the area, and wanted to check in with you, so I figured it was easier to stop by.”

Translation—Ralph wanted an excuse to hold Mischa’s looming deadline over his head, and preferred to see the results in person. Mischa didn’t flinch. “Happy to give you whatever information you need.”

Not that there was much to offer. The Wolfram deal was the one time Mischa overrode Tristan when it came to a purchase. Tristan insisted the property was already selling near its peak, and a remodel wouldn’t change that. Especially since Mischa wanted the entire block of buildings.

“I’m hoping for some good news.” Ralph’s cool didn’t give away that his version of good news was different than Mischa’s.

Mischa had seen beauty and grace in the properties that begged to be brought to life. But he couldn’t finance the project without Tristan’s backing. He’d made an impulsive decision—story of his life—and sought out a loan that put the buildings in his hands.

“Everything’s moving along smoothly.” Mischa didn’t flinch at the exaggeration. Lie. “I’ve got a tech start-up looking to put ink on paper by next week, as well as a manufacturing group who needs the warehouse. If their financing falls through, there are interested parties waiting in the wings.”

Wolfram’s contract was a short-term deal with no room for payment options, and the property as collateral. The contract stipulated if Mischa didn’t pay in full by his deadline—which was less than a month off—Ralph would own the block. Millions of dollars in buildings, gone like that.

At the time, Mischa knew it wouldn’t be an issue. With the clock ticking toward midnight and no real nibbles, he might have doubts soon.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ralph said. “I’ve got some future opportunities opening up, as do a few of my contacts. A few of them your firm would be ideal for.”

The offer added a layer of suspicion to Mischa’s already tentative mood. “Why would you do that for us, with the current contract still up in the air?”

“That was a high-risk deal. You knew it. I knew it. But I’m not out anything at the end of the day, regardless of which way things go.” Wolfram made it sound like he’d dropped a quarter and it rolled under a car, rather than there being a two-hundred-million-dollar loan on the line.

“Besides...” Ralph looked at Mischa “...you’re talented. Your partner has an eye for investments. There are advantages to doing more business with you two.”

Advantages. Mischa wanted to choke on the word. Despite the man’s congenial demeanor, the offer wasn’t selfless. Of course Ralph was interested in another deal, if it meant another chance for him to claim a building at rock-bottom prices, with minimal effort.

“We don’t have any plans like that for this fiscal year.” Tristan phrased his response more diplomatically than Mischa would have.

Ralph didn’t look fazed. “I’d expect as much, but it’s something to keep in mind as you look forward.”

“We appreciate the consideration.” Mischa kept his tone pleasant.

Wolfram leaned back in his seat, posture open and confident. “If you’d like to keep your options open, my Summer Splash is coming up. It’s a great chance to network.”

Mischa was familiar with the event. Wolfram had been holding it every summer, for long enough Tristan had to attend when he was a teenager. It was a huge summer party for vendors, partners, and clients Wolfram interacted with, and their families.

Mischa opened his mouth to say thanks but no thanks, but Ralph wasn’t done talking.

“I don’t want you to hesitate because you don’t have families. This isn’t just for the kids.”

Mischa didn’t have to look to his side, at Tristan, to know his business partner bristled at the comment as much as he did. It got tiresome having people base their opinions of the firm’s business-worthiness on the fact the owners were bachelors.

“Why would that be a reason to hesitate?” Mischa asked.

Wolfram’s expression froze, then his hesitation vanished. “With your reputation... This being a family event...”

“What about my reputation?” Mischa shouldn’t be antagonistic, but recognizing that didn’t stop him.

Wolfram sat straighter, drawing his arms in. “The two of you creeping up on forty, and still single...”

“I’m not getting you. You’re going to need to spell it out,” Tristan said.

Nope. Mischa wasn’t the only person this tangent rubbed wrong.

Ralph sighed. “I’m sure you’ve noticed in this community, with everyone being so family oriented, it can be awkward in a professional situation to not have those attachments.”

This conversation was awkward. Mischa couldn’t believe the older man thought this was appropriate for business. True, they were dragging answers out of him, but he implied it first.

“Maybe we’re a happy couple, and don’t feel that’s anyone’s business.” Mischa struggled to hide his smirk behind a serious tone.

Tristan nudged his foot under the table. A signal to stop. Mischa grasped for threads that would help him rein in his sarcasm and irritation.

