Fuck.

I close out my in-box. Since Sterling still isn’t back, I pull up the business news app on my phone to scroll through the headlines, hoping to take my mind off all the bed news at work.

“Can Manhattan’s New “Power Couple” Turn a Marketing Dinosaur Around Before It’s Too Late?”

I begin reading the top article, only to discover that it’s about Olivia and me. Financial advisors are speculating about the future of the company and predict a plummet in our stock price as leadership changes are shaken out.

Well, fuck that. I won’t watch our company go down in flames. But the truth is, we’re not even close to being out of the woods yet. And all this bad press is bound to hobble us even more.

Frustrated, I slam my phone down on the table just as Sterling approaches.

“What now?” he asks, sliding into his seat and laying his napkin across his lap.

It feels like my work life and personal life are both imploding. I’m not used to failing so miserably. Feeling so helpless.

Then I realize something—the solution to both my problems is winning over Olivia. We have to work together to save this shipwreck, and I’m tired of her rejections, her pessimistic idea that we can never work. Fuck that.

“I know what I need to do,” I blurt.

“And what’s that?”

“I need to seduce my wife. I need to show her how good we can be together.”

Sterling nods. “So, what are you going to do? Plan some big elaborate date to woo her?”

I think it over, then shake my head. “No. Olivia’s much too skittish. It’ll take more finesse than that.”

• • •

When Olivia arrives home from the gym at seven, I’m ready. I turned down the lighting in the penthouse and put on some smooth jazz to play softly in the background.

She sets her gym bag on the floor, giving me a skeptical look. “What’s going on?”

She’s probably reading the mood as a romantic one, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. My goal is just to get her to relax tonight.

Trying to act natural, I reply, “I got some dinner for us and thought we could take the night off from spreadsheets and numbers.”

She shrugs. “Sure. Let me grab a quick shower, then I’ll be right out.”

I expected more of a fight. Maybe the gods are looking down on me tonight with pity.

Toeing off her hot pink tennis shoes, Olivia heads toward the bathroom. When I hear the spray of the shower, I head into the kitchen to finalize everything.

The food arrives by the time I hear the shower shut off. I arrange the contents of the takeout containers on a couple of small plates, to keep with the tapas theme.

There’s goat cheese with roasted figs, seared scallops, and a potato-and-gruyere gratin. It smells great. I pour two glasses of cabernet sauvignon and carry everything to the coffee table in the living room.

I hear Olivia’s footsteps on the wood floor and look up. Fresh out of the shower, she’s dressed in a pair of black leggings that hug every last curve of her shapely legs and round ass, along with a gray sweatshirt that’s cut to hang off one bare shoulder, exposing her lightly freckled skin. She looks dewy and flushed from the shower, and I want to touch her to see if she feels as warm and soft as she looks.

“Wow. What’s all this?” she asks, sitting down beside me on the couch.

“Just a casual dinner. I thought we deserved some relaxation, considering the pressure we’re under at work.”

She accepts the glass of wine I hand her, and takes a sip. “How thoughtful.”

The sweet scent of her honeysuckle-and-vanilla body wash hits me square in the face, making me want to lean in and taste her skin, her lips, her breasts.

Shit.

I need to get it together. My plan is to win her over, to woo her, not to push myself on her with unwanted advances.

She may have a tough exterior, but I’m starting to learn that she’s actually a little timid when it comes to getting physical with me. Which is not at all what I’m used to. Most other women would love a ride on Noah Tate.

Olivia helps herself to a portion of each dish—cutting off a little bite of sea scallop, letting out a little murmur of pleasure as she chews, blowing on a steaming forkful of potato gratin before closing her lips around it.

“So good,” she says with a moan. “How did you know I love tapas?”

I shrug. “I may have pumped Camryn for information.”

Her eyes flick over to mine as she takes another sip of wine. “Why would you do that?”

Returning her gaze, I decide to make myself vulnerable. “Because I like you, Olivia. I want this to work.”

And I don’t just mean that in the sense of taking back our company and making a fuck-ton of money. I genuinely think that if she is willing to try, we can have a shot at being a real, happy couple. But I don’t clarify all that extra stuff. Olivia appreciates honesty, but there’s such a thing as baring too much too soon. Or possibly at all.

I already know we’re compatible when it comes to the major stuff—politics, religion, and work ethic—but I’m starting to think that together in the bedroom, we’d be explosive. She tries to deny it, but the way her body responds to me is ridiculous. Not to mention the desperate way I crave her luscious ass and her perky tits, even her smart mouth is ridiculous. I’m normally a hit-it-and-quit-it type of guy. Once I’ve had a taste, I’m done and on to the next course. But something tells me that with Olivia, once wouldn’t be nearly enough.