I was hitting a brick wall. No. A brick wall was practically a feather pillow compared to the wall that I was hitting. This was a marble wall, no, a diamond wall, hell, this was a wall made of some super hard experimental carbon fiber. And I was running into it again and again.

I knew the social responsibility angle was the way to go, but I just couldn’t make the copy sing. I had to make the customers fall in love with the company, not bog them down in a history lesson.

Knox has a long proud history of—

No, no, it was crap, it was all crap, everything I had ever written was crap.

I couldn’t let Hunter down like this.

Hey, bro, you hear about Knox? They’re pretty dope, ‘cause—

Even worse. Fucking terrible. I sounded like a ‘Don’t Do Drugs’ video written by a fifty-year-old man.

Maybe statistics would save me.

Compared to liquor companies of a comparable size, Knox has donated a quantitatively larger percentage to charities and nonprofits—

“Dammit!” I threw my pencil against the library wall and glared at the book. If it wasn’t so old that it was worth more than my entire apartment, it would’ve been getting the same treatment.

I needed a preliminary campaign by the end of the week, and I was going around in circles. Knowing how high the stakes were for Hunter wasn’t helping. There was so much riding on this for both of us.

But apparently the universe thought I needed a reminder of that, because just then my phone rang. It was my boss.

“Just calling to check in,” he said breezily. I could hear seagulls in the background. Was he calling me from his yacht? He was definitely calling me from his yacht. “How’s it going?”

“Great! Everything’s falling into place; I’m on the right track.” It wasn’t really a lie, was it? It was just a little…chronologically misplaced. I’d totally be on the right track by the end of the day, and what my boss didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“Wonderful,” he said. There was a little slurping sound. Probably downing champagne. “Do you need any help? This is your first big rodeo after all.”

“Nope, I’m good!”

“Are you sure? Harry Blackstone and his boys just wrapped up a beaut of a project for Mammoth Tire Company, under time, under budget, and the numbers we got coming in—wow! Those guys are definitely looking at some big Christmas bonuses. I could fly them down, have them oversee your thing, give you a few pointers.”

“No, I’m fine!” I tried not to sound desperate, but the pitch of my voice sounded like it had risen at least an octave.

“Uh-huh.” I couldn’t tell if he was buying it, but his voice took on a warning tone. “I went out on a limb for you on this one, Allison. Lotta guys on the board didn’t think you were ready. Don’t be ashamed to ask for help if you need it.”

“I will!”

“Well, all right. Long as you don’t let us down.”

“I won’t, I promise!”

After a few meaningless pleasantries that left my memory as soon as we made them, I ended the call and tried to return to work. But suddenly, all my notes might as well have been written in Sanskrit.

So much was riding on all this…what if I failed?

I looked out the window, at the beautiful expanse of green and gold and blue.

Maybe a walk would clear my head.

* * *

“Ally!”

Hadn’t even made it to the front door of the manor house when I heard Martha calling my name. I caught up to where she was leaning across a car in the driveway and frowned, uncertain for a second why she looked strange to me before the answer came to my wearied mind.

When I’d first seen her, she’d been dressed professionally, with black slacks, a white button down blouse, and her curls pulled back into a ponytail. Now she was in lace-up boots, a short skirt, and a red tank top that showed off her figure to great advantage without quite crossing the line into trashy. Her hair was done all nice too, in soft waves that spilled across her shoulders, and her nails were painted. She was even wearing a few pieces of simple sterling silver jewelry.

“Hot date?” I asked.

“More like an investment in a future hot date,” Martha said with a toss of her hair. “My cousin wrangled me an invite to a frat party, and I figure I can dazzle a few tasty college boys with a look at a real woman.”

“Well, I wish you the best of luck,” I told her, while privately thinking, better her than me. I’d had enough of frats in college, and the last thing I wanted was to have to revisit those inebriated—

Wait a minute.

The college market was the one demographic we were missing out on, big-time. Maybe the reason all my copy was falling flat was because I was too out of touch. Maybe if I saw our potential customers in person, I’d have a better idea what to aim for.

“Could I—” I hesitated, uncertain, then charged ahead. “Could I come with you?”