“Your reputation”—an edge leaked into Ralph’s voice—“being sharing tabloid headlines with a starlet more than a decade your junior.”

No reining-in happening this morning. “That was years ago, and doesn’t have any impact on how I conduct business.”

“I’m not saying it does.”

He was implying heavily, and saying everything else. A trickle of reason at the back of Mischa’s mind tried to remind him when he talked without thinking, his emotions said some stupid things.

Tristan’s cough tried to reinforce the thought.

Mischa was going to be lucky to walk away from this without telling Wolfram off. “Just because I don’t flaunt my personal life doesn’t mean there’s nothing there.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were dating someone,” Ralph said.

Mischa gritted his teeth at having his words twisted. He wanted a story, something sweet, subtle, and spectacular. His mind tripped over Ash, and he cursed the intrusive memory of the playful woman. Though... remembering her was calming, and a little tweak on her tale could be a sympathy grab.

“After what happened with Victoria” —Mischa’s ex, and previously mentioned starlet—“do you blame me for wanting to keep a relationship private? Especially with a single mom who would rather not draw a lot of attention to her and her child.”

Tristan kicked him under the table.

Mischa snapped his mouth shut.

“I understand.” Wolfram sounded sympathetic. “If your girlfriend is comfortable with it, I hope you’ll bring her with you to the picnic.”

Mischa tried to keep his expression genuine. “That’s not up to me, but I’ll ask her.”

The conversation drifted away from personal lives, to his relief, and they wrapped things up a short while later.

He and Tristan exchanged glances the moment Wolfram was gone, and headed down the hall to Tristan’s office.

He sat farthest from everyone else, so they didn’t have to worry as much about their bitching filtering out to the handful of staff they had.

Mischa loosened his tie and undid the top button on his shirt, as he sank into the chair across from Tristan’s desk. “Fuck.”

“Did you really just make up a girlfriend?” Tristan took his seat.

Mischa scrubbed his face. “I know. Not my smartest decision. But you have to admit, not the worst I’ve made either.”

Tristan shrugged and crossed one ankle over the other knee. “Imagine Wolfram’s reaction if you showed up to the Summer Splash with a girlfriend and a kid.”

There was a distinct appeal in the suggestion, but if Mischa had access someone who was granting wishes, he’d go for something grander, like making the Wolfram deal vanish for good. “Great idea. I’ll hop on down to Nordstrom—that should be reputable enough, right? Pick me up a pre-made family. Then I’ll take up yachting. And buy an ascot.” He made a gagging motion. “Or kill me now.”

“You’re such a fucking drama queen.”

That made Mischa smile. “What am I supposed to do. Really? Get married so I look responsible? Though... I could post something on Craig’s List. Wife wanted. Three Month Contract. Must love beer, pizza, and skateboards.”

“God, no.” Tristan wrinkled his nose. “If we’re talking seriously, and I’m going to for about thirty seconds, that’s the worst thing you could do. You hook up with some attractive woman, announce an engagement out of the blue after only knowing her for a few days, and bring her to that party? You become a stereotype of your own reputation. The family-guy route would only work if you already had a family.”

“Which isn’t a thing.” Mischa wasn’t in the mood for a circular conversation. “I’m going to check out that property you’re scoping in East Bench. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

Checking out the property didn’t take Mischa as long as he hoped. It was a fifteen-minute drive from the office, and about two minutes to see the building was a heavy windstorm away from being condemned.

He took the scenic route on his return, only half conscious he was following the same path as last night that led him to the skate park, and Ash.

The street signs and house numbers tickled another memory he couldn’t quite grasp. What is it?

He pulled to the side of the road, grabbed his phone, and opened the email from G. Taylor. That was it. The guy’s address was nearby.

Reason argued he was better off placing a call. Discussing this professionally. Blah, blah, blah, fuck reason. Mischa wanted to look the man in the eye when he asked, What the hell?

He navigated suburban streets, past rows of brick houses and manicured lawns and ancient trees, until he found the house he was looking for. A moment later, he was knocking, and reminding himself not to hammer on the door. That would be rude.

The guy who answered was half a foot taller than Mischa, with shoulders that much broader. Mischa gave him a casual smile. “I’m looking for G. Taylor.”

“Apartment ’round back.” The guy jerked his thumb toward the rear of the house.

