By Wednesday, I haven’t heard a peep from Rori Holloway. I’m starting to think I made a huge mistake.

And I’m not the only one. My business partner Levi hovers at my door.

“Have you got Marigold on board yet?” he asks, glancing at his watch as if he’s got me on a timer.

“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time,” I assure him, projecting a confidence I no longer feel. I was so sure that I’d convinced Rori to take the job. That’s the only reason I’d let my feelings for her get out of hand on Friday night. Normally I know better than to mix business and pleasure, especially when you’re still in the courting stage, but I’d thought we were pretty much a done deal at that point. She’d seemed so interested in my pitch over dinner.

I’m still not sure what made me do it. What made me kiss her outside the restaurant. What made me run my hands through her silky auburn hair.

But God, it felt good. It felt like being a teenager again, but in all the best ways. Somehow, when I was kissing Rori, I didn’t feel like Wes Lake, the real estate tycoon. I just felt like Wes Lake, the man. That feeling seems to be increasingly rare these days.

“Are we going to need a back-up plan?” Levi’s asking me now, drawing me out of my thoughts of Rori soft pink lips, my hands tangled up in her hair, the feel of her curvy body pressed up against mine. I have to try not to groan out loud. It’s a good thing I’m sitting behind my desk right now or Levi might get to see more from me than he bargained for when he stopped by my office.

“Won’t be necessary,” I tell him. “I expect to have the signed contract in place by the end of the week.”

Levi studies me for a minute, but then nods. “Good. She liked the concept?”

“Ate it up.”

“Good. If she likes it, that means other people will too.”

“That’s the plan.”

For the first time, Levi’s face relaxes into a smile. He’s a handsome enough guy when he smiles, I guess, though that doesn’t happen often. He’s only about fifteen years older than me, but his face has hardened after years in the business. I wonder if that’s how I’ll look when I’m his age? I shudder at the thought.

Though if I’m half as successful as he is, I’ll have nothing to complain about. Who needs a pretty face when you’re one of the richest men in Manhattan?

“Excellent,” Levi says. He rubs his chin. “By the way, I was speaking to Greg Mammoliti at the housing authority yesterday — just on the down low, of course. He thinks we’ll be able to get it approved.”

“That’s great.” We’ve always known that getting the project approved by the housing authority, and thus by the city, would be one of the biggest barriers to this project. Levi’s contact giving us a verbal nod is a good indicator that we’re on track.

He nods again. “He’s been putting feelers out with the rest of the board and it’s looking like a go. We just need to submit the final proposal. Once the application goes in, the project is effectively public, so we need to be sure we’re ready when that happens.”

“So we need to move up the timeline on the hiring program — is that what you’re saying?”

He nods. “I think so, yes. It would be good if we already had some materials out there, had hired some people under the banner. There’s no guarantee anyone will find out about the proposal right away, but we have to be ready if they do.”

“Got it. I’ll talk to Rori as soon as she’s signed the contract. Has HR done any outreach yet? Maybe they can start sourcing through immigration support networks or something, even before we get the campaign officially rolling?”

Levi points a finger at me. “Yes. I like that. I’ll talk to Kelly in HR. Get the ball rolling now. Should be able to find at least a couple of candidates.”

Levi is still standing at my door, as if he expects something else from me. I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to speak. Even though he’s standing in one spot, he always seems to be moving somehow. He has the slight and wiry body of a flyweight fighter, and the same short-man complex that so many of them seem to have. A dogged need to constantly prove himself. And despite his polished appearance, with his custom suit and slicked back hair, you still get the impression that he would go batshit crazy if he ever got in an actual physical altercation. He’s the kind of guy you love if he’s on your side, and fear if he isn’t.

Levi nods, tapping his knuckles against my doorframe once before striding away.

I shake my head as soon as he’s gone. These plans we’re discussing still hinge on Rori’s acceptance of the contract. I think about calling her to see if she’s signed it yet, but I’m not sure if making her feel pressured is the best approach right now.

God. Why couldn’t I just keep my tongue in my mouth? I’d already have a signed contract in my hand if I hadn’t been so hard up for her.

Then again, I could just as easily blame her for that. Why the hell did she have to let me catch her dancing around in her bra? How the hell is a red-blooded man supposed to resist that? I don’t have a will of steel, for Christ’s sake.