“Really? Sure! But—” She eyed me. “Want to change first?”

I looked down at my ratty T-shirt and baggy jeans, chosen for this walk because they were the most comfortable thing to have an anxiety attack in. Definitely not my most seductive combo, but then, I wasn’t looking to get laid tonight. “Nah, I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry I led you to believe that was a question and not a command,” Martha said, holding the door for me. “If you don’t have anything good, we’ll hit the mall first. We’re taking the Rolls Royce—Mr. Knox lets me use it for emergencies, and believe me, the state of that outfit definitely qualifies as a disaster.”

* * *

The first few minutes of the drive were spent trying to not scream as I clutched at the seat with white knuckles, Martha laughing maniacally as she gunned the engine.

“Are you trying to exceed the speed of light?” I shouted.

“Hey, if I can time-travel to the start of this party, it just increases the size of my future man-harem. You think I should stop at seven? I’m thinking I could handle nine, but I don’t want anyone to get jealous. Sooo boring.” She laughed wildly, and leaned on the gas pedal.

I hung on for dear life, mouthing prayers to baby Jesus.

Once we got to the interstate, Martha slowed down to something approaching the speed limit and turned down the country music blaring from the speakers. Carrie Underwood’s voice dwindled down to almost nothing as Martha turned to me. “So, how’s work?”

“Ugh,” I said. “Like slamming my face into a shark, but less rewarding.”

Martha laughed, and patted my knee. “Oh, you poor thing.”

“I’m hoping going out tonight will jar something loose,” I said. Maybe I shouldn’t have been confiding so much in Hunter Knox’s assistant, but she was just so laid back, so real, so easy to talk to. Also, the near-death experience of her driving was making me want to get some things off my chest. “Help some of the things rattling around my brain connect, spark something.”

“Speaking of sparks, you and Mr. Knox…” Martha started with a sly smile.

“He told you about that?” I blurted. “It was just the one time, I swear—”

Martha’s eyes widened. “Holy moly, girl, you mean you actually cracked old Stoneface?”

Well, the cat was out of the bag now. I took a deep breath. “One time, like I said. Before I got this job. Before I even knew he was the one who could get me this job.”

“And that’s the reason why you haven’t been making any more moves on him?” She cocked an eyebrow at me, paying an alarmingly low amount of attention to the road. “Girl, your reasoning is flawed. Have you seen that ass? Ain’t no amount of corporate ethics worth passing up that ass.”

I admitted that I had indeed seen that ass, and it was a fine ass indeed. “But I can’t get caught up in some relationship drama. This is my first real big chance to prove myself at work. And he’s got worries of his own; he doesn’t need me mooning around over him. Plus, it was nothing. Just a random hook-up. No big deal.” My attempt at sounding nonchalant fell flat. I’ve always been a bad liar.

“Right.” Martha rolled her eyes. “Look, I can tell he’s into you. I’ve never seen him light up the way he does when anyone mentions your name. And Hunter’s into all that noble ‘proving yourself’ bullshit too. But you’re like the ‘play’ to his all work. And he needs that. So if you ask me, I’d say you two are made for each other.”

I was barely listening to her rattle on, because my mind was stuck on one thing that just didn’t make sense. “Wait a second, Martha. What’s with the ‘proving yourself’ thing? He’s Hunter Knox. What’s he got to prove?” I asked.

“Are you kidding me?” Martha took a hand away from the wheel to gesture, and I struggled to focus on her words instead of on my imminent death as the car swerved slightly. “He spent a couple years after college trying to set up his own business, and it tanked, and Chuck and all the rest of those assholes on the board have never let him forget it. They treat him like a total loser, like everything he touches is going to blow up. Never mind that since then he’s actually brought profits up across the board for Knox and gotten up one of the highest employee satisfaction ratings in the country. Never mind how many times he gets on the cover of Forbes or is asked to advise on a government think tank. Nope, who cares about that stuff? For Chuck it’s just a broken record of that one failure, over and over and over again!”

She was practically shouting as she got to the end of the sentence, and she struck the horn angrily as she finished, confusing the hell out of the guy in the pick-up in front of us.

I regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re really loyal to him, huh?”

