We made a deal. That’s what I tell myself the entire ride up the elevator to Wes’s office. Although I’d considered turning down Wes’s request to meet at this office, I’d ultimately decided it wasn’t exactly an unreasonable demand for a client to make. And besides, technically we were still abiding by the contract. We were meeting in a neutral territory, and we wouldn’t be doing anything but talking about work. There’d be no kissing, no funny business, hell, not even a lingering look. When you write something on a napkin, you mean business. That’s just common sense, right?

But none of my positive vibing stops me from having a mini heart attack when I reach the reception area and see Wes bent over Joyce’s desk as he points at something on her screen. He doesn’t spot me right away so I linger there, watching him. Admiring the strong line of his back as he bends and the way his jacket stretches around his bicep as he leans over the desk, gesturing at the computer. The way the tendons in his neck pulse, and the easy way his mouth ticks up into a grin at something that Joyce says. The way his gaze drifts up towards me, almost as if he can feel me there, and the way his eyes crinkle in pleasure when he notices me.

“Rori.” He stands up, straightening the dark blue jacket he’s wearing. I ignore the throb of desire that pulses through my body at the sight of him. Remember the napkin, I remind myself. The napkin that was your idea.

“Here I am,” I say stupidly.

“Yes. Here you are.” Oh God. Why do his eyes have to smolder that way? “Come on in.”

I nod curtly at Joyce, who glowers at me, and follow Wes into his office.

He closes the door behind us, then notices me hesitate.

“No funny business, I promise.” He crosses his hand over his heart as he sits down behind his desk. “I just don’t want us to be interrupted by Joyce’s constantly ringing phone.”

It seems reasonable enough, so I inch my way towards his desk. Wes watches me with an amused grin on his face.

“I don’t bite, Rori, I swear.”

“I know.” I glare at him but my face pinks up in embarrassment. I sink into the seat across from him and tell myself to pull it together. I’m here to work.

Wes steeples his fingers together. “So, Rori, what can I do for you?” His blue eyes are burning and my skin speckles with goosebumps.

A thousand answers to his question roll through my mind. All of them dirty.

Bend me over your desk.

Spread my knees.

Unzip your pants and whip your cock out so that I can devour it.

The amount I want those things, and the sudden intensity with which they hit me, nearly makes me slide out of the chair. A hot flush covers my body.

I squirm in my seat while Wes continues to regard me, grinning. Why does he always have to look so fucking composed?

“Did you get the resume I sent you?” I manage to stammer. “For my friend, Maria?”

He nods. “I forwarded it on to HR.”

“Did it look good? Do you think she has a chance?”

He shakes his head. “To be honest, I didn’t look too closely at it. I trust your judgement, so I told HR they should give it serious consideration.”

“Oh. You just … took my word for it?”

“Of course.”

“Oh,” I say again. I don’t know why that pleases me so much, but it does.

“Is that all you wanted?”

“No. Kyla and I were working on concepts for the recruitment phase, and one of the ideas we tossed around was to put together video testimonials from some of the early hires. Do you think your HR department will be moving fast enough for that to happen? Or should we shelve the idea for now?”

Wes taps his desk, thinking. “I like the idea. And yes, I think we should have at least a few people in place within a couple of weeks. I’ll give you the name of someone you can work with in our Human Resources department.”

“Great.”

“Great,” he echoes. He’s still staring at me in a way that makes my skin feel hot.

“See, we could have resolved this over the phone,” I point out. “It really didn’t require a meeting.”

“I know. But I like seeing you.”

“Oh.” I want to tell him he can’t say things like that because of our deal, but I can’t think of a specific point that it violates. After all, he didn’t touch me or kiss me or do anything inappropriate. The only thing inappropriate about it is the way it makes me feel. Because the way he makes me feel — the way my skin burns in his presence, the way my pulse races and my knees shake — might not be in direct violation of our agreement, but it definitely goes against the spirit of it.

I don’t have time to respond because at that moment, Wes’s phone gives off a very loud buzz.

He glances down at it and frowns.

“Sorry, Roar, just a sec.”

He grabs the phone and scrolls through it, still frowning. Somehow, even when he’s disgruntled about something, his face still looks handsome. It just makes him look more like the ruthless developer that the media like to portray him as — though the more time I spend with him, the more I wonder if all of that’s not a facade. Every time he calls me Roar, all I can see is the kid he used to be.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, as he scrolls through something on his screen.

