“Really?”

“Yeah. I know it’s not earth shattering, but it shows they have a solid base. They’re still small, but that’s part of what has made them good. Their programmers are young and hungry. Rumor has it, they’ve got ideas that will make the Wii look more like an Atari. And they have the brains to make them happen. What they don’t have is the capital.”

She stands and leans over my desk to pass me a folder. I’m assailed with a sweet but flowery scent. It’s delectable, alluring—not like the grandma whose perfume practically chokes you to death when she walks by you at the post office.

I have the urge to sink my face into her hair and inhale deeply.

But I resist and open the folder instead.

“I showed what I have to Mr. Evans…uh, your father, and he told me to run it by you. He thought one of your clients—”

“Alphacom.” I nod.

“Right. He thought Alphacom would be interested.”

I look over the work she’s done so far. It’s good. Detailed and informative but focused. Slowly, my brain—the one above my shoulders, anyway—starts to shift gears. If there’s one topic that has any hope of derailing me from thoughts about sex, it’s work. A good deal. I can definitely smell potential here.

It doesn’t smell as delicious as Kate Brooks, but it’s close.

“This is good, Kate. Very good. I could definitely sell this to Seanson. He’s Alphacom’s CEO.”

Her eyes narrow just a bit. “But, you’ll keep me on board, right?”

I smirk, “Of course. Do I look like the type who needs to steal other people’s proposals?”

She rolls her eyes and smiles. This time, I just can’t look away.

“No, of course not, Mr. Evans. I didn’t mean to imply…it’s just…you know…first day.”

I motion for her to sit back down, and she does. “Well, I’d say from the looks of this, you’re having one hell of a first day. And, please, it’s Drew.”

She nods. I lean back in my chair appraising her. My eyes rake over her from head to toe in a completely unprofessional manner. I know it. But I just can’t seem to make myself give a damn.

“So…celebrating a new job, huh?” I ask, referring to her comment at REM on Saturday.

She bites her lip, and my slacks tighten as I stir and harden—again. If this keeps up, I’m going to have one hell of a case of blue balls when I get home.

“Yes. New job.” She shrugs, then says, “I guessed who you were when you told me your name and the name of your firm.”

“You’ve heard of me?” I ask, truly curious.

“Sure. I don’t think there’s many in this field who haven’t read about Evans, Reinhart and Fisher’s golden boy in Business Weekly…or Page Six for that matter.”

Her last words refer to the gossip columns on whose pages I frequently appear.

“If the only reason you blew me off is because I work here,” I say, “I can have my resignation on my father’s desk within the hour.”

She laughs and then, with a faint blush coloring her cheeks, replies, “No, that wasn’t the only reason.” She holds up her hand to remind me of the almost-invisible engagement ring. “But aren’t you glad now that I turned you down? I mean, it would have been pretty awkward if something had happened between us. Don’t you think?”

My face is completely serious as I tell her, “Would’ve been worth it.”

She raises her brows in doubt. “Even though I’m working under you now?”

Now, come on—she walked right into that one, and she knows it. Working under me? How in the hell am I supposed to ignore that?

Yet I merely c**k an eyebrow, and she shakes her head and chuckles again.

With a feral smile, I ask her, “I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?”

“No. Not at all. But do you treat all your employees this way? Because I have to tell you, you’re leaving yourself wide open for a lawsuit.”

I can’t help the smile that comes to my lips. She’s such a surprise. Sharp. Quick. I have to think before I speak to her. I like it.

I like her.

“No, I don’t treat all my employees this way. Ever. Only one, who I haven’t stopped thinking about since Saturday night.”

Okay, so maybe I wasn’t thinking about her when the twins were double-teaming me. But it’s at least partly true.

“You’re incorrigible,” she says in a way that tells me she thinks I’m cute.

I’m a lot of things, baby. Cute isn’t one of them.

“I see something I want, and I go after it. I’m used to getting what I want.”

You’ll never hear a truer statement about me than that. But let’s put things on hold for a minute here, okay? So I can give you the full picture.

See, my mother, Anne, always wanted a big family—five, maybe six kids. But Alexandra is six years older than me. Six years may not seem like a lot to you, but to my mother it was a lifetime. The way the story goes, after Alexandra, my mother couldn’t get pregnant again—and it wasn’t for lack of trying. “Secondary infertility,” they called it. When my sister was four, my mother had pretty much given up hope of ever having any more kids.

And then guess what? I came along.

Surprise.

I was her miracle baby. Her precious angel from God. Her granted wish. Her answered prayer. And she wasn’t the only one who thought so. My father was thrilled, just as grateful to have another child—and a son at that. And Alexandra—this was the pre-Bitch years—was ecstatic to finally have a baby brother.