“Things really took off this past week, haven’t they, Mr. Lahti?”

Glancing over at the administrator I hired three weeks ago, I nodded. Frederick Leiu had a face that made him seem far younger than he was and a warm, humorous attitude that had made him stand out from every other person I interviewed for the position. He also had an outstanding resumé.

I had no doubt the facility I hired him away from was pissed that I’d gotten my hands on him. I intended to do everything in my power to keep him, which was why his contract said that we were entitled to counter any offer he received. He wouldn’t be obligated to accept our offer, of course, but I liked having the option.

I’d given him a lot of incentive to change jobs, and he was definitely earning every penny. The Monday following our dinner at Didi’s, Sondra had met with him to discuss some things he needed to do, and in just a week, he’d managed to fill almost every position, and gotten many of them to agree to starting the week of Thanksgiving.

“It will be moving at top speed from here on out,” I said, pulling my phone out to check the schedule. “How many people will be here for orientation today?”

“Roughly half.” He blew out a breath, then absently stroked the neat goatee that framed his mouth. “With the rest, it’s their current jobs, as I’m sure you understand. Nobody wants to just walk out and leave their employers in a lurch, or the people they care for. It’s the nature of the business. Some didn’t feel comfortable counting the week of Thanksgiving as part of their two-week notice.”

I nodded. I understood, but it was another hold-up. “What’s the outlook?”

“With orientation this week, about forty percent can start next week. The rest won’t be in until two weeks from today. Some of that group are willing to come in for a few hours in the evenings next week if they’re compensated for their time. They might even be willing to do this week if the price is right.”

Fred gave me a direct look. I liked that about him. He didn’t dance around things. Not even the issue of money.

I knew the people I’d hired for the clinic weren’t just doing this to fill some void inside them. They wanted to help people, but they also needed to pay bills, feed families. Fred had been very blunt when he explained that he’d not only advocate for the clients we took on, but for the caretakers as well. The quickest way to undermine the work, he explained, was to undervalue the people hired to care for the clients.

That all-encompassing way of thinking hadn’t just made me hire him. It’d made me trust his intentions.

I nodded. “If they’re willing to come in next week, they’ll be compensated. Perhaps three hours, three nights a week. I’ll offer a bonus, and meals will be provided. Make sure the new hires who come in this week are giving a signing bonus if they’re on time and don’t miss any of the orientation.”

“Excellent.” The broad smile communicated his satisfaction, and we both went back to watching the state of organized chaos taking place below us in the atrium. As they came in, people were being sorted into their various departments – direct client care, support staff, counseling, human resources…

“Ah, there she is.”

“Who?” I asked absently as I tried to picture how this would look when everything was running.

The atrium would be ideal for family visits or for when those with high enough privileges just wanted to sit down and enjoy the sun or read a book somewhere with a bigger air of freedom than the more locked-down sitting room. I hadn’t quite understood the privilege system that had been outlined when I first set out to make this into a reality, but the team of therapists, psychologists, behaviorists, and a whole lot of other -ists had enough experience that I trusted their judgment.

Incoming clients, especially those in immediate danger, needed a lot of structure – limited time with family, limited phone calls, that sort of thing. Once they were no longer in danger of hurting themselves or others or had been clean for a certain amount of time, they could start earning privileges.

“The HR woman who’s responsible for sending reports to Senator Thatcher.” He gestured down into the people flowing through the atrium. “Imogene Traore.”

Before I could ask him to point her out specifically, someone caught my eye. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Then she shifted, and the woman at her side came into view.

No. Fucking. Way.

I muttered something to that same effect.

“What’s wrong?” Fred asked.

“What…no, nothing. Excuse me.” I nodded at him, my mind racing. What was she doing here? I’d gone over the name of every employee hired, and while I didn’t have faces to go with names yet, I sure as hell would’ve remembered the name Astra since the little mermaid had been on my mind more than I cared to admit.

I jogged down the steps, cutting through the flow of people, my eyes on the taller, dark-haired woman I first saw because she was easier to spot in the crowd. I reached them just as they found the human resources section.

The man at the desk repeated the same questions he’d asked everyone else in line. “And what’s your name, ma’am?”

“Piety Hastings.”

That was why she looked familiar. And as I put a name with a face, I remembered her resumé. A resumé that had contained her maiden name. Congressman Van Allen’s daughter had gotten married not too long ago. Married name: Hastings.