“Thanks.” There’s a second home here? Mischa followed the path to the driveway, and around. Sure enough, a set of four steps led down half a level to another door. He’d gotten a resume from an honest-to-God basement dweller? It might be funny if he weren’t so annoyed.

As he descended the stairs, faint music drifted to greet him. Iron Maiden of all things, being accompanied by a sweet female voice. Or his imagination was playing tricks on him, because he’d rather be back at the coffee shop than here.

Again, he knocked.

“Hang on,” a woman called from inside, and the music stopped. A latch clicked, the door swung open, and he found himself face to face with Ash.

His voice died in his throat. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail with loose strands escaping around her face. She wore a baggy T-shirt and sweatpants, but he knew what hid underneath.

“Did you follow me home?” The concern mixed with curiosity in her voice drew his gaze back to her face.

The question helped him shake off the surreal sensation of seeing her again, and he frowned. “No. You made yourself clear last night.” Painfully. Enough that he shouldn’t even be entertaining thoughts of her, let alone struggling to not stare.

“Then you’re standing on my stoop because...”

He held up his phone, with the email still open. “I’m looking for some”—he stopped himself from saying asshole—“guy named G. Taylor.”

“Oh. Uh... hi?”

“Hello.” Hadn’t they moved past the friendly greeting stage of the conversation? “So, is he here?” Shit. Did she turn him down last night because she was married? And if so, what was with that kiss, anyway—

“I’m her.”

The two words bounced in his head, until they found purchase, and her meaning sank in. “You’re G. Taylor.” The basement-dwelling, arrogant asshole punk? “How do you get Ash out of G?”

“It’s short for Georgia Ashleigh Taylor. Why do you have my resume, and do you think maybe a phone call would have sufficed if you were interested in talking to me?”

He wasn’t letting her turn this back on him. He wasn’t the one at fault. “Where do you get off hacking my website, then trying to extort me?”

“First of all, hacking implies I stole your password, breached layers of security, or something else nefarious.” Her tone shifted to defensive. “You have a basic installation with the default password still in place, and I used a standard script that anyone can find on Google.” Her expression faltered. “Not that I’m restricted to knowledge I can search for. I know my shi—stuff.”

He studied her, puzzled. “Are you bragging or being humble?”

“Neither. Both.”

“Ooh, back for round two?” A cheerful voice interrupted, and he looked up to see Kelly standing on the sidewalk above, leaning over the railing to look down at him. “You didn’t have to go home and change to impress anyone. She already liked you.”

“There wasn’t a round one.” The annoyance in Ash’s voice was growing. “I thought you were going with Emma.”

“Nah. Shopping with no money is boring.” Kelly bounded down the stairs, brushed past Mischa, and skipped into the apartment. Two people lived here? He couldn’t see much from his vantage point, but if it was under the house, the space couldn’t be that big.

“There’s a number two on my list.” Ash’s comment drew him back to the conversation. “I’m not trying to extort you. Who assumes something like that? I found a well-documented flaw, and I pointed it out to you, rather than taking advantage of it. It was supposed to show you I know how to do the job you’re hiring for.”

It sounded like a weak excuse to him.

“If you weren’t trying to exploit it, why did you do it?”

Ash pursed her lips. “Right now your website is the equivalent of a giant red button that says Do Not Push. If you saw that, what would you do?”

“Not fucking push it.” Which wasn’t true, especially in his case, but he was too vested in this to back down.

“Well goodie for you. A lot of people will push it, and most wouldn’t have told you after.”

“Translation—they wouldn’t have blackmailed me.”

A growl rolled from her throat, low and irritated and sexy. “You don’t do so good with the listening before the speaking, do you? Forget it. I don’t want your stupid job.”

“I didn’t offer it to you.” Which meant once this conversation was over, so was encountering her again. A protest pinged inside, telling him to hear her out, but he wasn’t in the mood for sentiment and tolerance.

“Good.”

“All of that, the entire build-up, for good?”

She furrowed her brow, and a scowl sank in. “Good... bye.” She closed the door. Didn’t even have the grace to slam it, and put a nice exclamation point on the argument.

He clenched his fist, but kept his hand by his side, resisting the desire to knock and start things over. The only reason he wanted to apologize was because she was attractive. And intelligent. And an incredible kisser.

Most of those weren’t good reasons for a business relationship. He gave the door one last glance, and stalked back to his car, letting aggravation boil inside and sear away guilt at the assumptions he’d leaped to, and the way he acted as a result.