My hands clenched the wheel and my pulse quickened as I looked at the woman sitting next to me.

Harley Phillips was breathtakingly beautiful. Her skin was drenched in a sunny tan, and her hair flowed down her back in beachy-blond waves. She was tall and supple, with perfect, sensual curves. She looked like a mermaid who was somehow able to walk on land; it didn’t hurt that her blue eyes were like the stormy waters of the ocean.

So, yes, I was physically attracted to her, but the pull ran deeper than that. She was clever, plain-spoken, and clearly a hard worker. I’d had time to pull some company reports earlier in the day and examine what her supervisors said of her work ethic in annual write-ups—all were glowing to a nearly fantastical degree, consistently saying that she was the first to arrive and last to leave.

How she managed that, on top of being a single mom, I couldn’t even begin to fathom. I suspected, with some embarrassment, that she worked harder than I did.

Perhaps the most shocking part was that I felt comfortable with her. As we sat side by side in the car, I realized that her presence wasn’t raising the hairs on my skin, or causing me to instinctively lean away. I’m not socially awkward—far from it—but in my dating life, everyone seemed to have ulterior motives. While I may have been ready for a serious relationship, the women in my life hadn’t exactly provided the opportunity.

Not that I blamed them, per se; most of my other loaded friends or acquaintances had trophy wives and husbands. There was a low-lying implication that I ought to have one as well.

But I wanted a woman who liked me for me—that meant the billionaire investor, and the quiet, creative inventor. Could my extreme duality ever fit within a single relationship? Up until now, I’d imagined it was impossible, but Harley was making me reassess some things.

This newfound comfort was what gave me the confidence to say, “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” she replied breezily.

“Do you think I’m a dick?”

The question hung in the air, and I worried that I’d asked too much of her. After all, I was technically her boss. Either she told the truth and risked getting in trouble, or lied and was dinged for being dishonest.

I hastened to reassure her, “I’m not asking as your boss, but as your…”

“Friend?” she supplied.

“Yes,” I nodded, smiling. “Your friend.”

“Why do you ask?” she inquired.

“Well,” I began, “the babies from the other day. Not Levi, of course, but the ones who came before him. I suppose you didn’t see it, but you’ll have to take my word that they all instantly cried when I held them.”

I broke off, suddenly aware of just how silly I sounded. A grown man, worrying about the opinions of one-year-olds. Did this make me seem pathetic? Suddenly, I didn’t care. I wanted to hear a real, honest answer from Harley’s lips.

“I just,” I continued, “I want to know if that’s how everyone perceives me, as some kind of—I don’t know—coldhearted ogre. Am I…am I hated? I know I can be a tough man to work with, but the thought of being despised…I mean, that’s not what I wanted. I just wanted to make baby products, and create a successful business, and improve the world in the little way that I could.”

I came to an abrupt stop, feverishly aware that I was rambling.

Harley was dead silent, and I felt the blood drain from my face.

“You don’t have to answer,” I said quietly, beginning to re-erect the walls I’d so carefully constructed around myself to protect my ego from harm. “It’s a loaded question, I know.”

The silence was deafening.

Just when I thought that she was about to change the subject to something harmless and casual, thus firmly defining the boundaries between us, she replied, “The man I spent the evening with isn’t somebody that people could hate.”

She turned to me, her eyes boring into mine as she continued, “You were kind, considerate, warm. Charming—though, of course, you’re always charming. What I’m saying is…I think I saw the person you really are. Would you say that’s true?”

I hesitated, then whispered, “Yes, Harley. I believe you did.”

“In that case,” she went on, “why don’t people that side of you? It’s so…so—God, this sounds cheesy—but it’s pure, and good. You have this passionate but sincere interest in the world around you, which is more than I can say for most men, or most people, even. I wonder if maybe you’re just afraid to show people how much you care, if you’re worried that the depth of your emotions would scare them off.”

My breath hitched in my throat. Jesus. She had no idea how close to the mark she’d hit. Her every word nailed itself into my heart.

Thank goodness the car was stopped at a red light, or the pounding in my chest might have caused me to veer out of the lane. I was totally powerless under her steady observation, and I wasn’t accustomed to ceding control.

I was about to reply, but that’s when I saw the gun pressed to my window.