But her name and why she was here wasn’t as important as that same information about the brunette next to her.

And I’d been right. Those curls were anything but a boring shade of brown.

“Astra Traore,” she said with a sigh. She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Do I need to spell it?”

Traore? I’d just heard that name, hadn’t I? But where – shit.

“Right,” she said suddenly, “It’d probably be under my legal name. Imogene Traore.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never liked my first name.”

Imogene Traore.

Shit.

Not good. She was the new HR manager responsible for sending the senator progress reports, which meant this flighty mermaid held the future of my facility in her hands. How in the hell had this happened? I stepped to her side and caught Astra’s arm, just above the elbow.

She turned, mouth already open like she was going to say something witty. Her jaw snapped shut the moment she recognized me. Before she could say a word, I spoke.

“Excuse us, please, I need to speak with Ms. Traore.”

I took a step, but she didn’t walk with me until I gave a none-too-gentle tug.

“Wow, rude much?” she demanded from behind, jerking against my grip. “Who in the hell is in charge here? I need to have a word with him.”

I pulled her into the nearest room, which happened to be a small conference area. Shutting the door, I let go of her arm and turned to face her. “I’m in charge, and you can have a few words with me after you answer a few of my questions. Like what in the hell you’re doing here.”

Her mouth opened. Then closed. Finally, she planted her hands on her hips, giving me a lofty look. “I’m here to work. Shouldn’t you know that since you hired me?”

“No.” Shaking my head, I crossed my arms over my chest. “No, I did not.”

She mirrored my stance, highlighting her ample chest, and I tried to ignore it. “Well, somebody received my resumé and offered me a job in human resources.”

“A job that includes reporting to Senator Thatcher.” I glowered down at her.

Astra’s mouth tightened. “My best friend’s father is a congressman. My parents and their families have moved in all the same social circles as some of Washington’s biggest politicians. I know my way around them.”

That information didn’t exactly endear her to me.

“I’m here to work.” She planted her hands on her hips.

“You?” I stared her down. “Just how are you ready to work? Are you going to dress up like a mermaid when you do your interviews and write your reports?”

The second I said it, I wish I hadn’t.

But she just laughed, those gorgeous gray eyes going from iron to sparkling. “Unless it’s a costume party, why would I dress up like a mermaid?”

A hot flush crept up my neck. She was right, and I was an idiot.

“I’m sorry,” I said flatly. “That was uncalled for. But this is a serious job. Are you aware of that? A serious job. With real life implications and real life consequences.”

What she said about her family finally clicked. She hadn’t just been heading that fundraiser. She was from one of the old money families who were part of that crowd. It was no wonder she’d seemed so comfortable around all of them.

“Are you even qualified to do this?” I asked.

“Are you?” She arched an eyebrow at me, tilting her head. “Because I would think that whoever hired me had read my resumé and done the research before I was offered a job.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That doesn’t answer my question. What kind of experience do you have? You know, you need to know more than how to plan a party and raise money to do this sort of thing.”

She frowned at me. “Somebody should teach you some manners.” She sniffed and turned on her heel. “If you want to know what kind of experience I have, go find my resumé and job application. You’re the boss. You should have access to it. Until then, I have a job to do.”

With that, she turned around and left the conference room.

She didn’t storm out though. Of course not. She moved with that insane grace, like she was a poem in motion–

“Shit,” I muttered, shaking my head.

I didn’t like how I sounded, how I was thinking. I never had thoughts like this.

Well, no. That wasn’t entirely true.

I had once.

Back when I was falling for a woman.

But that wasn’t happening now.

The door shut with a decisive click, and it jolted me out of my half-disgusted, half-terrified state.

I couldn’t be falling for Astra.

I’d met her once. Okay, today made twice.

But I couldn’t be falling for her.

It would be a complete, total nightmare.

It would be inconvenient.

Even if I hadn’t been able to forget the kiss we shared. On second thought, it would be inconvenient for exactly that reason.

“Stop it,” I muttered. Scrubbing my hands across my eyes, I started for the door.

I needed to stop thinking about her, find ways to avoid her. Or maybe not. She’d caught my attention. Once I figured out why, I’d lose interest. Or I’d learn that she wasn’t as interesting as I first thought.

That was what I needed to remember.

But as I left the conference room, my attention wasn’t on how I’d make myself lose interest in Astra. It was more on how her ass looked in that skirt. How she’d smiled at total strangers.

And how she hadn’t smiled at me.