“Yes, this is Charlie.” I strained to hear my phone over the noise of traffic on my way into work. “What? No. You’re fucking with me.” I hung up and stumbled up the sidewalk to Alliance, ducking in the front doors. My heels clacked on the floor as I barreled over the marble. I dashed into the elevators as the doors closed.

The gala team meeting was already underway by the time I tripped in the door.

“Charlie, does the venue have all the specs for the band?”

“So about that. I spent an hour on the phone with the quartet’s manager earlier this week. But he called this morning to cancel.”

“What?”

“The first violinist has pneumonia. I asked if they could swap in someone else—” Mallory’s eyes widened “—but I can tell by your face that’s not a thing.”

“Of everything we had to do this week,” she burst out, pointing at a chart on the wall, “that was the most important. It doesn’t matter what color the napkins are if there’s no entertainment. Are they supposed to stand around talking to each other all night?”

I wanted to say, It’s completely ridiculous to be focused on throwing a party when the corporate banking department might not exist this time next year. I bet that would’ve set them back.

But I couldn’t say anything.

I forced myself to take a breath. “Come on. I’m sure they’re not the only entertainment in the city.” I flipped open my phone and started browsing. Mallory hovered over my shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for a replacement.”

“You’re checking your Twitter!” She seemed ready to explode.

“This is how I look for a replacement.” I tapped the phone. “Social media. YouTube. I mean…how do you find people?”

I searched the faces in the room.

“Agencies,” one of the guys offered.

“Maybe that’s the problem.” I set my phone on the conference table and shifted forward. “See, the media backlash is that we have a bunch of rich, entitled assholes who aren’t real people running the place. Putting a string quartet in front of an audience doesn’t scream relatable.”

Something pinged in the back of my mind. I snatched up the phone again and hit a few buttons.

“What about her?”

My colleagues crowded around to watch the clip.

“She’s a comedian.”

“Did she just say ‘vagina’?”

“Is she a lesbian?”

“I’ve seen her,” I offered. “She’s great.”

Mallory scoffed. “We’re a bank.”

“Right. And our clients are real people. Real people like to laugh.”

Mallory pulled herself up to her full height. “Our brand is serious. Avery obviously read my request for help as desperation. I’m not this desperate.”

I shifted back in my seat, deflated, as the video ended.

She didn’t mean the comic. She meant me.

It shouldn’t matter, because this wasn’t even my job. I was pinch hitting for someone more qualified to order cocktails or whatever the hell PR-types did.

I shoved out of my chair. “You’re right. I don’t belong here. I’ll go back to printing those double-sided nametags. God forbid some old white guy forgets some other old white guy’s name because he got too aggressive on the dance floor and flipped his.”

“Wait,” Mallory called. I paused by the door. “Did you run that speech by your boss yet? I emailed it to you yesterday, but here’s a hard copy.” She stuffed it in my hand.

I spun on my heel without saying another word.

I deliberately avoided our office, heading straight for the elevator. I wasn’t ready to face Avery yet today. Last night had been intense. And hot as hell.

But really, how cliché was it that I’d hooked up with my boss in the bathroom?

Not that I should be embarrassed. He wasn’t disinterested. In Redpath’s closet, the man had been ten inches of interested, and—

Oof.

Hands steadied me as I collided with someone exiting the elevator.

“You should need a license for those,” Avery grumbled, glancing down at my heels. “Do you ever watch where you’re going or just assume the world will move?”

“I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Away. This entire company, starting with Mallory, is about to die of intellectual inbreeding.”

I stepped into the elevator, stabbing at the button. It didn’t light up the first time, so I hit it again. And again.

“Is that for me?” he asked, nodding to the file in my hands.

“Your speech. Your wardrobe. Your teeth whitening regimen for the next week.”

He lifted the folder from my clenched hands. Scanned the file absently. “American flag pin. How patriotic.”

I let out a grunt as the elevator descended.

It felt too small. Another three people joined on lower floors, and it was all I could do not to lunge for the exit when the doors dinged open at the lobby. My heels clicked on the floor in a hurried staccato as I bolted for the front doors. I felt him at my back and tried to ignore it.

The air outside wasn’t as refreshing as I’d hoped. The heat wave still hadn’t broken. I lifted the hem of my shirt, fanning myself with it.

I took a seat on the ledge surrounding the gardens at the front of the building. I stared out toward the street, the rush of midday traffic, as he continued to read.

