“Which is … a good thing?” Jess asks. “I’m so confused by what you want.”

“Yeah.” I stare at the artwork critically. “Me too.”

His Tuesday night flight is delayed, nixing our dinner plans. Wednesday, I suffer through two morning meetings, and finally connect with him in the conference room.

“You know, I did you a favor.” Trey taps the model on the elbow. “Turn around please.”

“Did me a favor?” I look up from the silk fabric in my hands, watching as he draws a careful line across the model’s back, sketching out the lines of a bustier that he wants us to design. It’s Wishful Wednesday, a monthly tradition on the second Wednesday of each month. We bring in a dozen models and all of the designers, giving everyone free reign with washable markers and a couple hundred material swatches. “With what?”

“Stephen. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be sampling wedding cake right now and picking up his dry cleaning.”

“I would not.” I step beside him and eye the model. “That’s too low. It won’t stay up.”

“But it looks sexy.”

“It’s not going to be functional.”

“Tricia,” he drawls. “Will you please get Kate in line? She’s ruining all of my fun.”

Tricia, the model I was working on, giggles. I glare at her. “Don’t. You’ll encourage him.” I toss the robe to her. “Put that on for me.”

“God, you’re bossy.” He looks up at the busty blonde before him. “No wonder they all request me.”

“No one requests anyone,” I gripe, wincing as he draws a criss-cross of straps that no woman will be able to get into without help. Tricia clicks her tongue at me and I try to refocus, grabbing a handful of straight pins and moving toward her.

“She was going to marry a boring asshole,” he stage-whispers, and I smile despite myself, grateful that we are back to normal, as normal as the two of us can be.

“I wasn’t going to marry the guy,” I call out loudly, pulling the silk tight across her shoulders and examining the lay of it. “Now, please shut up and focus on your work.”

“I’m done.” His voice is in my ear, so close that I flinch, the straight pins almost poking Tricia, who gives me a worried look. He straightens with a mischievous smile, and I hurl one of the pins in his general direction. “Now stop wasting time and dream up something incredible. I’m going to go pick up lunch for everyone.”

I try to glare at him, but I can’t.

Chapter 17

Her

I relax back in one of his chairs, my leg hanging over the arm, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, and suck a bit of soy sauce off of one finger. On the coffee table before us, a sea of styrofoam containers sit, half-eaten sushi rolls and wasabi piles dotting the white canvases. “You ordered too much,” I decide.

“The night’s not over yet.” He swipes a piece of salmon and stands, walking over to the window and peering out. “Want to go sit outside?”

“No.” I stretch out my stomach, exhausted at just the thought of moving. “Entertain me from here.”

“Hmmm…” He turns away from the window and raises one wicked eyebrow. “That sounds fun.”

“No,” I groan. “It doesn’t. Entertain me verbally.”

“Your French store is killing it. We should open a second location over there.”

“No work talk.” I sit up a little, inspiration hitting in the midst of sushi digestion. “Let’s trade secrets. You tell me one of yours, and I’ll tell you one of mine.”

“You want me to tell you a secret?” He shrugs. “That’s pretty open.”

“No,” I decide. “I don’t want to know some stupid arrest you had in college. You have to answer a question.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Truthfully.”

“Oh please.” He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not doing that. You’ll ask about Mira.”

“I promise I won’t ask about Mira.” I cross my fingers over my chest, and he rolls his eyes.

“You don’t even have anything worth sharing. What’s your biggest sin—borrowing a piece of gum without asking?”

I make a face at him. “You think you know everything, but you don’t. I have all sorts of dark secrets.” I wave my hands in a giant sweep, encompassing all of my many juicy secrets.

“Name one.”

“If I do, then you’ll answer my question?”

“As long as it’s not a question about Mira. Or about us.”

I turn my head and meet his stare. Or about us. We could sum up our entire relationship in those three words. Attraction. Avoidance. There is an “us”. My heart quickens, that familiar race where I consider the what ifs that I typically try to ignore. “It won’t be a question about Mira.” I say slowly. “Or about us.” I shrug, like I have no idea what I will ask, like the question isn’t sitting, hot and ready, on my tongue. “I’ll find something else to ask.”

“And your secret has to be worthy.” He leans forward. “Something scandalous.”

I frown. “I’m not entering one of my secrets in some sort of Olympics. I’ll pick a good secret. You’ll have to trust me.”

“One of your secrets?” He chuckles. “Kate. Please.”

I glare at him, buying a moment while my mind frantically tries to find something scandalous in my history. I come up blank. My best secret is that I want my boss to strip me naked and pound me into next Tuesday. And I certainly can’t share that secret. I think back to my college days and work forward, searching for something … my mind zeros in on the time I gave Victor Parken a blow job in the basement of his fraternity house. I search desperately for something, anything else.

“What is it?” Trey cocks a brow. “You think of something?”

“Not really.” I pull at my lip. “It’s personal.” But look at what I’m about to ask him. That’s personal. This—this was just a stupid night with too much Miller Lite and not enough common sense.

“Secret sex tape?” he guesses. “You strip in college to make extra money? Or maybe a secret baby somewhere? A—”

“STOP,” I interrupt. “You’re ruining my delivery.”

“I’m sorry.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “Confess away.”

“When I was a sophomore in college,” I begin. “There was a party—at a fraternity house.” He straightens slightly, and I have his full attention. “I was drinking, and there was this guy I was kind of dating.” His eyes change, growing wary, and I watch his jaw clench, almost imperceptibly. I speak quickly, before he thinks the wrong thing. “The party was getting crazy, and so Victor and I moved downstairs, to the basement.” I pick at the edge of my sleeve. “We started kissing, and … I went down on him.” I can feel the blush, hot on my cheeks, and I reluctantly look up to Trey.

“And…?” he all but demands.

“And what?”

“What happened?”

“Afterward?” I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess we just went back upstairs.”

There is a slow change to his face, a resettling of features, his handsome profile returning, and he rubs his fingers along his brow. “That’s your secret? You gave a guy a blowjob?”

“In a fraternity house. And during a party,” I explain. “Anyone could have come downstairs and interrupted—could have seen me.” I flush, embarrassed at the thought. Me, my skirt riding up around my thighs, crouched and low on that sticky floor, one hand holding onto his hairy leg for balance. God, what if someone had come in and seen me, my lips wrapped around his—I clamp down the thought.

“But no one did come in.” His lips flutter in the ghost of a smile.

“Oh my God. We were practically exhibitionists. If you can’t see how stupid I was to do that, then you’re—”

“Normal? Reasonable?”