Rori. Rori Holloway. This had seemed like such a brilliant idea two months ago when Levi and I were first discussing it. We needed a good-will project to take attention away from a deal we were trying to close in the Lower East Side. It would be a major jewel in the crown for us — one of the biggest multi-use complexes in Manhattan, with condos, retail space, and more.

But the real coup is that the land is owned by the city, under the housing authority. It’s home to Elmwood Gables, a huge — and dilapidated — community housing complex. The space is enormous — multiple residential buildings, a community center, a park, a parking structure, and some kind of garden. The land’s never been available for commercial development before, but the housing authority has recently started parcelling off some of their land to get access to more capital. The project is a controversial one, and Levi and I discussed it a lot before we decided to pursue it.

It won’t be popular with the community. Nobody wants a high-rise in their backyard, especially an expensive one that drives up the price of everything else. Historical preservation groups will get in on it too. They consider the Lower East Side an endangered neighborhood, which means they don’t want people like us — you know, rich bastards — bulldozing it. They don’t want us tearing up historic buildings, and they definitely don’t want us tearing up community housing and parks. The mayor is already seeing a ton of pushback on projects like these.

But for us, and for our potential investors, it’s a no-brainer, even if it comes with bad press. That land is prime real estate, and the housing authority is in such dire financial straights that they’re selling it for a song. You can’t get land this cheap in New York City anymore. Levi and I have done the math, and whatever we put into this development, we’ll get back a hundredfold. We’ve been putting out some covert feelers for a few months now, and we already have at least eight food and drink franchises ready and willing to set up shop, plus a dozen different companies interested in the flagship retail spaces. We’ve turned away twice that many more that don’t fit our vision of the project.

The Lower East Side has never been fully developed. It still has a lot of authentic character and original buildings. This project will be the one to tip it over the edge, into full-scale gentrification. Welcome to Rich Urban Professional Ville: You must be this high and be able to afford a twelve-dollar coffee to enter.

That’s why our new hiring initiative was born. To mitigate the bad press we know we’re going to get from this. If we can get media attention focused on the good work we’re doing with disadvantaged women — single moms, immigrants, the same people who happen to live in those types of affordable housing units — then no one can come out and criticize us for bulldozing them, right?

Well, actually they still can. They still will. But at least we’ll have evidence that we aren’t the completely heartless money-grabbing monsters they’ll no doubt paint us as.

I mean, we are. But at least with the hiring initiative, it will be debatable.

That’s why I need Rori. I’ve been following her career for a few years now — and okay, occasionally drunkenly scrolling through her Facebook profile and thinking about what it would be like to hear her voice again. She’s done a good job of building a reputation as one of the few honest marketing firms in the city. Her client roster is filled with do-gooders and charities. Having her and Marigold represent our hiring initiative would buy us way more credibility than if we used our own in-house team or went with one of the big name agencies here in the city. You can’t buy that kind of credibility, and when the chips are down, I’m banking on the fact that we’re repped by Marigold will work in our favor.

I had expected the whole process to be painless — working for us would be a major coup for Rori and Marigold, and I knew I wouldn’t have any issue working alongside her.

And then Friday happened.

Actually, scratch that. From the moment I walked into her office last week, I’ve wanted her. Dancing around in that lacy pink bra, shaking her ass to that rap song, everything about her so curvy and warm and sweet.

Damn. I was a fucking goner from the get-go. I never had a chance.

Still, I should have at least tried to keep it to myself. If I’d been able to do that, then maybe she’d have signed the contract by now. Sure, I might have the world’s worst case of blue balls, but at least we’d have Rori on board, and I wouldn’t have Levi breathing down my neck.

I let out a deep breath as I crack open my laptop. I mean to hop into my email to respond to a few outstanding requests, but instead I go right back to Marigold’s website again, clicking through to the About page and gazing at Rori’s picture.

I feel like a fucking stalker.

Not that that stops me, of course.

I’m so focused on Rori’s photo that at first I don’t notice the commotion outside my office.

“I really must insist you make an appointment,” I hear Joyce, my secretary, saying to someone as I’m yanked out of my daydream.

Another woman’s voice cuts through the air. One that I recognize instantly. One that sets my heart thudding out a heavy rhythm in my chest. One that’s already sending a rush of blood below the belt.