“Will you at least sit down? You’re freaking me out with your hovering.”

He did, not bothering to look up. “So this speech. Did you read it?”

“I skimmed it.”

“And?”

“It’s corporate garbage.”

Avery held out the folder. “How would you change it.”

“What?” I stumbled on his request.

“If you don’t like it, give me something better.”

I folded my arms, feeling awkward under his steady gaze. It took me a minute to shift out of defensive mode. “Well. There are a lot of good people who work here. They’re the ones looking after clients’ interests. And that’s what clients need to see. People they can relate to.”

I reached inside his jacket, ignoring his raised eyebrows when I lifted a pen from the breast pocket. I bent over the file. “You need to be sincere.” I made some notes.

He frowned, pointing to a spot on the page. “Yeah, I’m not saying that.” He took the pen back and crossed out the last thing I’d written. But the amazing part was that he left the rest.

We finished going through the three pages. “What do you think?” I asked, surprised to realize that it mattered.

“It’s better,” he said. “Makes us sound like we’re real people. The kind that wouldn’t turn around and tell on their colleagues.”

My mind flew to Payton. “You mean that.”

“Mhmm. You’re right. There’s no reason management needs to know. As long as she tells them with enough notice to cover for her.”

“I’m really glad to hear that.” The grin that spread across my face was unstoppable.

Avery blinked at me, like he was momentarily stunned before regaining his focus. “Right. You’ll also be glad to know Litchfield is coming to the gala.”

I grabbed his sleeve. “Did they sign on?”

“They did.” We shared a smile until I remembered the reason I’d come down here in the first place.

“Fuck. There’s a minor wrinkle.”

Avery shifted back, setting the folder between us. “What kind of wrinkle.”

I told him about the band bailing. To my surprise, he listened without interrupting.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve fucked it all up.”

Avery studied me. “The first time I saw you, I was a junior associate and you were bringing coffee from Starbucks into a meeting. My uncle told you you’d done his order wrong. I knew you hadn’t, that it’s a game he plays for whatever reason.

“The thing was, you knew that too. I followed you to the kitchen where you switched it for one of the three other coffees you’d ordered in reserve. Then spent the next five minutes on your phone so you weren’t back too quickly.”

His voice had my skin tingling. “I can’t believe you remember that. And that you didn’t turn me in.”

“Are you kidding? I was infatuated.”

“Because I switched out a coffee.”

“Because you handled yourself so easily. Refused to be intimidated. Dove in headfirst.”

He’d confessed to the attraction between us. But this felt like more. I’d never thought he noticed what I did, not to mention respected it.

I’m not the blushing kind, but the hint of admiration in his tone had color rising in my cheeks.

“OK, well…I think we should use this as a chance to do something fresh.”

“Fresh,” he repeated.

I showed him the video, studying his face. “I know you’ll hate it, but—”

“She’s good.”

“Really.” I stared at him in amazement. “I didn’t think you’d like stand-up.”

“I know how to laugh.” I raised a brow. “I do,” he insisted.

“Just not at yourself.”

“Who’s going to take you seriously if not yourself?”

“Who’s going to laugh at you if not yourself?” I retorted.

“Everyone,” he said decisively. “Those comics have my total respect. I can’t imagine getting up in front of a room and inviting people to laugh at you.”

“But you think it’s a good idea for the gala.”

He fixed his cufflinks. “It has potential.”

“Even if I took this back to Mallory, there’s no way she’d go for it.”

“Call another meeting after lunch with the team. We’ll discuss it.”

“OK. Thanks.”

Avery’s knee bumped mine as he shifted to tuck the folder under his arm. He dropped the pen, and we both bent to pick it up.

All it took was the heat racing up my spine.

We rose at the same time, our gazes locking. Any humor fell away. Left awareness in its place.

About last night…

When you got me off with those dirty words and dirty hands…

When you left me wanting more…

Someone walked past us holding an ice cream cone. The sun suddenly felt even hotter on my skin.

“That looks really good right now,” I murmured, relieved by the excuse to look away. “You want one?”

“No.” Avery’s voice was firm.

“How can you not like ice cream?”

“Liking it isn’t the problem,” he said under his breath. “It’s that one taste is never enough. After the first time…” His deep blue gaze found mine. Pinned me to the spot. “You can’t stop.”

Avery held the door and I walked through it. The air conditioning hit me like a wave, but it was too late. I’d already melted again.