A veil drops over her eyes and the laugh disappears. Whatever happened in therapy opened up too many old wounds she won’t show me. Right now, anyway. Then I think about what just took place between us, and I question my own sanity. What the fuck was I thinking? Sex and business should never mix. I broke one of my cardinal rules. I didn’t just break it, I pulverized the damn thing, and it’s now scattered into dust. Maybe I should pretend it didn’t happen.

But I can’t do that. And why? Because it was the most epic sex of my life. And it was with Midnight, someone I’ve developed feelings for. How the hell did that happen?

Leaning down, I take my tongue and give her pussy one last, long swipe. Then I stand and go into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. When I’m done, I pick up my discarded clothes and get dressed. Her eyes practically burn through the skin on my back, which isn’t exactly the most comfortable feeling.

Before I leave, I walk next to the bed. “I’ll be back tomorrow around the same time. And don’t tell me you didn’t like what happened between us. If you do, I’ll call you a fucking liar,” I say. I want to kiss her, but I don’t. Instead, I tug at one of her nipples and the response is immediate. She sucks in her breath and my dick twitches in my pants. I have to get out of here before I strip off my jeans and push said dick back inside her swollen pussy. I’m pretty fucking sure she’d be willing too.

On my way out, she says, “Tomorrow, I want Italian. Make it spaghetti Bolognese. And find a place that serves the best. If you’re going to fuck me like this, I need to keep up my strength.”

The corners of my mouth curve up. “Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”

“Yes. A bottle of Barolo, a Caesar salad, and some great bread. You pick the bread. And butter, none of that olive oil. Bread needs butter.”

“Demanding, aren’t you?”

“Not at all. You have the opportunity to choose your own entrée because I never share.”

I chuckle. “Dessert?”

“Surprise me.”

I’d like to surprise her, but I don’t think I have a single trick up my sleeve that she hasn’t seen or experienced. That should bother me, but it doesn’t. At least not yet.

The next afternoon I’m sitting in my office, my thoughts bouncing from last night to a new client that just hired us, when my cell phone rings. It’s my dad.

“Hey, son. Your mother and I are thinking about flying out to visit. Is this a good time?”

I bolt out of my chair. “Oh, well, Dad, not now. You know I was planning on coming home for Christmas.”

“Yes, but since you don’t come home much, your mother has been worried silly about you. You know how she is.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but now isn’t such a good time. Maybe after the first of the year you two can come out.”

Disappointment laces his tone. “All right. I’ll let your mother know. Is everything okay out there?”

“Yeah, all is well. And you’re good, right?”

“Yeah, we’re fine, son. Well, you take care of yourself.”

After the call ends, I let out a loud groan. Misha takes a detour into my office. “What’s wrong?”

“Mom and Dad want to visit and I keep putting them off. They worry about me. But if they come, I know it’ll be a little painful. Mom will be trying to shove food down my throat the entire time. And then she’ll be on a mission to marry me off to someone from Virginia. Plus they have no idea I own this company.”

She cackles.

I aim my finger at her. “This isn’t even remotely funny.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is.”

“They think I work in PR. They have no idea whatsoever how ruthless I can be.”

Emily brings in a stack of folders and slams them on my desk. “Okay, this is what I have on—”

My hand shoots out. “Not now.”

“What do you mean, not now? We have to get this done today,” she argues.

Rubbing my face, I say, “Give me a minute, please.”

Misha adds, “He’s recovering from a parental phone call.”

“Ahh.”

Helen decides to join our little group. “Hey, boss, can I ask a favor?”

I look at her as she toys with one of her pigtails. Emily and Misha have been relatively successful at getting her to dump the Harley Quinn look at work, but the pigtails and hair color remain.

“What do you need?”

“Can you get tickets to Comic-Con?” Her eyes are huge circles—she looks like a five-year-old.

I want to laugh, I swear I do. But I tell her I’ll work on it. She pops a bubble and waltzes out.

After Helen leaves, Emily says, “Hey, Harrison, Helen is really doing a great job for us. Her organizational skills are amazing. I have to say, I’m impressed.”

“Thanks for filling me in. I’ll have a talk with her to let her know how pleased we are.”

Leland pops in shortly after to inform me we need to meet a potential client that evening.

“Can’t you do it?” I ask.

“He specifically requested you.”

“Who is it?”

“Vince LaMar.” Leland grins.

Vince LaMar is one of Hollywood’s biggest actors, and he’s been involved in all sorts of shit from women to DUIs to drugs. It must be bad this time.

“Hell. Is his agent going to be there, because if not, neither of us is going.”

“Yeah. I think the agent wants him to go to rehab,” Leland says.

“Dammit. Okay. No dinner.”

“Dinner. They insisted.”

Better call Midnight to let her know I can’t make it tonight. My dick just shed a few tears. But then my heart gives a little squeeze too. What’s that all about?

Midnight answers immediately. “You miss me already?”

How am I supposed to answer that?

“Actually, I have to cancel tonight.”

“Why am I not surprised?” The humor that was present in her voice before disappears.

“It’s not what you think. A client called and is insisting on seeing me for dinner. I’m really sorry. I promise to make it up to you.”

“We’ll see.”

She doesn’t believe me. But I’m going to make sure I live up to this promise.