No matter how hard I try to stop myself, I can't keep my mouth under control. I just keep spewing out insults at Liam left and right. For some reason, it feels so much easier than speaking to him like a normal human being. Something about being in his presence puts me on edge, like I'm always one second away from falling into danger. The kind of danger that could leave me panting, screaming, and writhing on the floor…

"I'm really sorry I keep putting my foot in my mouth," I say, lightly squeezing his arm. Why the hell am I touching him? My mouth doesn't just have a mind of its own. So does my hand. And my body. Because now I'm inching closer to him and pressing myself just slightly against him. Enough to feel his warmth but maybe not too much to chase him away.

He stares down at my hand and then swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he drags his eyes up to meet mine. They swirl with heat and desire and oh shit. This feeling between my thighs isn't so one-sided after all.

This man wants me. That's not a look you give someone unless there's some kind of desire there.

I take a step back, dropping my hand to to my side. "So, you want to get the stools I suggested?"

"Well, you seem pretty intent on them," he says, still frowning. "Like I said, it's not what I would choose, but I did bring you here for your opinion. And if that's what you think is best, then…"

I shake my head. Even though he's giving into what I want, I don't like how he's giving in. Grudgingly. He still doesn't understand what I've been trying to get across to him all this time. He doesn't really know what Hell Cat is and what works best for the loyal clientele I hope to hell will stick around after he makes his changes to the business.

"Let me ask you something, Liam. An important question." Truthfully, I should probably call him Mr. Landon, but that doesn't feel right. Our relationship, even though it's boss-and-employee, feels far too casual for that.

His lips quirk. "I have a feeling I don't want to know what it is, but go on."

"Had you ever been to Hell Cat before you bought it?" I raise my eyebrows. "Just once. Even if it was to scope the place out."

"Of course I went." That smug smile spreads across his lips again, and I push down the urge to roll my eyes. "It would be a bad investment if I didn't check out the property before purchasing it. Your previous boss gave me a tour and went through some of the specs with me."

"A tour?" I shake my head. "So, you mean during closing hours. What about when it was open? What about when customers were there?"

His gaze latches onto mine, and he falls silent. So it's just like I thought. He’s never been. Not a single damn time.

"How can you know how to run a place you never visited before?" I point out to him. "If you don't know what it's like, then you aren't going to understand why I think we should go with those bar stools. And they're not even as important as some of the other decisions you're going to make."

"Like whether or not that espresso machine stays."

For a moment, I can't tell if he's joking, but then he finally cracks a rare smile. It makes my heart flip, which is weird. It's just a smile, between a boss and his employee. Because we're finally talking, communicating, having a reasonable conversation instead of arguing. It doesn't mean anything more than that.

"Exactly," I say, smiling back. "Like whether or not you dump that crazy idea."

"I see your point," he says. "But, unfortunately, I can't go back in time to see what Hell Cat was like before I bought it. I know you think I have a time machine, but I don't. Maybe that should be my next acquisition."

Another joke. I like this. It feels good. So good that I try another suggestion on for size even though there's something a little bit reckless about it. "There are other bars like Hell Cat. None of them are remotely as amazing, let's be clear, but they have the same…tone. They're on the same bar crawl circuit."

"You're suggesting I check out the competition," he says with a nod.

Well, that isn't exactly what I'm suggesting, but he's formed it into words he understands. It's the kind of thing I'm sure he's used to doing, something that makes sense in his button-up business world. Check out the competition, see what they're doing, and then do it better. Final stage? Profit. Because I can't forget that he's all in for the money. That's why he's here and why he's listening to me. Not because he truly cares about the bar.

But, it's what I've got to work with for now.

"Exactly," I say.

"It's for reasons like this that I wanted to keep you on, Carrie." He pats my back, his hand lingering a few seconds longer than it should. "We'll do this tonight."

My heart skips a beat. "We?"

He cocks his head, crinkling his eyebrows together. "Of course. You know all the hot spots. I don't. I'll need you to give me the tour."

* * *

What the hell do you wear when you're set to go out for a night on the town with your boss? And not just any night out. A bar crawl through the best drinking haunts in all of Manhattan. On the one hand, I should probably dress casually. It's not like we're going on a date or anything crazy like that. On the other hand, I find myself wanting to impress the man, which is utterly ridiculous.

Still…I end up choosing an outfit in between. Or as in between as I can manage. Tight black skinny jeans and a black tank top edged in delicate lace. It's the kind of thing I'd normally wear if I went out drinking with friends, so surely it's appropriate in this case.

Of course, when I meet Liam by the front doors of Hell Cat, I realize I may have been way off the mark. The man is wearing a goddamn suit. One that looks like it cost at least a grand. Does he think we're going prowling for fancy cocktails?

"You do realize we're not going out to Happy Hour in Midtown, right?" I stare pointedly at his suit. Though, I have to say, he looks sexy as hell despite my ribbing. Because his suit is so tailored, it highlights every muscle in his tight, corded body. His thick biceps strain against the material, begging to burst through the seams. My eyes flick to his crotch. His pants are…a little bit snug. There's a bulge. A big one.

"Well, excuse me," he says with a laugh. "I wasn't aware we were going to a grunge concert."

My cheeks flame. Because as much as I hate it, I want him to like what he sees. Not make fun of it. "Trust me. If we were going to a grunge concert, I'd look a lot more…grungy."

He snorts, his lips turning up into a wicked smile. "Great comeback, Carrie." His smile falters, and he scans his eyes across my body. "You look nice though. The outfit suits you."

My chest swells from the compliment, despite how hard it was to get. "Thank you. Should we get going?"

Liam winks at me, and I try not to melt into a puddle on the grungy sidewalk as my heart flickers in my chest. What the hell is wrong with me? I don't like this man. Right? But it's hard as hell to remember that now, as he holds out his hand. He’s out here right now because he’s trying his hardest to understand my world.