I reread the proposal on the expansion of our knowledge center in India for the third time. I try to absorb the insights an analyst spent hours researching and documenting. I attempt to put into context the cost of investment, including the additional experts we’ll need to hire in our risk-management unit, and weigh that beside the value we’ll bring Wildemer and its investors. I try to do my job as the co-CEO of a company my family founded ninety years ago.

I try and I fail.

All because I’m distracted by a leggy blonde with captivating eyes the color of fresh summer rain and a fucking two-inch steel levee completely encasing her heart, which I’m trying to find a single chink in.

Not only do I have to fight Reid fucking Mergen for her, I have to fight her for her as well. It’s exhausting.

And I thought I was the one scared shitless. I’ve got nothing on her.

Frustrated, I toss the fifty-two-page report on my desk and turn toward the wall of windows behind me. I drift back to last night when the mere sight of Willow standing in that open doorway eased this awful tension festering inside me. I felt it all release the second she slipped onto my lap and set her head on my shoulder. When I was buried inside her tight, wet heat, I found myself in her just as I’d confessed.

The words I said came easily. I’m more and more convinced the excuses I was using to hold back are unfounded. I just need to prove that. So I wanted her to know exactly how far I’ve fallen into her and how there’s no hope for escape. Her essence is tangled so deep inside me I’ll never be the same.

She’s scared, though. I get it more than she understands, but if she thinks I’m walking away from her, she has another thing coming. Willow Blackwell has blown up my entire world as I know it. Now that the dust has cleared and the pieces have settled around me, all I see is her. The angle I view it at doesn’t matter, either. Top, bottom or upside-fucking-down. Everything before her is blank, empty. Everything after her is life.

“Mr. Mercer,” Dane’s voice squawks through the speaker.

For a half second, I think about not answering. I need to solve the puzzle that is Willow. I need to get all the pieces perfectly aligned and superglue them together to secure a future that now looks colorless without her. But I remember how I’ve been skirting my duties of late because of the distraction that is a five-foot-five package of sexy-as-sin spunk and I swivel, punching the button that’s lit on my phone a little too hard.

“What is it, Dane?”

“I have Jack Hancock from Aurora Pharmaceuticals on line two.”

“’Bout damn time,” I mumble. I’ve left Jack Hancock three voice mail messages over the last two days, each one getting progressively pissier. I have been hitting wall after wall in my quest to put Mergen’s threats underground and the weight of continued failure is getting unwieldy. I need at least one damn win in my corner. Picking up the handset, I push line two.

“Jack, how nice of you to return my call.”

The bastard chuckles. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Mercer.”

“Really? It was tailor-made and everything.”

Still chuckling, he says, “What can I do for the Shaw Mercer today?”

“Charles Blackwell.”

There’s a brief hesitation before, “What about him?”

“I want a copy of his entire personnel file and all policies concerning his compensation. Retirement plans. Incentive plans. Life insurance contracts. All of it.”

Silence.

Jack is a client of Wildemer’s. An important one I personally worked my ass off to land. He took a chance on us when we were building up our specialty consulting business. He’s the one who gets to make demands of me, not the other way around.

So this move of mine is risky. Jack Hancock has a short fuse. He doesn’t like to be told to do anything, not that there are many people in our positions who do. But I’m also successful because I’m savvy at guiding people where they need to be. Where I want them to go.

And while I should have put all that experience and finesse to work with my request to vet out whether Aurora Pharmaceuticals fucked over the Blackwell family, the thing I’ve come to learn about Willow is she makes me completely lose my head.

“Jack?” I prod impatiently.

I fully expect him to tell me to pound sand. He probably should. I’m asking for documents I have no business having access to. But if he tells me no, things will get ugly. Fast. And all the work I’ve put into growing our pharma consulting division over the last several years will be on the line. Aurora Pharmaceuticals is the linchpin client of that division. We lose him, we’ll take a hit not only to the bottom line but to our reputation as well.

Our shareholders will have my ass in a sling. Hell, Noah will have my head.

Yet I’m not even blinking an eye. Willow is worth that risk. She has quietly slid into the number-one slot in my life, above everything else, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it.

Jack clears his throat, his voice now pitched low and concerning. “What’s this about, Shaw?”

“Justice.”

“Justice?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Justice for who?”

“His family, that’s who.”

Another pause. “I’m sorry, Shaw. I’m not following at all. This is old news. The death of my top scientist damn near killed this company. You know this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then why are we talking about it?”

I think about deflecting, but the fact I’m dating Willow is public knowledge. We’ve already been in the papers. Twice. In fact, at the moment, I’m staring at a picture taken of us last week leaving a cozy Italian restaurant; it’s in the social section of the World Herald. The light in her eyes as she looks up at me is blinding, even in black and white.

