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I tell Talia how my style has both adapted and matured since my original attempt at selling nightlife. She follows me downstairs where I make us fresh coffee, still talking. She listens. Not with her eyes wandering off to the side like she’s bored, not with her mouth opening to interrupt like she’s impatiently awaiting her turn to speak. She listens like she’s invested. Not necessarily because I’m paying her, but possibly because she’s genuinely interested in what I have to say.
How…different.
Refreshing.
Addicting.
“I have several places to go today,” I tell her before sipping my hot coffee, “including a visit to Owen headquarters. I have an overdue meeting with my assistant.”
“Lynn,” she says.
“You really were listening.”
“I find you fascinating.”
I could get used to this. I cup her butt as I lean in for a kiss. The kiss grows hot, our coffee mugs forgotten for a few distracting, moaning, panting minutes. Finally, she pushes both hands against my chest, stopping me short of saying to hell with my appointments and taking her on this counter.
Tempting. Verrrry tempting.
“What are you doing today?” I ask, handing her the mug. “You can take that next door and bring it back later.”
“This sounds like a trick.”
“It is.”
That laugh again. Damn, I’m growing used to the sound, and it’s way too soon to look forward to anything with her. Way, way too fucking soon.
“I’m going to figure out what to do next. Study the company roster you emailed me so I know who to contact about what. Do you want a report or a plan? What’s my budget?”
“You do you, Wildflower. You don’t have to clear anything with me on design. Talk to Jarod about budget. Unfortunately, that’s a necessary evil. We have to make money, after all, or what in the hell are we doing with our lives?”
I reach for the square black dish sitting at the edge of the counter and hand her a key fob. “My car.”
She’s already shaking her head.
“You might need to go somewhere. Or explore.”
“I can’t drive your”—she makes a face like she’s terrified—“Mercedes around town.”
“Why not?”
She dangles the key fob between our faces. “Because it’s a Mercedes!”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” I pocket my money clip and grab my coat off the back of a chair. “You should want to drive it because it’s a Mercedes.”
“I don’t need—”
I press my finger to her lips and then give her one more brief (too brief) kiss. I’m kept from further kissing when my phone dings.
“My real estate agent is here,” I tell Talia. “She’s driving me around today to help me find a building for another idea I have. I’ll take a car home.”
Okay, one more kiss—I can’t help myself—and another gulp of coffee, and then I leave Talia Richards alone in my kitchen.
She promises to lock up, and reluctantly, when I give her my sternest frown, she promises she’ll think about taking the car.
