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“That depends.” The small pile of shredded label grew alongside the stack of condoms in front of her.
“On what?” When he tipped back his beer, the shirt he wore stretched taut across his upper body, giving her a view of the definition underneath.
She parted her lips. He tossed her a questioning look. “What exactly you did. Hypothetically, of course,” she finally replied.
His grin widened. “What illegal activities would you keep a secret?”
“Let’s say you beat up a guy because he threatened a kid or a puppy. That’s you being a decent human being. So, I’d keep that secret. Now, if you unalived someone, I’d be forced to call the police.”
Dear Lord, just when she thought his grin was at its sexiest, it got bigger, teeth and dimples and all.
“This is confidential. I trust you’ll respect the bonds of Confessions?”
She nodded, mesmerized by all that was him.
He leaned closer, and the heat from his golden eyes hypnotized her. Or maybe it was the heat from thoughts of how they could use the substitute game pieces. Either way.
“I turn thirty in a few weeks. I confess that when that happens, I’ll inherit Crestone Broadcasting. The transfer of ownership involves a lot of phone calls and paperwork. I dealt with that today—the phone calls part.”
Well, that wasn’t so big. Not murder big, anyway. Still, though, not small.
Okay, crapola. This was huge.
William would be her boss—a boss with access to her personnel file. A boss with the ability to call the shots with her career. She absolutely wouldn’t get involved with him. No way.
“That makes you my boss.”
“Not yet. Right now, I’m still a reporter on assignment with an adorable producer, which makes you kind of my boss.”
“If I’m the boss, then why are you always so bossy? Huh?”
He tangled his fingers with hers and stroked the sensitive spot between her thumb and pointer finger.
He’s going to be your boss. He’s going to be your boss. He’s going to be your boss.
Her breath hitched. “Three-part question,” she whispered.
“Got a feeling no matter what I say, you’re asking anyway. Shoot.” He untangled his grasp.
“Why do you call me Princess? Before you were messing around with the other names, but this one’s stuck. Why?”
His eyes danced. “Luce, it’s on your ass.”
She blinked hard. “Come again?”
“The writing on your pants says ‘Princess’ right across your…ahem…backside.” He gestured to her nether regions.
“I cannot believe you were reading my ass.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she got there first–“Watch your words carefully.”
“You walk around with words stamped on your pants, men are gonna look.”
“They’re not my pants.” Well, they weren’t. It’s not like she’d chosen them.
“Not your pants?” he asked.
“That’s what I said.” Her heart beat faster with the knowledge he had checked her out.
