Perfectly idiotic. Perfectly nerve-wracking. That’s how I feel about my weekend plans by the time Jack is supposed to pick me up Saturday morning. I glare at my packed weekender bag as if it’s somehow to blame. It’s definitely full to bursting. I had no idea what to pack, even with an emergency intervention from Tessa.

“Think like a Girl Scout,” she instructs me, laying out outfits.

“Eat cookies?”

“Prepare for every outcome!”

Which is why I have a bag packed with hiking boots and a black cocktail dress—and which won’t shut, no matter how hard I sit on it.

It’s just two days, I tell myself. You can keep your hands off him for that long. And it was his idea.

Besides, maybe up close, I’ll discover all his gross man-habits that will wreck my burning desire for good. Like leaving the toilet seat up, or burping after every meal, or—

Who am I kidding? Jack Callahan probably burps sexily.

My phone chimes. A text from Jack. Your chariot awaits.

Oh, God. Here we go. I grab my suitcase and my laptop bag and hustle downstairs. Jack is lounging in the driver’s seat of his vintage convertible. He’s dressed in jeans and a simple navy sweater, and it doesn’t look as if he’s been stressing about this weekend at all. It’s really not fair. He smiles and comes around to load my suitcase in the back.

“You do know it’s just two days, right?” he asks, fake-straining under the weight.

My cheeks flush. “I like to be prepared.”

He chuckles. “It’s nice to know I have someone on hand who’s probably ready to deal with anything from an alien invasion to nuclear apocalypse.”

“I hope you’re not planning on inciting either of those this weekend.”

“Hmm. Not today.” He gives me an enigmatic grin and pulls away from the curb. “With your computer skills, I think you’d be the more likely culprit.”

“I promise not to end the world in the next two days,” I agree, settling back in my seat.

We head out of town, and the traffic is light for once. Everyone else must be sleeping off their turkey hangovers. It’s a smooth ride, and I can feel the engine’s horsepower thrumming through my seat. “Nice ride,” I remark, and he looks over.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a car enthusiast.”

“I’m not. But I know this must be a hellishly expensive vehicle.”

“Maybe.” Jack grins. “There are only five like her left still running. Jake tracked her down for me. How would you like to drive her?”

I glance from him to the car that’s obviously his baby. A tingle races over my skin at the idea, but . . . “Are you sure?”

“You’re McKenna the Ever-Prepared,” he says, his grin widening. “I think she’ll be safe with you. What I’m more concerned about is whether you can let loose and have fun with it.”

Okay, I’m up to that challenge. “You’re on.”

We pull over at the next gas station and trade seats. I haven’t driven much since moving to Manhattan, but I used to love zipping around Philly in the beat-up Beetle I’d scraped together the cash to buy. I can tell the second I start adjusting the sports car’s seat that it’s several large steps up from the old Beetle.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

I look at Jack again, and he just nods. He leans back in his seat, watching me. “Good to go?”

“Oh, yeah. I like cars a lot better than I like cliffs.”

I hit the gas, and the car zips forward. Wow, that does handle nicely. We roar onto the freeway. I let the car fly as fast as I figure I can get away with. It slips from one lane to another like butter. I let out a whoop, and Jack laughs.

“Thatta girl,” he says. I’m not sure whether he means the car or me. As long as I’ve got my hands on this wheel, I don’t really care.

Jack has enough faith in my driving to let me keep the wheel all the way to Montauk. He directs me off the highway and along the shore before we reach a long driveway that ends right by the beach. The house rears up in front of us, huge but rustic-looking, and way more understated than some of the fancy-pants mansions I caught glimpses of on our way here. There are faded brown shingles and a white trim, and a wooden swing hangs on a huge wraparound porch.

I step out of the car and inhale a breath of salty sea air. “It’s a gorgeous place,” I say.

“Wait until you see the inside.”

He isn’t lying. I stop in my tracks just inside the front hall, taking in the immense living room. Everything is rustic, bleached wood and beachy tones. A silky fur rug sprawls between the sofas. Beams crisscross the high ceiling. Jack heads to the big stonework fireplace and flicks on a gas flame.

“Not the most traditional fire,” he says. “But it saves an awful lot of time chopping wood.”

“Well, you’re not exactly a traditionalist, are you?”

“Only when it suits me. Here, you can pick your room.” He motions for me to follow.

