Jeez . . . maybe I should have. If I was going to endure an awkward morning after, I might as well have enjoyed a fun night beforehand.

Wait, hell no. Don’t even entertain the thought of fucking Noah. That way lies madness. Even though he clearly wants me and part of me wants him back, because his damn sexy face and voice and body and wicked words always hit me right in the . . .

Cheeks burning, I hurry to my office. I e-mail Dad the draft of our proposal, pour myself a giant cup of coffee, and check my backlog of messages. The tedious task works almost as well as a cold shower.

Half an hour later, I get a reply from Dad.

Proposal looks great. Let’s discuss? I’ll order in pastramis from Sal’s.

I smile to myself. Dad knows that place is my favorite deli. And evidently, he also knows that I haven’t eaten since before our flight. I close my laptop and walk to his office.

As I open his door, Dad beams at me from behind his desk. “Your work is top-notch as always. When did you even find the time to write this?”

“Noah and I worked together last night.” As much of a nuisance as Noah made himself, he deserves due credit.

Dad’s expression morphs from pride into pity. “Last night? Oh, sweetie—”

“It’s fine,” I say, interrupting him. I don’t want to hear two different men protest about my wedding night in less than twenty-four hours. And even though my sex life is nonexistent, discussing it with my own father would still be just way too gross. “So, what were your thoughts on the proposal?”

Dad sighs, but takes the hint. “It looks better than anything I’ve come up with. I guess I made the right decision, putting you kids on the case.”

Something in his tone makes me narrow my eyes. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“I’m not sure where we’re going to get the money for all this training.”

“What do you mean? I double-checked our budget. Unless . . .” I trail off, worrying my lip. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

He nods grimly. “Red Dog Optics pulled out. Halfway through a project. They’re paying us for the deliverables we finished, plus our early termination fee, but everything we had in progress . . . labor down the drain. And of course, we can’t count on that future income anymore.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose hard, trying to ward off an impending stress headache. That’s one of our biggest clients—well, it was, anyway. Son of a bitch. I’m out of the office for less than two full workdays, and look what I miss.

Thank God I didn’t let Noah persuade me to catch a later flight.

“Why the hell would they do that?” I ask. “We’ve lost clients before . . .” By which I mean, we’ve been steadily bleeding them for years now. “But never so suddenly. Why not ride out our current contract and then just avoid signing another one?”

Dad shakes his head. “No idea. Our work on that project seemed up to our usual standard, as far as I could tell. The only explanation I can think of is that something spooked them.”

“What, they thought we’d collapse before we could even finish their project?” I lick my raw lip nervously.

Tate & Cane certainly isn’t doing great, and I knew our reputation would take a hit after the board started meeting with buyers and word got around . . . but our situation isn’t nearly bad enough to make Red Dog react like this.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I’m being paranoid. Some dumbass probably just made a careless comment to his golf buddy, it got misinterpreted, and the rumor mill spun out of control. If anything suspicious happens again, then maybe we should investigate. But for now, we don’t have the time or resources to spend on a wild goose chase.

“Then we’ll just have to find a consultant who’s willing to handle our training for cheap,” I say with a lot more confidence than I feel. Hopefully we won’t get what we pay for. “And we can concentrate on winning back some old clients before we try to court new ones.”

“Sounds like a plan, sweetie. I’m behind you kids all the way.” Dad leans forward on his desk. “I’m counting on you to get creative and save this thing we’ve built together . . . not just for the sake of your futures, but for your children too.”

I give him a confused look. “Children? That’s a pretty long ways off, Dad.” Reproducing isn’t on my radar at all. I haven’t wanted babies since I learned they weren’t really brought by storks.

Dad gives my confused look right back. “Not that far off . . . ?”

My phone chimes. I pull it out and see a text.

Noah: You hear about Red Dog?

“Sorry, Dad.” I sigh, not very sorry at all to get off the topic of children. Thanks for the conversational escape hatch, Noah. “I should probably go meet with Noah to get started on this. Can you tell the delivery guy to take my pastrami to my office when he gets here?”

Dad nods good-bye and I hustle to Noah’s office, far away from any ten-pound hints about starting a family. That last part of our chat was surreal. I’m sure Dad has a whole fairy-tale ending envisioned for Noah and me, but seriously? I’m not even close to the motherly type.

Okay, back into work mode. We have to figure out how to start implementing our business plan on the cheap and recovering at least a few old clients. Noah can definitely help on both of those fronts. Persuasion is his specialty . . . sweet-talking, haggling deals, calling in favors. And if there’s a woman in any position of influence, he can turn on the playboy charm and use his handsome face to help sway her. Like he did with Estelle Osbourne at Clair de Lune.