Martha’s face was serious as she nodded. She took a deep breath, and went on more calmly. “He took a chance on me. My last job before this…I messed up. I messed up bad. My no-good drunk of a dad had cleaned out my savings, and I was barely scraping by, and my boss…he left a bunch of jewelry in his desk, in an open drawer. I saw it, and I thought about all the times he groped my ass or yelled at me for dumb mistakes, and I thought…well, I thought, this is compensation, you know?”

She shook her head, as if trying to shake the memory from it.

“I’m not judging,” I told her.

Martha went on. “After I got fired, Hunter looked me up. Said he’d always thought I seemed like a good employee and he wanted to hear my side of the story, and after he did, he gave me a job. Good pay, good benefits, he doesn’t get handsy, and he trusts me. Lets me handle things. And I do.”

“I’m sorry it’s been rough,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. My job experience didn’t look half so bad compared to hers.

Martha shook her head, rejecting my pity. “It’s in the past. And I’ve always been a present girl, myself.” We peeled into the parking lot of an outlet mall. Martha grinned wide. “And speaking of presents, let’s get you looking like something these boys can’t wait to unwrap…”

* * *

“Yo, babe, can I top you up?” A young man with more muscles than hand-eye coordination waved a bottle of vodka at me. I was honestly impressed that he was still on his feet.

“I’ll stick to punch, thanks,” I said, taking a sip from my half-full cup. Tonight’s research only involved alcohol at a remove, which was a good thing—I was not looking forward to repeating my last drunken experience with any of these immature dudebros. Or any of my drunken college experiences, come to that.

I winced at the blurry memory of several different parties; there was that time when I vomited green puke all over my closet on St. Patrick’s Day and woke up in the bathtub, that time I confessed my love to a stoner guitar player who stopped me in the middle to tell me he didn’t even know my name, that time I accidentally made out with a former professor and then started crying when he said he was married—

Yeah, no alcohol was definitely the way to go tonight.

I looked around, trying to observe drinkers in their natural habitat. What do twentysomething dudes want? Let’s see, there was a dreadlocked guy leaning into a blonde’s personal space, a clean-shaven polo player topping up a redhead’s drink, a sloppy drunk bearded hipster trying to hug a brunette and toppling onto the couch instead—

Okay, let me rephrase that: what do twentysomething dudes want besides sex?

I looked deeper. Dreadlocked guy had a shirt with Bob Marley and an inspiration quote on it. The polo player was plying the redhead not just with alcohol but with Maya Angelou quotes. And from the couch, the bearded hipster was protesting that he’d totally had the brunette’s back at that march last weekend when some scumball tried to make off with her purse.

Underneath the hormones and bravado, these were just kids. Kids who wanted to belong, and make a difference, but were afraid to go looking for something on their own.

But I could show them the way.

And just like that, I knew exactly what the new tagline for Knox needed to be.

I stood, eager to find Martha so that I could get back to my little guesthouse desk and start writing all of this down.

Unfortunately, as I stood, the surface of the Earth decided to take up waltzing.

Shit. The punch hadn’t been nonalcoholic after all.

I never should have trusted that douchewaffle trying to bring the seventies porn mustache back. That had been the most untrustworthy facial hair I had ever seen. You just knew his whole life was going to be a series of increasingly terrible decisions. And I thought it had tasted a bit off. Crap.

I wandered through the house, trying to keep my legs steady as the walls spun around like a teacup ride. My eyes refused to focus properly on the faces of the people I passed—they were doing all they could to keep track of up vs. down—and I couldn’t see Martha anywhere. Damn, whatever had been in that drink was strong.

I pulled up a cab number on my phone before remembering that it was for a company in D.C. Damn, I wished I could afford a smart phone! One Google search and it’d be problem solved. I eyed the iPhone in a rich frat guy’s hand, but didn’t approach him. Considering these guys’ track record with the punch, a request for a cab company number would probably get me the digits of a crack house.

Still…asking someone for help wasn’t a bad idea. I scrolled down to the number for the manor house. I hated to get one of the servants up out of bed, but they could fire up a computer and get me a cab number, and I’d get them something nice in thanks.

But it wasn’t one of the servants who answered.

