I want to call him. Then again, I also want to go and give him the cold shoulder for his dumbass tactics. The man is what—in his thirties? And he acted like an eight year old who had a pinecone thrown at their head or something.

Ugh. Professionalism is hard when personal issues get in the way. And without a doubt ours are in the way here.

I almost hope he’s called and wants to meet to tell me he isn’t hiring me. Almost. Because, then, hey… if he kisses me again, who am I to refuse?

The man can kiss. And do the rest of it.

This is why I shouldn’t be in business. I should be stacking shelves at Target or something. Maybe answering phones in a doctor’s office. Something where it doesn’t matter if I screw anyone because the worst they could be is someone I’ll pass again.

Jesus.

We finish the rest of our dinner in silence, and I glance at my wrist. My watch reads almost five forty-five. Crap.

“Can I leave my share?” I ask Charley. “I have to run.”

She grabs my hand and looks at my watch. “Only if you call me the second you leave and tell me everything.”

“Even if it’s personal?”

She grins. “Especially if it’s personal.”

“Fine.” I dig in my purse for my wallet and throw down twenty five bucks. “I’ll speak to you later.”

“Damn right you will.” Her eyes glitter with laughter as I get up and walk away. It takes everything I have not to flip her the bird over my shoulder.

I flag a cab once I’m outside and slip into the back seat, then direct him to Carter’s. I take a deep breath to try and center myself. Butterflies are fluttering around my stomach, and I feel like I could easily throw up at any moment. Not knowing what Carter wants with me has plagued me all day, and that’s exactly why I called Charley for dinner. I hoped that being with her would take my mind off it but I was wrong.

So wrong. God. I have no idea how I’m going to get through this.

I don’t want to admit how badly he affects me. He does. With his dark smirk and his arresting eyes, not to mention that sharp stubbly jaw and powerful grip… I want to melt as soon as he walks into a room. Only my own defiance stops me.

On the agenda for today: no melting.

Geez, I just don’t do this crap around men.

The cab stops outside Carter’s. I pay the driver then get out of the car. My heels click against the pavement as I walk toward the restaurant. It’s almost full, and I hesitate before opening the door.

This is a stupid idea.

Which is exactly why I close my fingers around the handle and pull the door open.

I never claimed to be fucking smart, did I?

“Welcome to Carter’s,” the hostess greets me. “Can I take your name, party size, and time of reservation?”

“Oh,” I manage. “Actually, I’m here to see Mr. Hughes. He’s expecting me. Bee Donnelly.”

She purses her lips. “One moment please.” She turns and disappears, walking in the direction of the bar door.

It’s always one damn moment in this place, isn’t it?

I so badly want to drum my fingers against the countertop of the host’s area or tap my foot against the floor. Don’t these people know I have an important meeting with Netflix and Bert the Battery Boyfriend tonight?

I do. A very long and important meeting. I might even switch out Netflix for PornHub to spice this shit up.

The hostess comes back and offers me another tight smile. “Mr. Hughes is through in the bar. He’s asked that you go straight through. He’s in booth one waiting for you.”

Of course he is. Of all the booths, it has to be that one.

“Thank you.” I smile back at her and clutch my purse to my body. I walk through the restaurant, feeling oddly conscious of the way I look. When Carter said he caters to primarily an exclusive clientele, I didn’t think he meant carats upon carats of diamonds and billionaire exclusive.

Then again, this is New York City. I’ve lived here my whole life and barely scratched the surface of the city’s wealth.

I push open the door to the bar and blink a few times to adjust to the much lower light. I should turn around right now and leave, because there’s no way a professional conversation can happen here. Especially not in that booth.

So why do my feet force me to walk alongside the black glass bar and pass every booth on the way?

Most of them have their curtains wide open, and I can just about make out figures behind the thick yet gauzy curtains.

Sweet fuck on a backseat. Could people see us at the weekend? Holy shit. I think they could—not clearly, but well enough. Oh God.

How the fuck didn’t he tell me about that? How could he not? Jesus! Now I’m pissed. Did he not think to bring that up at any point in our conversation?

With a renewed vigor, I storm the rest of the length of the bar and find booth one. The curtains are pulled back, and Carter is sitting in one corner. His phone is held against his ear and he holds one finger up to me.

Oh, he didn’t just do that.

He did.

I narrow my eyes. Unwillingly, I find myself exploring the way he looks. He’s relaxed back, his jacket discarded on the leather seat next to him. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, his tie unknotted but hanging around his neck. A glass of amber liquid is clasped in his hand and resting on his knee.

“Yes… Thank you. Goodbye.” He pulls the phone from his ear, taps the screen, and sets it on the table. Slowly, he looks up and meets my eyes. An easy smile spreads across his lips. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Donnelly. Or is it Bee today?”

I raise one eyebrow. “Is this meeting professional or personal?”

“Professional.” He smirks.

“Then it’s Ms. Donnelly.”

“Then have a seat, Ms. Donnelly.” He motions to the chair. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A glass of water will be fine, thank you.” I sit down, sliding the skirt of my dress beneath my thighs, and set my purse next to me.

“Are you sure? I seem to remember you enjoying the wine.”

Does he want my purse in his face? “I don’t drink during meetings, but again, thank you.”

He studies me for a second, his gaze almost making me squirm, but I hold steady under his scrutiny. “As you wish.” He waves his hand and catches a server. He orders my water and another of his drink. Silence lingers between us as the drinks are made and brought to us.

“Thank you,” I say to the girl who sets my water on the table.

She smiles and passes Carter his drink. “Is that all, sir?”

“Yes. Please ensure we aren’t disturbed.”

She nods her head once and backs out of the booth, then reaches for the curtains.

“Oh!” I stop her, extending a hand. “Please leave the curtains. Unless the meeting is a private one?” I turn to Carter, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Ms. Donnelly,” he says smoothly, “If this were private, we’d be in my office, don’t you think? Leave the curtains, if Ms. Donnelly feels more comfortable this way, Bianca.”

There’s a spark in his eye… One that’s daring. He’s pushing me to see how far he can make me go.

It’s written all over his face. In the twitch of his eyebrows, the curve of his lips, the intensity of his startling eyes… He wants to see how far he can take me before I break.

He’s playing a dangerous, dangerous game.

Good thing I know the rulebook.

“On second thought,” I say slowly, my eyes never leaving Carter’s, “Close the curtains. After all, people will hear me if I scream. Isn’t that right, Mr. Hughes?”

Bianca doesn’t move for a moment until Carter snaps, “Close the curtains!” They close quickly and she retreats, leaving us alone. Carter turns to me and sits up, then sets his glass on the table, his eyes blazing. “You’re very right. People can hear you scream. But only if I want them to. Remember that.”

I level him with a steady gaze. “Please get to the point of this meeting, Mr. Hughes.”