He leaves the door cracked open. Of course he does.
I’m supposed to play it cool while this Greek god incarnate gets dressed a couple feet away, the door wide open? Come on now.
I stand there, hyperaware of every little sound. The rustling of clothes. Faint jingle of a belt buckle. Don’t picture those bare thighs sliding into slacks . . . If he weren’t already a billionaire, he could make real money on OnlyFans, even just crushing watermelons between his thighs.
“So, about the big date. How’s tomorrow night sound?” I call out, purposely fixing my eyes on the breathtaking city view outside the window, trying hard not to think about the guy getting dressed in the bathroom. I mentally list every unsexy thing I can think of. Clogged toilets. Mistaking wasabi for guacamole. Taxes. My dead uncles’ nose hairs. Vicky motorboating waitresses.
It’s useless.
Cock.
That’s all I can think of. His cock.
“Didn’t catch that,” comes his voice from the bathroom. Moments later, he steps out, smoothly pulling on a crisp white shirt over those broad shoulders. Of course it’s still unbuttoned. At least he’s in black slacks now, though they’re tailored to leave little to imagination.
I yank my attention back up. “I was talking about setting up tomorrow night for the big date. I need to finalize some spots to ensure we get that ideal ‘candid’ photo op.”
He reaches for a cufflink on his desk. “Fine. Let’s do dinner at the Orchid Room. I’ll tell my assistant to sort out some jewelry.”
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. “Letting your assistant pick out jewelry? You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”
He freezes, cufflink paused in midair, and fixes me with a sharp look.
Uh-oh. I may have poked the bear a bit too hard. I’m finding it increasingly difficult to understand where the line is.
Connor closes the gap between us in a few strides. For a second, I consider stepping back, but nope, I’m standing my ground.
My pulse quickens as irritation ripples off him. Stretch out my hand, and I’d touch the tanned skin peeking through his partially buttoned shirt.
“Forgive my oversight, I wasn’t aware you were the leading expert on romancing women,” Connor says bitingly. “Why don’t you share some of your vast knowledge then? What am I missing here?”
“Hey, I’m no Dr. Ruth, but come on—having your assistant buy gifts? Why not try actually getting to know Willow first? Her dreams, what she’s passionate about, not just daddy’s press releases . . .”
I trail off at his thunderous expression.
His reply is deadpan. “That would require actual conversation.”
I can’t help myself this time—I roll my eyes. “The brain’s the sexiest organ in the body so it’s nice to see a guy use his, not just flash his wallet and . . . other large assets.”
Shut up, you fool.
A flash of anger sparks in his eyes. Connor shifts even closer, his scent—hot, masculine—wrapping around me. His open shirt grazes my arm, raising goose bumps.
His voice turns to a dangerously soft murmur. “You think it’s smart to sass your clients, Miss Sullivan? I run a multibillion-dollar empire, yet you imply I lack brains.”
I force down a hard swallow, clinging to my cool. “I wouldn’t dream of insinuating such a thing. You’re obviously a powerhouse in business. I’m just pointing out the cliché of outsourcing your romantic gestures to a PA.”
Grabbing his belt, he slides it on slowly, the movement loaded with an unintended sensuality. “I’ve got a schedule that’s packed 24/7. I don’t have time to go traipsing around Tiffany’s debating bracelets. Whatever I give her, she’ll love it.”
I scoff at the arrogance. “That perfectly demonstrates the classic difference between men and women.”
He smirks as he casually loops his belt. “This ought to be good. Go on, enlighten me.”
“Simple. Men overplay their charm and talent, while women downplay theirs.” I smile. “Classic case of men overselling, women underselling. Broad generalization, sure, but it holds up. Just look at any dating app profile ever.”
He smiles. “You could be on to something there.”
“It’s not just me talking, there’s actual research backing this.”