Rori.

I stand up from my chair so fast it almost tips over backwards.

I step quickly out of my office and into the executive reception area where Joyce sits. Both of them turn to look at me.

“It’s fine,” I tell Joyce, though it’s Rori’s face that I can’t tear my eyes away from.

“Wes.” Just the sound of my name on Rori’s tongue sends me into a downward spiral. She licks her lips nervously and for the second time this afternoon, I wonder if I’m about to have an embarrassing problem on my hands.

“Come into my office.” I hold the door open for her. She crosses Joyce’s desk wordlessly and steps inside my office as I let the door close behind us.

“It’s nice to see you,” I say. My voice sounds hoarse and I wonder if she notices.

“Yeah.”

Okay. Not a warm welcome, but I’ll take it. At least she’s here.

I gesture to the leather chair across from my desk and she slips into it. I sit behind my desk, closing the laptop quickly and praying she didn’t see what was on my screen. I don’t need her knowing I was staring at her picture like a lovesick puppy. Not exactly the kind of image I want to be projecting here.

I glance down at the blue folio she’s clutching in her hands. It’s the same one I gave her the other night, the one that held her contract. So this is either really good — she’s here because she signed it — or really bad, and she’s here to tell me she won’t be signing it at all.

I wait, trying to give her the opportunity to speak first. It’s one of my favorite negotiating techniques — never be the first one to speak. Always let them come to you.

I steeple my fingers together as Rori fidgets. Her fingers move constantly, twisting around the folder in her lap. She won’t meet my eye either, and I’m getting a really bad feeling about this meeting.

She looks so uncomfortable that I’m about to cave and say something when she shoves the folder across the desk towards me.

“I signed it,” she blurts.

I let out a breath, but quietly, so she won’t notice.

“Great.” I pick up the folder and thumb it open, glancing through the pages. “I’ll sign my portion and my legal team will get you the fully executed copy within the next couple of days.”

“Great.” Rori tries to smile. She rubs her hands over her knees, which are covered in dark fabric. She’s wearing the same black pantsuit she wore Friday night, or at least a very similar one. The realization brings me back to the moment outside the restaurant. Pressing her up against the brick wall. Skimming my hands down over her body, along her curvy hips.

Fuck. That is not a mental image I need right now. I’m having a hard enough time controlling my dick as it is.

Rori takes a deep breath. She’s still rubbing her thighs, and I force my gaze to her face.

She isn’t looking at me. In fact, she seems to be looking at everything in the room that isn’t me. I give her a minute and join her in looking around the office, wondering how it must appear to her — the floor-to-ceiling windows, the view of Manhattan, the bright blue New York City sky casting everything in a pure white light. Every surface in my office is glass, steel or white. It’s fresh, modern, clean. Exactly how I wanted it.

But if Rori is impressed by the modern luxury, she doesn’t let on. When she looks at me, she’s biting her lip.

“I wanted to say something else,” she says finally.

I smile. “I figured.”

That makes her grin, at least a little.

“I signed the contract,” she repeats, twisting her fingers again. “But it comes with a condition.”

“Which is?”

“What happened on Friday can’t happen again.”

Ah. Here we go. I should have known this is what she was agonizing over.

I want to put her at ease, so I nod. “I understand completely.”

“You do?” She looks relieved. “I thought you would expect …” She trails off, embarrassed.

“Rori. Of course not. Christ. I’m not going to make you sleep with me if you don’t want to. Trust me, I have plenty of women who do want to.” I can’t resist slipping in that last bit, although I regret it as soon as I see how it makes her cringe. Start over, Wes.

“Look. I wanted to work with you long before … that … happened. That hasn’t changed. I think you’re perfect for the job, and I’m looking forward to working with you on it.”

Finally, she seems to relax. She slumps back in the chair, a smile coming over her face.

“Thanks for saying that, Wes. I’m looking forward to it too.”

She hops out of her seat, and the casual way she moves now makes me realize how heavily this was weighing on her. As she walks towards the door, I follow her.

“Rori.” Something in my voice catches. She turns and faces me. Her eyebrows are raised. I swallow.

“I’m sorry if … well, if anything I did made you uncomfortable.”

