CJ

My heart wages war with my brain, but no way am I letting that tra la la organ win this battle.

Booking a hotel is the sensible action to take. Informing Graham is the adult thing to do. I will be both sensible and adult. With the web page for the Warwick Hotel open on my laptop, ready and waiting for me to finish reserving a room, I tap out a note.

“No,” I mutter to myself. “Not in the way you think, anyway.”

There’s no way Graham can know how Lucy has made me realize how vulnerable my heart is. Not to mention my sanity. Graham literally makes women crazy with wanting him, and I don’t need crazy in my life. I like peace, harmony, and routine, thank you very much. I get more than enough crazy dealing with twenty employees and an out-of-state production and warehouse situation.

I decide to lean on a little humor.

Since humor isn’t working, I’ll need to break out the big guns. I gulp. Time to be direct.

He doesn't reply right away, and I set my phone down to focus on work, then it buzzes again with a text.

I’m starting to type a reply when my phone rings. His name is big and bold. Demanding. Like him.

And damn it, I like his demands, which is part of the problem.

“Hello, Graham,” I say, playing it cool. I love that he’s calling to plead his case—it makes me feel special—but I truly intend to book that room.

“Butterfly.” His tone is firm, a little commanding, a lot sexy.

“Yes?”

“You are one tough woman, and it sounds like your mind is made up. But I can be pretty persuasive. Give me twenty minutes to change your mind.”

A shiver runs through me. Is he suggesting some afternoon delight? The idea is, well . . . a whole lot more than delightful. “Are you saying you’d like to pop over to my office and—”

“—bend you over your desk and remind you why you want to stay at my place?”

The shiver turns into a pulse, beating low and hot in my belly. Still, I try my best to think rationally. “Graham, this isn’t about sex or lessons.”

“I know, Butterfly. Trust me. And that’s precisely why I’m not coming to your office to bend you over the desk. Nor to spread you out in front of me and devour your sweet pussy.” His voice is husky, and a small gasp escapes my lips at his words. “I’m not going to shut the door to your office or kiss you until you melt for me the way you did the first night, the way you do every night. Even though I want that. Badly.”

I grip the edge of my desk, tingles spreading like wildfire across my skin. God, I want that badly, too. Must. Stay. Strong.

“So what are you going to do?” I ask evenly.

“Just wait. You’ll have the answer in twenty minutes.”

He hangs up.

I shake my head, trying to rid it of thoughts of that man. The trouble is, he seems dead-set on convincing me, and judging from the flush flooding my cheeks, my body wants to be convinced. But I need to stick to my plan. Batten down the hatches. Time to be an iron butterfly without a single soft spot in my armor.

On impulse, I reach out, punching the intercom and calling my intern. “Katie, could you grab me one of those green smoothies from the market downstairs? The kind with extra kale and seaweed?”

“Gross,” Katie pipes back, proving I’ve done an excellent job of making her feel comfortable here, despite the fact that she’s the only team member under twenty-one. “But will do, boss. You want an iced coffee, too? To wash out the nasty taste after the green thing?”

I hesitate only a moment before giving in. “Yes, Katie. Please. That sounds perfect.”

And it does. I will build up my fortitude with green superfoods, caffeinate myself to brimming-with-confidence levels, and then stand firm against Graham’s superpowers of persuasion. There’s nothing he can do to convince me.

Twenty minutes later, Katie knocks on my door.

“Come in.”

When she opens it, she’s carrying a massive bouquet of flowers. Bright orange, sunshine yellow, fiery flowers. Her face is hidden behind three—wait, no, four dozen tiger lilies.

I don’t recall telling him I loved tiger lilies.

But then I remember our phone call a few nights ago. I mentioned them briefly, simply in passing.

The man knows how to listen. He pays attention. He cares.

Talk about a superpower.

Fighting off a massive grin, I take the flowers and set them on my desk.

“These, obviously, are for you,” Katie deadpans. “Based on the sheer number, some guy either needs to make up or convince you to be his, and if you say no, I’ll say yes because a man who sends four dozen flowers is a keeper.”

The smile won’t disappear. “Thank you, Katie.”

She hands me the card. With nervous fingers, I open it.

Stay with me.

Katie clears her throat. “Um, there’s more.”

“More?”

She thrusts a white box at me. The sticker reads Luna’s Sweets. Inside is a delectable-looking whoopie pie. I haven’t had one of these in ages, and it smells delicious. There’s a note here, too. A longer one.

I made dinner reservations at eight. I’m taking you out to your favorite restaurant. But feel free to have dessert first. These whoopie pies are irresistible. Just like you.

The grin? It consumes all of me. Not just my face. I swear it’s a full-body smile.

Katie clears her throat. “I have your kale smoothie and the coffee. Do you still want them?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t need them anymore.”

I don’t need fortification because I don’t want to resist him.

Because I’m beginning to understand that he’s not the only teacher around here. I’m teaching myself, too, pushing myself to step out of my comfort zone and grow. And the lesson I have mapped out for CJ Murphy for the next few nights is this—learn to enjoy myself with a man without falling head over heels and losing my grip on my sanity.

I will savor this whoopie pie, I will savor the whoopee, and then I will walk away from both with my head held high.