“Hello?”

Hunter. I almost hung up.

“Hello?” he asked again. There was a pause—he must have been looking at the Caller ID. “Ally, where in the world are you? We’ve been worried sick.”

A silly grin spread itself out over my face before I realized what I was doing. Why should I care if he was worried about me? He was strictly off-limits.

But that grin wasn’t going away.

I leaned into the wall, my eyes sliding shut as I imagined leaning into his arms.

“Did you miss me?” I teased. Shit, was I slurring? I tried to focus, make my words come out crisp and clear. “There was a, a party. Martha. Martha party. At a frat.”

Hunter sighed, a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Of course there was. I know exactly where you mean. I’m on my way.”

“No, I didn’t mean, I just wanted—”

But he had already hung up.

Well, I guessed that meant Prince Charming was on his way in his carriage, whether I liked it or not.

* * *

“Well, this is a new side of you,” Hunter said, eyeing me up and down. His voice was tight—almost…angry? “And here I was, thinking you were a pure professional.”

“Well, I’m not onna—on the clock, am I?” I snapped back, embarrassed. I could feel my blush burning my cheeks as I became even more aware of the short plaid skirt, kitten heels, and low-cut red blouse that Martha had talked me into purchasing at the mall en route. “Is it a crime to wear nice things?”

“Depends on who you’re wearing them for,” he growled, sending a look at a nearby frat guy that was pure poison. Frat guy had been coming forward proffering a drink; he back-pedaled like a mouse who’d just seen a lion.

“Didn’t realize you were CEO of my wardrobe too,” I grumbled. Who was he to comment on my outfits? Just because we’d slept together once didn’t mean he owned me. “Look, if you’re taking me home, take me home.”

I tried to stand, and Hunter grabbed my arm to keep me from falling, walking me gently to his car. I leaned into him, savoring his solidity, his strength.

The feel of his hands on me made it very difficult to remember why I was angry at him.

He helpfully reminded me. “I don’t understand why you’re here to be taken home in the first place.” His voice was a tightly wound spring, emotions I couldn’t quite grasp bottled up under pressure. “After what happened last time, I would have thought you’d swear off ‘research’ of this nature.”

I fumbled at the door handle to the car, my face flushed with drink and embarrassment. “For your infor—infor—informayshun, I wasn’ planning to drink at all.” I flopped onto the car seat, nearly strangling myself with the seatbelt. “Dammit! Shit. I’m fine, just—” I waved away his assistance, buckling myself in with only a few dozen fumbles. “Some asshole spiked the punch.”

“Well, that explains why you’re currently walking as if your legs are made of Jell-O,” Hunter said. “It doesn’t explain why you’re here in the first place.”

“I was doing more research,” I admitted as he started the engine. “Just on the demo—dem—the graphic thing. Not booze.”

I expected him to give me more of a hard time, but he just nodded, tight-lipped. Then: “Did it work?”

I thought of that tagline again, and grinned. “Oh yeah.”

I thought I saw Hunter smile, just a bit, his shoulders relaxing, before he pulled out of the driveway.

The cicadas sang almost as loud as the engine as we flew along the highway. I watched the horizon to keep from getting carsick, silhouettes of dark hills and moss-laden trees and kudzu along a deep sky backlit by the lights of the city that drew dimmer and dimmer as we left civilization.

“Over the river and through the woods…” I murmured.

“To Grandmother’s house we go,” Hunter finished dryly. “Seeing as we’re heading to my house, I can only draw the conclusion that I’m the grandmother.”

“Oh please,” I said, turning to him and contemplating his profile with a lazy grin. I laid my hand on his leg, up on his thigh. Hey, I was drunk. And it was a nice thigh. “Like you could be anything but the big, bad wolf.”

He swallowed, hard.

There was a forced lightness in his tone as he said, “I take it you think I should get a haircut.”

“Don’t you dare.” I shook my other finger at him. “You stay shaggy, Mr. Sexy Wolf.”

I never knew someone could choke on air before.

When Hunter had regained his composure—and I had stopped giggling—well, mostly stopped, I was still giggling a little bit, I find it very hard to stop giggling when I’m tipsy—he went on. “I’m surprised Martha didn’t find you a gigolo before she went off to cultivate her harem.”

