“You cannot date your boss,” Moira says, taking a sip of her Rum Collins and making a face. “Ugh, is this bathtub rum? I think they took the prohibition aesthetic of this place a little too much to heart.”

“I’m not dating my boss,” I tell her for the thousandth time. “And I told you, the gin gimlets were the thing to go for here.”

It’s our favorite night of the week, ladies’ night at the Algonquin Lounge. The Lounge was where all the dirtiest mobsters brought their classiest molls back in the 1920s. There are chandeliers dripping with crystal, walls papered a lush velvet red, and even the peepholes in the ladies’ room are gilded and ornate. Only old school gangsters could be both disgusting and classy at the same time.

Tonight, Casey, Moira, and I have all gotten into the spirit of ladies’ night. We dressed up for the occasion. My beaded flapper gown is kind of crushing my boobs, but it’s worth it. Casey’s sleek black bob was made for the Algonquin. Moira, the fiery redhead of the crew, is wearing a feathered headdress that’s making her tip over a little. Ostrich feathers, man. Heavier than you’d imagine.

“Back to the most important topic.” Casey sips her martini. “How you can never, ever date Gavin Walker.”

“Look, I know he’s my boss, and I know he can be a little, like…”

“Skeezy?” Moira adds. I roll my eyes.

“Hard to read,” I finish. “And yes, he can be rough on his assistants.” My heart twists again for sweet Thea. “But he’s good at what he does, and he’s never tried groping my ass or sticking his hand down my blouse like some other unmentionables at the office.” My first boss at CAA was a man named Clint Gropier, which was, let me tell you, indicative of his personality. Remove one specific letter from both his first and last name, and you have an idea of what I mean. I demonstrated my impeccable ‘hi-ya’ karate move on him. The office cameras were the only reason I didn’t lose my job. Meanwhile, Clint got promoted, and that’s when Gavin took over.

Los Angeles is a hell of an environment.

“Is that the sole reason to go out with a man, though? Because he’s not assaulting you?” Moira takes a swig of Casey’s martini.

“No, it’s not the sole reason.” He is also really, really ridiculously good looking. I sigh. “He wanted to hear my idea. He wasn’t creepy about the fact Blaire is trans. It seemed like he got turned on more because I was really take charge. That’s a nice change of pace for a man in his position.”

“He’s probably playing a game so he can get you into a few nice positions,” Casey says. Moira gives a ‘hey now’ and they high five each other. These are my friends, folks.

“I know we live among the douchiest of the world’s douchebags, but we can’t start mistrusting all men.”

“Since when did Gavin Walker appoint himself all men?” Moira drawls. She works over in HR, and has to spend her days dealing with the weirdest complaints in Hollywood. Right now, she’s dealing with a guy who refuses to wear shoes in the office. All barefoot, all the time. Her experiences have made her, shall we say, jaded.

“Every time I like a guy, you two give me a hard time,” I groan. Casey rubs my shoulder.

“Hon, we wouldn’t give you a hard time if your taste didn’t suck so hard.” She says it so sweetly and with such love it’s hard to get mad at her. I settle for slightly pissed.

“My taste is not that bad.”

“Okay. Pick out one guy in this bar, then let’s try to bring him over for a drink. If he seems like a good, reliable sort, we take back everything we said and you should totally bang Gavin Walker in his Malibu beach house.”

“He has a Malibu beach house?” Moira puts down her drink. “Em, maybe I’ve been giving you too hard a time.”

“Oh ho, it is to laugh.” I take them up on the challenge, though. Putting my drink down, I consider the roomful of applicants. Hmm. There’s one man nursing a whiskey over by the bar. He’s sweet-looking, and in fact, he might be perfect to bring over…but I have to be honest, he just doesn’t do ‘it’ for me. He seems like the kind of guy who’d have to apologize for not kissing you right.

There’s one rugged looking gentleman lounging on a velvet couch, but he’s also draped over an attractive woman. Telling my friends I have an eye for people in committed relationships isn’t going to help my case here.

I’m about to tell them I’m not finding anyone I vibe with, when my eyes catch him at a bar table across the way. He’s dressed in an elegant suit and tie, and he’s sipping a scotch, neat. His hair is combed back, but still slightly tousled—he must be one of those men who are permanently tousled, no matter what he does.

God, what a delicious problem to have.

“Do we have a winner? You’ve been staring at that guy for a solid minute.” Moira checks over her shoulder and gives a low wolf whistle. “And what a choice you’ve made.”

No, no. Fraser Drake is not a choice. He is to be avoided, like sexy kryptonite.

“I’m not, that is, he’s not, I mean, we’re not.” I have to stop talking, because I think my programming went haywire for a second there. Please hold. “I know that guy. We go way back.”

“You already dated him before?” Casey’s eyebrows raise a fraction.

Ew, no. I mean, imagine dating Fraser in high school? He was the stiffest kid in his grade, and one of those kids had chronically inflexible joints.

Dating Fraser now, though, would be…oh shit, he’s locked eyes with me. As I sit there, dread swirling in my stomach along with all the bathtub gin, Fraser gazes across at me with a hint of surprise in his dark eyes. He puts down his glass, and says something to the woman he’s with.

Because yes, Fraser is sitting with a woman. A woman who is about our age and is also, from what I can see, drop-dead gorgeous. A tall, leggy brunette, she sips a martini with the elegance that can only come from years of charm school. Her Chanel blouse and dark, fitted skirt hug her toned and attractive body. She is, to put it mildly, in a class all her own.