He cranes his neck, stretching the muscles, which cord and tighten. “Oh, just this stupid thing I forgot I have to go to tomorrow. See, I’m trying to get into this country club...” He breaks off as he sees my smirk. “Don’t laugh. It’s not really my thing but it’s good for business. The problem is, they’re pretty old school there, which means they like old money. Blue blood types. Which I most definitely am not.”

That’s true, I muse. Wes Lake is most definitely a man of the red-blooded variety...

“Anyway, if you’re a slimy ‘new rich’ like I am, they put you through the wringer before they let you join. You need a sponsor, you need to attend a certain number of events, and so on. I’ve got a buddy who’s put my name up for consideration, but it turns out there’s some couples-night dinner I have to go to tomorrow night.” He groans. “Christ, that means I have to find a date too.”

“I’ll go with you.” The words are out of my mouth before I can even stop to consider the wisdom of them. What the fuck am I doing?

The way Wes’s eyebrows shoot up say he’s wondering the exact same thing.

“I thought we had a deal — no dates. Wasn’t that part of your little contract?”

“Yes. But this wouldn’t be a date. It would be one friend doing a favor for another friend.”

Good justification, Rori. So good I almost buy it myself.

Of course, the truth is that the thought of him going on a date with another woman was like a sucker punch to my gut. I might not want to go on a date with him myself, but I don’t want to think about him going out with anyone else either. And then the offer just tumbled out. If that makes me crazy then … well, yes, I’m crazy.

“A favor for a friend,” he muses.

“Exactly.” I shrug, like it’s no big deal, like I go to the country club with my ex-boyfriend practically every day of the week. “But I mean, if you don’t want me to go, that’s fine. I have a new episode of Scandal to catch up on tonight anyway.”

Oh good. Now he knows exactly how exciting my life outside of work is.

Wes shifts in his seat, still thinking. “You sure you’d be okay with this? I don’t think it’s really your kind of thing.”

“You think I can’t get dressed up for your fancy friends?” I glare. “I’ll have you know I can clean up just fine. I don’t always wear yoga pants, you know.”

“I happen to like your yoga pants. A lot,” he adds with a cocky grin. “And it’s not that I don’t think you’d clean up nice. It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s these people, Rori. They’re kind of —”

“Wes, if you don’t want me to go, just say so. I’m going to retract my offer in five, four, three —”

“Of course I want you to come,” he says hastily. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms and looking at me with a strange smile on his face, as if this game just suddenly got interesting. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Tomorrow night.”

“It’s a date.”

“I thought it was a favor for a friend,” he smirks.

“Figure of speech, Wes.” I roll my eyes. But inside, my stomach is rolling too, wondering what the hell I just did.

* * *

As soon as I get home that night, I know there’s only one person I want to talk to. I just pray I can catch her before she heads in to work for the day.

I go into my bedroom, close the door, hit the dial button, and then hold my breath and only let it out after she picks up.

“Great timing,” Celia announces, by way of greeting. “I just got off the phone with your mom.”

“You did?”

“Yes, we were going over the final details for the flowers.”

Right. I’d forgotten that my parents were doing the floral arrangements for Celia and Jace’s wedding. Not sure how I’d managed to forget; Mom has only been talking about it non-stop since Celia asked her.

“Oh yeah, how’s that going?”

“Good. Great, actually. She’s been sending me pictures and concepts and samples as she goes and I think everything is going to be perfect.”

“I’m glad.” Not surprised though. Mom has always had a great eye for this kind of thing. She and Dad run that business like it’s their fourth child. “How are the dress fittings going?”

“Amazing. Though I think I’ve gained five pounds in the last month thanks to stress eating, and it’s all going to my gut — if I gain any more, Bree is going to have to work some kind of magic. I know you can make dresses smaller, but I’m not sure it works so well in the other direction.”

I laugh. “Two words: empire waist.”

“Good idea. I’m going to suggest that to her.”

Celia’s friend Bree is a clothing designer, and had volunteered to make her dress for her. I was a little sad that we hadn’t gotten to do a trip to the bridal stores to try on a bunch of dresses, but I know it means a lot to Celia to have her circle of friends participating in her wedding. It’s why she’d asked my parents to do the flowers, after all, even though there are plenty of good florists in Ambleside, where Celia grew up and where the wedding is taking place.

“So what’s new with you?” she asks now. “How’s your favorite new client? Agreement still holding up?”

I can hear the sly grin in her voice. I had texted her about the contract I made Wes sign, so she knows full well that our relationship isn’t quite as platonic as I’ve been pretending it is.

“Oh, fine. Actually, get this — I’m going to the country club with him tomorrow.”

“What?!”

“I know,” I laugh. “Can you imagine me at a country club?”

