I'm too distracted by how fucking fantastic Carrie looks to have any idea of where we're headed. The lace. Oh god, the lace. It lines the edges of her tight little tank top, one that dips low between a perfect pair of tits. The way it clings to her cleavage…I don't know how I've managed to make it this long without ripping that shirt right off her body.

This is a special kind of torture, having to pretend that I don't want her bouncing on my dick. I mean, if she looked at my pants, she'd be able to tell. My cock is at full mast, awaiting for instructions on how to make her squirt her juice all over my hips.

Fucking hell, my thoughts sure have taken a turn. While getting ready for this evening, I thought I'd talked myself into be a good boy. Sleeping with employees has always been a no-go for me. It creates too many complications, especially in an already complicated situation. Because Carrie isn't just any employee. She's the fucking manager of my newest acquisition, one that's going to take a lot of work to turn a profit.

Not to mention she already hates my guts.

Besides, I'm not the kind of man to make a commitment to a woman, not when I have to focus on my commitments to my work. There's only so much time in a day, in a year, in a lifetime, and I've always been adamant that the road-to-success is where I want spend my fleeting hours.

That said, it's hard to remember that now, not when this gorgeous girl is swinging her ass in front of me. It's round, perky, and begging to be squeezed. I'd thought she looked good in jeans before but these tight little black pants accentuate her curves in such a way that my imagination has ramped up to a ten out of ten.

I can just picture how that ass looks from behind. Naked, of course. As I ride her on top of my Egyptian cotton sheets. It jiggles when I slap her hard, pounding my throbbing dick into a pussy I'm sure is wet, hot, and tight as hell.

"Um, hello?" Carrie snaps her fingers in front of my eyes. We're standing on the sidewalk just outside of a raucous bar. Shit. I need to get a grip. As much as I'm a fan of women, I've never zoned out while thinking about one. One who is so off-limits it's not even funny.

"Sorry." I clear my throat and run my fingers through my hair, glancing away from her narrowed eyes. She must think I'm completely fucking stupid. Who the hell acts like I have tonight? And we haven't even gotten started yet. "I was just thinking about some work stuff."

A frown pulls down her pouty lips. Lips, I can't help but notice, that have been highlighted by a light pink gloss. Even though I made that remark about the grunge concert, I appreciate the effort she's made to look good tonight. It makes me feel proud to have her on my arm, the hottest woman in all the five boroughs.

What the fuck, Liam? I say, mentally smacking my head. She's not mine to be proud of. This is a work thing. But still, I can't help but appreciate how she looks. I'm only a fucking man.

"You sure you want to do this?" she asks.

Yes, I am so more than sure.

"Of course." I smile and hold the sagging black door open for her. "After you."

We enter the kind of bar that I've only seen in movies. It's dingy, it's loud, and it reeks of stale beer. Glancing around, I sniff, trying to understand what Carrie sees in a place like this. It's the opposite of everything I know and love. Sparkling glasses, the quiet murmur of conversation, expensive alcohol. Surely this isn't what Hell Cat was like. But Carrie waves to the bartender, a twenty-something girl dressed an awful lot like Carrie herself. They smile a greeting, like they know each other.

"Liam," Carrie says, turning to me with a slight expression of anxiety. "This is Roxie. She, ah, she used to be a bartender at Hell Cat."

"Oh." My eyes go wide. "Oh, I see. Well, it's nice to meet you, Roxie."

Roxie flicks her gaze up and down, pressing her lips into a smirk at what she sees. "Where'd you find this dude? Does he always dress like this?"

"See, I told you the suit was a ridiculous idea." She smacks my arm, but it's playful, and I can't help but notice she didn't tell Roxie I'm her new boss. Maybe she doesn't want people to know she's out with Enemy Number One. I hate that she thinks of me that way, but I'm beginning to see why more and more each time I see her. Hell Cat was more than just her place of employment. And the people there were more than just coworkers. They were her friends. Her family.

But I only did what I had to do. I wish I could explain that to her in a way she'd understand.

"So," Roxie says with a twinkle in her eye. "What'll you have?"

I open my mouth to order but Carrie shakes her head. "I'm showing you around, remember? Therefore, I get to order our drinks. It's the best way to demonstrate a typical night out in the Lower East Side. Or are you too scared to have a real drink, Mr. Moneybags? Maybe you can't handle it."

"Oh, sweetheart." I lean closer and drop my voice to a whisper. "You're the one who can't handle it."

For a moment, we both freeze, staring at each other. My words came out much more suggestive than I meant, but I do nothing to stop them from ringing in the air between us. I want them out there. I want her to wonder what I meant. Her lips are only inches from mine now, tempting me with their glossy pink curves. It wouldn't take much to lean forward and taste her. And the way she's looking at me now, I don't think she'd say no.

But I can't.

So I don't.

Instead, I raise my voice loud enough for the bartender to hear, but I don't move my eyes from Carrie's face for even a split second. "Two shots of tequila."

Carrie grins and licks her lips. "I can't wait to see what you're like after a few shots. Maybe you'll finally loosen that damn tie of yours."

She reaches up, and her fingers dance at the edges of my tie. With a slow smile, I press my hands on top of hers and hold them there, close to the rapid beat of my heart. She gasps, and her lips part. I relish in her reaction, savoring the flush that fills her cheeks. There is something happening here between us, whether she likes it or not.

Whether I like it or not.

"Not yet," I say, pulling her hands away from my tie. "I'll take off my tie when you convince me that shots are better than glasses of champagne."

She cracks a grin. "Then buckle up, Moneybags, because you're in for a wild ride."

Oh, I fucking hope so.