Why does my stomach lurch to see her sitting with Fraser? And why am I still staring at him with my mouth hanging open? I shut my jaw and dive back into my gimlet.

“We never dated.” I finally answer Casey’s question. “He was friends with Justin when we were kids.”

“Big brother friends.” Moira clucks her tongue. “On the one hand, ew. On the other, he’ll have to be sensitive and caring to your needs, otherwise you’ll sic Justin on him.”

“Maybe that’s a healthy choice.” Casey brightens a little. “Maybe you’re breaking out of your ‘all assholes, all the time’ phase of life.”

“It is not all assholes all the time in here,” I say. Moira puts a finger to her lips to shush me, which annoys me all the more. “What? I can’t say the word assholes in a classy place like the Algonquin?”

“Come again? I believe you can say the word assholes anywhere you choose, regardless of the venue,” Fraser says right behind me. Every muscle in my body freezes. Slowly, I thaw myself enough to turn around and find him towering over me. He shaved that stubble of his, which shows off how incredibly square and well defined his jaw actually is. It’s like a rock that could be used to cut other rocks. His dark hair curls a little in front of his eyes, which are set to full on smolder. One hand in the pocket of his immaculate suit, he looks like the god of business descended from on high to give pleasure to us mere mortals.

Casey’s staring at him open-mouthed now, and Moira has finally lost her fight with the ostrich feathers and has collapsed onto her side. We are putting on quite a show right now.

“Whether you should say the word assholes, well, that’s another issue entirely.” Fraser doesn’t smile, and he doesn’t wrench his gaze away from mine.

“You find ways to work little lectures into everything, don’t you?” Why does he always have to sneak up behind me when I’ve been drinking? Is he fated to be my own personal demon of alcohol? “I think that you should use whatever word is most spot on in the moment.”

“I see. And what word do you think needs to be uttered right at this moment?” His voice is rich and low, a challenge in his eyes. As irritated as I am, a hot flush is creeping over my body. God, I think I can feel my nipples standing to attention, and a line of heat licking down my center to…well, I have to cross my legs.

There are so many words. Asshole. Creep. Smolder. Chisel. Douchebag. Sexy.

My brain is shorting out with all the options.

“Rude. Because you’re neglecting your date, and I’m ignoring my friends.” I turn to Casey and Moira to make the case…and find that they have grabbed their purses and utterly abandoned me to Fraser Drake. I look all around the bar in a growing panic, and find that they have truly high-tailed it out of here. God, did they run into the street in a mess of tangled beads and feather headdresses? And did they settle up their bar tabs, or do I need to get them? The fiends.

They left me to the sexy, arrogant mercy of Fraser Drake. No cookie dough parties again, ever. At least for another week.

“Your friends appear to have abandoned you.” Ah, what an observation. “And I was not on a date. The lady is a business associate.”

I look over to the table, and find that she’s gone as well. Maybe Fraser and I just landed in an alternate dimension where all our friends and family are gone, and we have to cling to each other for comfort. What an awkward, triple X porno surreal world that would be.

Damn, my body likes that idea way more than it should.

“Business. Yes. Of course.” I snatch up my purse, and signal to the waiter to come and bring the check. “Well, if your meeting’s over you’ll probably want to get home.”

“Are you in a hurry?” His voice deepens by a fraction. “Am I keeping you from a date?”

Is it my imagination, or does he sound a little interested in my reply? And is it my imagination, or do all the muscles south of my abdomen clench at the appetizing idea that he’s jealous?

“No date. Not keeping me. From. You.” All right, we have all the correct words. Now, we just need to piece them together into a real sentence. As I stand, Fraser takes the check from the waiter with the ease of plucking an apple from a branch. My breath catches in my throat. “Chivalry ain’t dead, I see.”

“I’m very chivalrous.” His eyes crackle with wicked light. “Despite what you thought last time we met.”

Right, teaching Sawyer to crush balls. That feels like a million years ago. “Well, I am a professional woman who can buy her own drinks. Thank you.” I reach for the check, but he’s already slid in his card and handed it back. Man, was that a black AmEx? Probably made of solid gold and weighs a ton.

“If you’re not busy, and if you haven’t had too much, why not drink with me? For old times’ sake?” He gestures towards a private corner booth, lush leather seats and gleaming white linen tablecloth. “There’s so much to catch up on, Emma.”

My name on Gavin’s lips sounds crisp, like the first bite of an apple. From Fraser, it sounds husky and sensual, instantly making me think of candlelight and silk sheets. And that means I have to get my head examined, because as I said before, Fraser Drake was the least sexy boy when we were growing up. All elbows and knees and khaki pleats and debate club and…and…

Boy, has he filled out and made it work.

One drink. Then you can cure whatever weird craving you have for this guy, Emma. Because he’s still a giant douchebag, and he’s still Justin’s friend who shoved you in a closet that one time.

Or was it that he hid in a closet because he couldn’t stand you anymore?

Either way, a closet was involved.

“All right. One drink. Sounds good.” As he leads me to the booth, I hold up a hand. “But this time, I pay.”

“Oh, I’m not sure we can allow that.” He slides into the booth with ease. “There might be some wrestling when the check comes.”

Put aside how much I’d like to wrestle Fraser right now, sans clothes, and I instantly feel better. He’s still a controlling, patronizing douche. By the end of this evening, I’m going to be cured of my sudden, inappropriate Fraser Drake thoughts once and for all.

At least, I hope I will.