“That’s not the crazy part. Are you telling me you’re going on a date with Wes, missy? Wasn’t that the whole point of your weirdo napkin deal?”

“It’s not a date,” I say hastily. I get an eerie sense of deja vu from my conversation with Wes earlier.

“Oh, so it’s a work thing? You have to go?”

“Well, not exactly, no…”

“I knew it.” She sounds way too smug.

“Honestly, Celia, it’s not like that. I’m doing him a favor. He needed someone to bring to this dinner thing with him.”

On the other end of the line, Celia squeals. I roll my eyes.

“Oh, this is perfect. I knew this was going to happen.”

“It’s really not like that,” I protest, but I know any argument I offer at this point is going to be ignored. Ever since Celia met Jace, she’s been convinced I’m one quirky encounter away from my own love story. Getting reacquainted with Wes plays into her narrative perfectly.

“Anyway, speaking of dates” Celia says, interrupting my train of thought and making me groan. “When I was talking to your mother, she mentioned you still didn’t have a date for the wedding.”

“Right. About that ...” When I got the invitation to the wedding a couple of months ago, I’d checked plus one in a fit of optimism. Celia had teased me about it at the time, but I’d taken it as a challenge. Things to do before the wedding: lose ten pounds and find a boyfriend. Unfortunately, I hadn’t made any progress on either front.

“Well, you know who you could ask, right?” There’s a playful note in her voice, and I know instantly who she means.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because. Just... no.”

“You’re doing him a favor and going to this country club thing. Why can’t he do you a favor and come to the wedding with you? Besides, I want to meet this famous Wes.”

“Because there’s a big difference between spending a couple of hours out in Westchester County versus an entire weekend in Connecticut.”

“Potatoes, potahtos,” she says. I can picture the way she’ll be grinning right now.

“No. We’re not going there. He’s my client.”

“Whose pants you want to get into.”

“Celia!”

“What? I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“No, but I know you. Better than you think, probably.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you get up in your own head too much. I’m sure it goes back to Wes and what he did to you back then — you think you were wrong about him, that he didn’t love you as much as you thought he did, and now you don’t trust yourself to ever be right. But Rori, what if he did? What if it’s always been Wes?”

Her words are slicing through me, but it’s her last question that pokes at my heart with an icy finger.

“I was wrong about him,” I say bitterly. “Because the person I thought he was — the person I loved — wouldn’t have just taken off like that. You’ve got to let go of this idea of that Wes is back in my life for a reason.”

“Have you ever asked him why he didn’t show up that night?”

I don’t answer because I know as soon as I admit that I haven’t, she’ll take that as some kind of proof that she’s right. But my silence is answer enough.

“Why don’t you just ask him?” she prods gently. “You never know, maybe there was a good reason. After all these years, don’t you owe it to yourself to find out?”

“Because I don’t want to know,” I spit. I realize as soon as the words are out of my mouth that it’s the truth. I was wrong about Wes all those years ago, and hearing him confirm it will only make it more real.

On the other end of the line, Celia sighs. “Okay. I’m not going to push you. I just think that if you had to create this silly contract to be able to work together, then there’s obviously something still there.”

I’m glad we’re not in the same room together, because I roll my eyes at that. “Just because there’s something physical between us, doesn’t mean there’s anything else, you know.”

She laughs softly. “Fine, Rori. If you say so.” I can tell she isn’t buying it, but at this point, I don’t feel like arguing about it anymore.

We spend the rest of the call talking through the plans for the days leading up to the wedding — bachelorette party, rehearsal dinner, trips to the salon. There’s a lot to do, and I’ll be so busy at the wedding itself that I really don’t even need a date. I don’t know why I was so bent on getting one. And I’m certainly not going to entertain Celia’s idea of asking Wes. The thought is almost enough to make me laugh out loud. An evil little part of me would actually like to do it just so that I could see the stricken expression on his face when I did, and the awkward way he’d try to clamber out of it. That alone might be worth it.

“Well, honey,” Celia says. “I’d love to chat longer, but my soon-to-be-husband is glaring at me because I’m sitting here talking to you while he’s been unloading the dishwasher and getting tonight’s menu ready.”

“Oops,” I laugh. “I didn’t realize you were at the bar already. Tell Jace I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. We needed our girl talk. Have fun on your date tomorrow.” Before I can protest, Celia laughs. “I know — it isn’t a date. But have fun anyway, okay?”

I grumble out an agreement and get off the phone.

“It’s not a date,” I say into my empty bedroom, but the bare mint green walls seem to have no opinion on the matter.