“I’m dating his daughter.”

“You’re…the woman in the paper? That’s his daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus,” he breathes.

I stay quiet, let him absorb what I’m telling him. Willow is mine. Jack and I may only be business partners, but we’ve known each other for many years now. He knows I’m rabid about protecting what’s mine.

“Those files are confidential, Shaw.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Jack. I’m not going to ask again.”

Jack’s voice is harder when he tells me, “I think you have our roles confused here, Mercer.”

I’m sure my sneer comes through the phone line perfectly. “My role in life has never been clearer.”

This time the pause is endless. We’re in a Mexican standoff, neither of us wanting to blink. I would think he hung up on me but the solid yellow light on line two indicates otherwise.

“What are you looking for?” he finally asks with a heavy sigh.

Muscles I didn’t realize were knotted start to unwind. Leaning back in my chair I once again spin to gaze out the wall of glass. My eyes drop to the window across the street, one story down. A man rises from his desk when a redheaded stunner enters his office and closes the door. I see the play of her lips clearly from here. Daring. Taunting. Her hands move to the buttons on her blouse while he quickly moves to close the blinds that face the rest of his office, leaving the ones facing me open, as usual.

“I’m…” I take a breath, making sure what I’m about to say isn’t taken out of context.

Do I think Aurora screwed Charles Blackwell’s wife and daughter? Maybe. Do I think it was intentional? I hope to hell not or, linchpin or no, I will see Jack Hancock slapped with a lawsuit that will sink his ship before it ever leaves port.

“In all the time we’ve known each other, Jack, have you ever known my hunches to be off?”

“I have not,” Jack answers evenly.

“Then trust me. I’m not out to cause harm to you or Aurora. You’re an important client.”

“Why do I feel like if I don’t agree to this I’m going to get fucked up the ass?”

“Because you trust your instincts, just like I do.”

There’s a long bout of silence. “This is highly unusual.”

“I understand that, Jack. I will use the utmost discretion and confidentiality.”

“I want an NDA signed.”

“It’s totally unnecessary, but if it makes you feel better, not a problem.”

The sigh that reaches my ears is long and resigned. “My HR VP is going to have my head.”

“I appreciate this trust you’re placing in me,” I say, trying to give him some comfort I’m not looking to fuck him over. And I’m not. I only want Willow to get what’s owed her.

“Trust runs both ways. I trust if you find whatever it is you’re looking for I will be the first to know.”

“And I trust if I find something that’s off you’ll honor your obligations.”

I hear a knock on my door a second before the click of the latch. Only one person generally walks in without permission. When I slide my gaze away from the woman across the street, who is now melting into a puddle of pleasure, my eyes land on Noah striding over the threshold.

“Charles Blackwell was not only a pioneer in this field, Shaw, I considered him a friend. Based on what you asked for I can only assume you’re looking for compensation not yet paid and I assure you I trust my HR team implicitly. They don’t make those kinds of mistakes.”

I feel Noah stop beside me, his gaze following mine. A low curse ensues.

“Sometimes mistakes are just mistakes. Nothing nefarious intended, I’m sure. A second set of eyes can’t hurt.”

“I can have Sandra review everything again.” Sandra is his Human Resources VP, I assume.

“You can. But if it’s all the same, I’d still like the documents couriered over as soon as possible.”

“You’ll have the NDA within the day. Sign it and they’re yours.”

Noah moves around me, getting a better look at the show across the street. He leans his hip against the glass, his eyes glued to the exhibitionist couple.

“Thank you.”

“How about eighteen next week?”

Well, that’s a good sign I haven’t fucked up too bad, I guess. “Sounds great. Have Dane and Peggy set up a tee time. We’ll talk soon.” I push myself up and reach over to cradle the handset.

“That Jack?” Noah asks absently.

“Yes,” I answer, stopping to his right. I stuff my hands in my pants pockets and spread my stance slightly, rocking back on my heels.

“He give you a hard time?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I’m jealous as hell you have a front-row seat to this every week.”

I stare at the woman, whose glossed eyes beg us to join in on their little fun and games, the same as she always does. Her skin is pale. Her breasts are perky. She’s beautiful and alluring. But she’s not tempting in the least. She’s not Willow. I hit the button that closes my blinds as ecstasy washes over Red’s face.

“Show’s over. I have work to do,” I bark. I plunk down into my leather chair and pick up the report I’ve been trying in vain to get through, forcing myself not to snag the cell mocking me from the corner of my desk. Three quick moves of my finger and a couple of well-timed commands is all it would take to have Willow here. Waist bent. That pretty ass in the air. Pussy swollen and dripping.