He isn’t kidding about me being able to pick, either. The place has not one, not two, but three guest rooms. Makes that, guest suites. Since I’m the only one there, I figure I can take the largest of the three, which has a big window overlooking the ocean.

“Take your time getting settled in,” Jack says. “Consider the whole place yours for the weekend. Wi-Fi password is my phone number, but you should take a walk down by the beach, too. Brainstorm, whatever you need. I have a conference call in five minutes, but I’ll catch up with you after that.”

So he is actually planning on doing some work this weekend. He walks away, and I relax a little more. With a happy sigh, I flop down onto the four-poster bed.

Oh Lord, the softness of that down duvet. I have the urge to wrap myself in it and just cocoon for an hour or two. After all, this is a vacation. But after just ten minutes, I get restless. I jump up and unpack a little, hanging my things in a closet that smells like cedar. The room has its own private bathroom, all gleaming marble. Jack really goes all out for his guests. How many other women has he brought here?

Nope, not going to think about that. Anyway, this is different. I’m not a fling, I’m a colleague.

Laptop bag slung over my shoulder, I poke around the rest of the house, avoiding only the office where Jack’s voice carries faintly through the door. The kitchen would probably make Maggie drool. It’s all shimmering stainless steel and buffed countertops as far as the eye can see. There’s a dining room with a ten-seater mahogany table just off it.

On the other side of the living room, I find a sitting room that’s a little more cozy. I curl my legs up on one of the armchairs and pull out my laptop. The soothing crash of the ocean filters through the window. I could get used to working like this, that’s for sure.

I bring up our marketing plans and get to work, and before I know it, the afternoon passes me by. It’s after three when Jack makes an appearance. He leans against the doorframe, watching me with a smile. Something about that look sends a warm shiver over my skin.

“You’re looking comfortable. And I should have known I’d find you working already.”

“That was the plan, right?” I ask.

He chuckles. “I was thinking we’d start with the relaxing, and then take a look at what you’ve got tomorrow. Clear our heads before diving in. If that’s all right?”

He might have a point there. I haven’t stopped poking at these documents all week. I yawn and make myself close the laptop. “Okay. I think I can manage that.”

“Is there anything you need? It’s a bit remote out here, but I’ve got pretty much anything a person could desire on hand.”

Desire. That word wriggles under my skin even more than his look did. Suddenly I feel more hot than I can blame on the fireplace. My voice might come out a little squeaky when I say, “No, really, I’m totally good. Thank you. Maybe I’ll take a bit of a walk along the ocean.”

Cool down.

He nods. “We’ve got a nice stretch of beach here. I was thinking we could grab dinner in town tonight? There’s a place I quite like, nothing fancy, just down the waterfront.”

“That sounds great.”

“Good.” He grins. “It’s a date.”

---

It’s a date. Jack’s voice echoes in my head a couple hours later as I pace between my suitcase and the closet. I packed five different outfits for different occasions, thinking I’d be covered, but now that just means I have no idea which of them to wear. I make a face at the hanging dresses and grab my phone. Jill is always good for fashion advice.

“Mac!” she cries when she picks up. “How is the place? How is the man?”

I sigh. “Both gorgeous, unsurprisingly. He’s taking me out to dinner. I don’t know what to wear.”

“Oh, a classic dilemma. What exactly are you worried about?”

“Um . . . what I should wear?”

She laughs. “I mean, what effect are you trying to get? Let me put it more bluntly: Do you want to sleep with him tonight?”

My face flares. “Well, I mean, you know I want to, but—”

“Oh, no, no. No buts. You’ve got to go for it, Mac. The two of you all cozy in his beachside mansion? You’re never going to get a better chance.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to take that chance.”

Jill clicks her tongue. “Look. You’re not setting him up with anyone else from the app. He’s already invested. What reason have you got not to?”

I grimace. “I don’t know. General standards of professionalism?”

“Professionalism, smaressionalism. I want you wearing whatever piece of clothing shows off the most leg, cleavage, or preferably both. And that’s an order from a friend.”

I don’t feel all that much less conflicted when I hang up. But at least Jill has distilled the problem down to one simple question. Do you want to sleep with him?

I drape two different outfits on the bed and consider them. He said the restaurant wasn’t fancy. If I’m just going as a colleague, the jeans and casual black tank top would make the most sense. But I did also bring my little black bombshell dress, just in case Jack did have something fancy planned. It doesn’t exactly flaunt my assets, but it definitely makes it clear I have them.

I bite my lip. This is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

I pick the dress.