“Puh-lease!” I scoffed. “They’re babies. Big hairy whiny drunk babies. Oh wow. I think I just made babies terrifying. Just…giant babies. Hairy. Wow.”

Hunter returned my hand to my own lap, his hand lingering just a second to pat my knee. “You just sleep that off there, darling,” he drawled in that smooth-as-honey accent.

My eyes were feeling kind of heavy…I leaned back into the leather seat and giggled one final time.

* * *

“Ally. Ally, wake up.”

I moaned fretfully, and opened my eyes. I was compensated for this Herculean labor by the sight of Hunter’s handsome face only inches from mine.

Thankfully, before I could drunkenly decide to kiss him, he pulled away. “We’re home.”

“Oh,” I said, standing. Yep, it was a good thing he had pulled away. I wasn’t disappointed. At all.

Unfortunately, the drive hadn’t been near long enough for me to have sobered up. The second I stood, the lavish grounds of the Knox plantation set themselves a-spinning, and I stumbled.

Hunter caught my arm. “Allow me.”

Heat coursed through my veins at the touch of his strong hands on my bare skin. He was holding me upright, holding me safe…his hands were so callused, and yet so gentle…

He was looking at me so earnestly with those deep dark eyes, shot through with pure gold…

“You don’t have to,” I mumbled, half-heartedly pulling away.

His grip stayed firm, and he smiled, his expression as gentle as his touch. “I do if I want to save my company.” The smile widened, mischievous. “After all, you can’t explain your brilliant strategy from beyond the grave.”

I stumbled on the gravel as if to prove his point. He chuckled under his breath, and then he swept me off my feet.

Literally.

I considered making another protest, but his chest was really comfortable, and he smelled really nice. Protests were overruled in favor of snuggling back into his warm arms and giving out a little sigh.

“Comfortable?”

“Very.”

Oh, he did smell so nice, though. Only this annoying shirt was in the way. If I could just reach over and undo those buttons…

No, no, no! Bad drunk Ally! No groping! I snatched my hand away before it could do more than awkwardly wave through the air, and tried to distract myself with snark.

“You carry all the girls you meet over the threshold?” I asked as we came to the guesthouse.

Oh no, that was a terrible choice, much too wedding-themed, much too romantic—

“Only the ones with the best research methods.” His voice was honey and bourbon and caramel, warm breath on my ear, a comforting vibration against my skin.

“Yeah, you liked it last time, didn’t you?” I teased. I nuzzled against his shirt, and lost myself in the texture. “I wish I could’ve shown you how much I liked it too. Wish I could still show you. I wish that all the time.”

I felt him start against me. This was it. This was the moment of truth. Would he respond? Would he kiss me? Would he?

He walked quickly through the door of the guesthouse and set me on my chair. He was about to go but I reached up, caressing his cheek.

His eyes closed, like a contented cat. He sighed. “Ally…”

“Want to show you so much,” I murmured. I let my hand wander down his neck, trailing my fingers above his collarbone.

He swallowed, hard.

“I still remember how your lips taste,” I said. I ran my finger over them. His tongue flicked out, tasting the skin there, and I was undone.

I leaned forward, pressing my lips against his. Oh, nothing had changed, still that tang of honey, still that softness of his lips and the rasp of his stubbled cheek, still the way he kissed me back gently at first and then greedily, as if I were water and he were lost in a desert, as if I were water and he wanted to drown.

My hands were on the buttons of his shirt, clumsy but determined to uncover his tanned skin, and his hands had found my breasts, kneading them with a sweet urgency that made me gasp into his mouth, and push against him.

I wanted nothing more than this, nothing more than him—

And then he pulled away with a groan.

I reached for him, dismayed. “Hunter—”

“Ally, I can’t,” he said softly. “You’re drunk.”

“But—” I protested.

He laid his fingers over my lips and I found I could think of no more words, only of him. I begged him with my eyes not to leave.

“Professionalism, right?” he reminded me.

I nodded glumly, trying to formulate a reasonable rebuttal, but my brain couldn’t come up with anything fast enough.

And then he left.

Well, shit.