Hand to God it takes every bit of restraint not to make that call.

“Two things,” Noah says, his face now serious. Taking a seat, he throws one leg over the other.

I drop the papers in my hand, every bit of attention drifting away from my insatiable desire for Willow, now honed in on my best friend instead. “You hear something?”

His lips turn down before straightening back out. “Not exactly, but I have a lead.”

“On?”

“The missing friend of Bluebelle’s.”

I narrow my eyes. “The one who moved?” The only one we haven’t been able to find.

“Yeah. She lives in a small town a couple of hours outside of Charlotte. I was thinking we could take a road trip. Pay her a little visit.”

“Road trip?”

“Well, you know,” he says with a smirk. “Take the corporate jet. We’ll be in and out in twenty-four hours.”

I let that roll around a few seconds. We need to do this. See if she knows anything about that night. But twenty-four hours without Willow? Not gonna happen. If Mergen gets wind I’m out of town, he’ll be all over her like white on rice, spewing his lies. Poisoning her mind.

Maybe I can take her with me? We’ll stay at the Ritz. I’ll book a spa package for her. She can be pampered while I hopefully get what I need from the girl to refute all this crap and then I’ll spend all night celebrating as I bury myself in her repeatedly.

Yeah. That may work.

“Let’s do it. The sooner, the better.”

Noah nods. “I’ll make the arrangements. Saturday work?”

“Fine.”

I’m preparing to ask him the second reason why he’s here when I hear Dane’s high-pitched voice again. “Mr. Mercer, Mr. Wilder, they’re ready for you in the boardroom.”

I smile a slow smile, my gaze floating down to Noah’s not-quite-deflated woody. It’s time to tape our quarterly state-of-the-union address to Wildemer associates, and he’s wearing a fitted charcoal suit today. If he was filmed in his current state, you’d better believe no one would give a rip that we’ve increased profits by 11 percent quarter over quarter. They’ll be focused on one thing and one thing alone.

“Better get rid of that or people will think you’ve developed some unholy attraction to me.” I rise and grab a manila folder so I can refocus on business on the walk over.

Laughing, he flexes his thigh muscles to stand. “Nah. It just adds to this mysterious allure I’ve got going on.”

I can’t help but chuckle. He’s right. Noah Wilder is a mystery that most women are desperate to solve. I’m not sure anyone will, though.

“What’s the second thing you wanted?” I ask as we make our way out of my office and down the hall.

When we pass by his admin’s desk, she jumps up and scrambles around the short partition, practically running to keep up with his long stride. She hands him three small pink pieces of paper, which he quickly flips through and tucks in his leather binder, leaving her huffing behind us.

“Is it really necessary to bring a date to this fundraiser on Friday night?”

I sigh. We go through this every year. And every year Noah shows up to the Angels Among Us fundraiser alone, bitching about the lack of available pussy at the end of the night. “Do whatever you want, but to keep doing the same thing and expecting a different result is the definition of stupidity. And I know you’re not stupid.”

“Why do you do this to me? Every fucking year?” he hisses.

Whatever. He’ll bitch, he’ll come, he’ll donate a hefty amount to support the families of children waging war against things that are truly important, like life and cancer, then he’ll go home, call one of the dozen women he keeps on speed dial, and I won’t hear anything about it until next year.

We take a right. I nod and smile to several people as we walk by. “You have a bevy of women at hand, Wildman. Surely you can find one who wants to spend a few hours with you outside of the bedroom.”

We walk into the boardroom, side by side, where there is already a flurry of activity. Lights, makeup artists, film crew. These next few hours, while we’re reporting on a serious topic to the people who have made Wildemer what it is today, is always filled with a fair amount of fun and smooth banter. Noah and I play off each other perfectly, our passion for our jobs and our company equally matched by our playful attitudes.

“That’s just the thing. I don’t,” he tells me, smiling at Carly before taking a seat to have some stage makeup applied.

I wait for the chuckle, but it doesn’t come. Narrowing my eyes, I see he’s serious. Suddenly I wonder if Noah isn’t as sick of our bed hopping as I am but that he’s afraid to acknowledge it. It’s all we’ve done. All we’ve known for eighteen years.

An idea starts to form and the more I think about it, the more I like it. Slapping him on the back, I give him a vague, “It will all work out,” before I take my own chair.

But what he thinks I mean and what I actually mean are two different things. I’ve never tried my hand at matchmaking before and this may very well blow up in my face, but what the hell. At least it will be good entertainment for a night.