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“That’s how the idea of a week works.” Had he created a greed monster in her already? He should’ve expected it. She was no Marilyn Monroe desperate to be taken seriously on her barstool anymore.
“It’s a long time before I see you again.”
His turn to make a face. She dipped her eyes and smiled, and then she went to her toes and kissed his cheek. He had to make a fist not to put his arm around her. “Finley.”
“You helped me make half a million dollars in a couple of hours tonight. I’m not hitting on you, I’m just saying thank you.”
She left him standing there with his hand to his cheek like a man who’d never been kissed by a real woman he admired, regretting she hadn’t hit on him, and agreeing Saturday was a long time away.
Chapter Thirteen
It took Fin a whole morning to convince Lenny the payment receipting whatsit on the new website wasn’t broken, that she really did go to a stuffy dinner party in a glossy Fifth Avenue penthouse with Cal and make half a million dollars.
She couldn’t convince Lenny she hadn’t gotten inside his underwear.
She’d never known anyone like Cal. She’d been attracted to him at first sight at the Blarney, even though he’d been grumpy and dickish. He’d also felt safe, because she’d never have thrown her arms around a stranger and kissed his lips off otherwise.
And then there was the way he reacted to that first surprising kiss. Full-on rolling with it. He’d given his considerable authority and control over to her, even when she’d had no idea what she was doing with him. Now that she knew what a control freak he was, with his background profiles, briefing documents, and lie detection skills, the fact she’d made him want her badly enough to
not take her to bed was the worst kind of series cliffhanger.
Except he hadn’t made a single move on her since. Despite provocation.
Mad provocation.
And some of it was his.
Putting logic aside, she badly wanted to break Cal again, make him forget the whole business-only thing, kick back and have some serious clothing optional fun.
It would just be sex. Keep calm and strip for intimacy and fun.
She’d made the mistake of thinking sex was more with Win. Lesson learned. It couldn’t possibly ruin anything between her and Cal, because their relationship was a deal and it had an end date. That wouldn’t change if they got naked and sweaty. They worked well together. They had that mutual won’t-pinch-your-ass, embarrass you, we-need-each-other thing going on. In fact, sex would enhance their cover story. Make them seem more real. And cure Lenny’s disbelief.
On top of which, Cal and Rory looked about as over as it was possible for a relationship to be, besides the regret, so what was the problem?
When Cal touched her, she reacted: her skin shivered, her senses went on alert, and that had nothing to do with the cueing. He took her hands, and he brought their bodies close, and sometimes when they weren’t touching, he looked like he wanted to reach for her. But she couldn’t read him as easily as he read her, and he’d reacted to her cheek kiss as if it were toxic. Maybe their lust-filled, hotel, almost sex only happened because he’d been drinking that night.
And wasn’t that a depressing thought.
A week was a long time to ponder the possible toxicity of a kiss, but climbing into the passenger seat of Cal’s car, a shiny, navy, low-to-the-ground, purring beast of a machine, and seeing him dressed casually was worth the wait. His jeans were old and worn, and fit just right, and his white shirt was made from soft fabric that looked incredibly touchable. He wore aviator style sunglasses and seemed almost carefree.
“What?” he said, as he pulled out into traffic, because she didn’t try to hide her staring.
“I thought you probably lived in a suit. The whole sweats and takeout thing was spin. Do you know who the band is? How exactly is this going to work?”
Cal drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Hi, Fin, how are you? Did you have a good week? I like what you’ve done with the instruction to dress down.”
She laughed at him. She wore jeans with low-heeled boots and a white tank with a caramel-colored suede fringed vest. Her own clothes, and she rocked them. “Oh, man, you almost faked boyfriend until the part about the dress instructions.”
He grunted. “Unlike you, who went straight to business.”
“I’m following orders. Now, cough up the detail.”
“I don’t know who the band is. It’s a surprise. XRad does this every year. A party for employees and investors, and it always features a big-name act.”
“Wow, something Cal Sherwood doesn’t know.” Given the briefing pack she’d gotten included every other detail from the fact his car was a midnight-blue Aston Martin to what video games XRad made and where in the abandoned power plant turned party venue she’d find restrooms, as well as the secrets and lies of all the VIP guests, it was a reasonable dig to make.
Cal’s response was to take his sunglasses off and ignore her jab.
