Graham

Skyscrapers slide by as the town car weaves its way up the avenue toward the Upper West Side. As Midtown’s high-rises give way to brownstones and brick residential buildings, I recover my center and my focus.

Thankfully, I won’t have to worry about Project Resistance with CJ.

CJ is like a little sister to me. Since her brother passed away, I’ve stepped into the protector role Sean filled so well. The past two years without my best friend and business partner haven’t been easy, but being there for CJ has given me something to do, assuaging my anger and sadness. Every time I get pissed that a texting driver took my friend away, I think of something nice to do for CJ. It’s a coping mechanism that works, and it’s a hell of a lot less complicated than a booty call to the woman of the moment.

Gary pulls up outside Ruby’s Kitchen, where CJ is already waiting on the curb, and my stress level drops another degree. She wears a sunshine-colored dress with strappy sandals and a jacket slung over her arm. Her chestnut hair curls softly in the spring breeze, and her nose is buried in her e-reader, as usual. The woman is an unrepentant bookworm, obsessed with horror novels that are every bit as scary as she is sweet.

“Weirdo,” I mutter affectionately as I savor the sight of her, one of the few people in the world I can trust not to make life unnecessarily complicated. CJ shuts the cover on her e-reader as I swing out of the car.

“And he appears.” She taps her foot playfully as I join her on the sidewalk. She tosses her dark hair off her shoulders as her face melts into that kid-in-a-candy-shop grin she’s never outgrown.

That’s one of the many things I adore about her. Her absolute fucking sweetness.

“I’ve been known to make appearances from time to time.” I lean in to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek, enjoying the familiar jasmine scent of her hair.

“I’m assuming your tardiness means you had a most excellent night,” she says, raising her eyebrows.

That’s the thing about girls who have known you for more than a decade. They’re well aware of your foibles and shortcomings, your strengths and your weaknesses.

“No way.” I hold up two fingers. “Scout’s honor. I was a good boy last night. I was only late because I saw something in a shop window I couldn’t resist.” I hold out the gift bag. “For you.”

“Oh, stop,” she says, smacking my chest. “You’re making it impossible for me to be mad at you.”

I smile. “You weren’t mad at me, anyway. I gave you an excuse to read for an extra ten minutes.”

“You speak the truth.” She smirks as she reaches inside the bag with a soft coo at the sight of the paper. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

Laughing, I say, “It’s just wrapping paper.”

She looks up and stares pointedly at me. “It’s not just wrapping paper. It’s a sign of thoughtfulness. The last guy I went on a date with brought me a candle his mother gave him three Christmases ago, said I’d look great by candlelight, and suggested we skip the movie and go get naked at his place.”

I recoil. “What?”

“Little did he know that if he had wrapped that candle, I might have said yes,” she says, a twinkle of mischief in her big brown eyes.

Red billows from my ears. Smoke comes out my eyes. The thought of CJ going home with this candle asshole boils my blood.

“You’re joking,” I grit out.

She cracks up and points at me. “Gotcha. Anyway. It’s incredibly sweet of you to bring me a gift.” She opens the bag, handing me the paper as she unfolds the shirt and laughs. “Graham, thank you! This is adorable. And way too naughty for casual Friday.”

“Good thing there’s life outside the office. For some of us, anyway.”

“Hey, I’m out of the office now, aren’t I?” She tucks her tee back in the bag, and nods toward the restaurant. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” I say, my smile fading as I follow her to the hostess stand and then on through the throng of late-brunch-eaters to a table in the back courtyard.

As we settle in, the busboy brings the waters, and I cut to the chase. “So, I hate to crash the Sunday Funday vibe, but I invited you to brunch with an ulterior motive. I need a favor.”

She spreads her napkin on her lap with a raised brow. “What kind of favor?”

“I need you at next Monday’s board meeting. As you know, we lost an important account last month when Beaux Rêves in Paris went with a cheaper option. Obviously, they aren’t our only account, not by a long shot. But given how volatile the industry has been lately, I need to make it crystal clear to the shareholders that selling isn’t the right path. With the number of mergers and acquisitions going on, they’re seeing dollar signs, but quick money isn’t the answer. That’s where you come in.”

“You want them to hear from me because of my shares?” she asks, her brow furrowing. “We don’t have anything close to a majority.”

Though CJ inherited Sean’s share of the business when he passed away, that’s not why I need her at the meeting. CJ has a way of putting people at ease, of winning their trust and confidence. She’s a successful business owner in her own right—her accessories company Love Cycle Creations is growing by leaps and bounds every year. Plus, she was courted early on by an accessories conglomerate and she declined—totally the right call, as her company is now a rising star in her field.

I nod. “Of course, but that’s not the only reason. I need to convince them that now is not the time to explore getting into bed with a huge multinational retailer. And to do that, it’ll help to hear from someone with an insider’s stock holdings and an outsider’s perspective. I want them to hear from you in particular since you went through something so similar with Love Cycle.”

“On a much smaller scale, though. My company is tiny compared to Adored.”

“Size doesn't matter.” I pause to wiggle an eyebrow for effect. “Well, in this case.”

A faint blush spreads on her cheeks. “You and the innuendo.”

“I do love innuendo. I also love Adored. That’s why I want to keep it the way it is—growing, profitable, and independent. I don’t want it swallowed whole by some faceless corporate giant.” A smile teases her lips for a moment then disappears. I can’t read her at all, so I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting for an answer. “Please, CJ,” I add when she stays silent for a long beat. “I need you.”

“You need me,” she echoes, her brow smoothing as she sighs. She takes a drink of water, sets down her glass, and runs the tip of her tongue across her lips.

I watch her tongue move, wondering why I’ve never noticed how amazing her mouth is. She has the bee-stung lips of a cover girl, in a shade of pink so deep it brings to mind flushed, hot, intimate things.

Things I shouldn’t be thinking of in her presence.

In anyone’s presence.

Resist, Campbell, resist . . .

Finally, just as I’m gearing up to beg, she looks up, a mysterious smile curving her lips. “I know exactly what you need, Graham.”

Damn, that sounded . . . naughty.

I reach for my water glass, needing something to cool me down since innocent words from a woman I’ve known forever are sending my thoughts straight into the gutter.

“But before I agree to your request,” she adds, her fingers drumming lightly on the white tablecloth, “I need something from you, too. Something I’ve been thinking long and hard about. Very long. And very hard.” Her eyes meet mine, trouble flickering in her gaze.

Glass halfway to my lips, I freeze.

Christ. Who the hell is this sexy-as-sin woman, and what has she done with CJ?