Her face falls. “Oh, God, Wes, not at all. Friday was great. I mean … really great.” Her cheeks flush when she says that and I can’t help but grin.

“Yeah, it was pretty great, wasn’t it?”

“Amazing.” She bites her lip.

“Outstanding.” I lean in close to her, so close that I can smell the coconut from her shampoo.

“Epic.” Her body twists, her face mere inches from mine now. Her breath is warm against my lips. Her own lips are parted, and all I can think about is how it would feel to suck her bottom lip between mine, to tug it gently with my teeth.

“I can’t think of anything beyond epic,” I admit, trying to distract myself from the way her soft tongue traces over her lip, the way they glisten. It makes me think about how I could make her glisten in other areas, run my tongue over her pussy lips like that, watch her writhe under my hands …

Christ. I run my hands through my hair. I just finished promising the woman there would be no more funny business, and now here I am, thinking about how much I want to set her down on my desk, spread her legs wide open, and feast on her pussy for the rest of the afternoon.

“I can,” Rori says. Her voice is a bit breathless and my heart thuds in my chest as the moment lingers.

Rori takes a step towards me, closing the space between us completely. Her body is pressed against mine now, so close you couldn’t even slide the pages of her just-signed contract between us. Her breasts press up against my chest, heaving as she breathes.

That’s when she kisses me. Her hand slips behind my neck, guiding my face down to hers, and then her lips are pressing against mine, her tongue sliding boldly into my mouth. I let her because … well, because I’m not an idiot. When a woman like Rori kisses you, even if she just got finished saying she’s done kissing you, you go along with it.

Her mouth moves hungrily over mine, and I give her everything she wants. I’d give her that and more.

Her body against mine is frantic. Her hands roam across my chest, then down to the hem of my shirt, which she yanks out of my pants. She slides her hands up under the fabric, as if she’s desperate to feel my bare skin. She skims her nails over the plains of my abs, the bulging muscles of my chest. Her hands are so small and delicate but the way she’s touching me right now could bring me to my knees.

And then, as suddenly as she started it, Rori pulls away. She jumps back two feet as if she’s been zapped by something, and then she stands there panting, her breasts heaving up and down.

I run my hands through my hair. I can still taste her on my tongue and I want to savor the moment instead of killing it by saying something stupid.

“What is wrong with me?” she mutters and I know it’s more directed at herself than at me.

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Rori,” I answer anyway. “In fact, I rather liked what you just did.”

She lets out a huff a breath. “You would.”

“I think you did too.”

She doesn’t answer, just raises her eyebrows at me.

I know that what I should do right now is back off. Say something polite and show her out the door. Instead, I take two steps towards her, until she’s pressed right up against me again. She doesn’t move. I tip her chin up.

“We were always good together, Rori.” My voice is hoarse. Gruff. “Even back then. Even when we didn’t know how good we had it.”

I use my other hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her breathing is coming in short sharp pants, but she’s watching me with a focused intensity. She hasn’t left yet, so I take that as a good sign.

“We could be good together again, Rori,” I tell her. “I could make you feel so good. I could make your body sing like a nightingale.”

I shouldn’t be saying any of this, but all I can focus on is the fact that she isn’t leaving, that her lips are parting, that she’s leaning in closer. My dick is pulsing, and all I can think about is bending her over my desk and making her sing, just the way I said.

“Wes…”

There’s hesitation in her voice, but also an unmistakable note of longing.

“Tell me you haven’t thought about it, Rori,” I growl. “Tell me you haven’t thought about what it would be like to be together again. To fuck the way we used to, like we were the only two people in the world.”

Her breathing is rapid now, and I can see the throb in her throat as her pulse skyrockets. The air between us is electric.

“It would be even better than it was back then,” I tell her. I run my thumb along the soft hollow of her neck, where her blood races. “I’ve learned a few things since then, I assure you. I could bend you over my desk right now and have you screaming in under three minutes. My name on your lips, my lips on your —”

She moans. Soft but so fucking sexy. She wipes the back of her hand across her forehead, as if she’s feverish.

I grin. Part of me enjoys seeing her so flustered.

“Tell me, Rori — would you like that?”

She nods. Just slightly. A light tip of the chin.

“Wes, I …” she starts. Stops. Licks her lips. Shakes her head.

“I can’t,” she says, and slips away from me again.