Not to mention his comment about kids. Miranda rolled her eyes at herself for falling under his spell. It had sounded sincere, but it had to be canned. No one who had been as famous as Luke Archer for as long as he had could still be surprised by a kid’s reaction.

Well, at least, he had taken her mind off Orin for a few minutes so she could get her temper under control.

She glanced at her watch. Her boss should be in by now. She would go beard the lion in his den.

Miranda struggled to be diplomatic as she sat in front of Orin’s desk. “I’m concerned about the mix-up in Mrs. Anglethorpe’s roses. The peach roses got switched to white ones. Fortunately, I caught the problem before they were delivered.”

Her boss swiveled away from his computer screen. He laid his hands on his desk and fixed a cold gaze on her. “So I will credit your alertness for catching the mistake. Well done.” There was nothing complimentary in his tone.

“Someone from our service called Richmond Florals and requested the change.” She wasn’t about to accuse Orin of placing the call, no matter what Joe said. “I’m sure they meant to change a different order. However, the mistake would have made both of the Anglethorpes unhappy and ruined the birthday celebration.”

Orin’s jaw went tight and his lips thinned. “If Joe can’t keep his paperwork straight, maybe you should find a different florist.”

“I’m just wondering how we can make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.” Miranda waited. Orin liked to think of himself as a problem solver.

“You have brought the issue to my attention, Miranda. Since I am the CEO of Elite Concierge Services, it is, of course, a priority for me to make sure this problem does not occur again.” Orin smacked his palms on the desktop, making Miranda start. “You need not concern yourself further.”

As she left his office, Miranda let out the breath she’d been holding. She’d made her point and he hadn’t fired her.

Still, she would polish up her résumé when she got home.

Luke settled on the leather seat of the limo and wondered what had Miranda Tate so riled up. She didn’t seem the type to throw things—even balls. He had a suspicion that Orin Spindle was involved, and guilt nagged at him again. If Luke hadn’t had that god-awful hangover from drinking with Trainor and Miller the night before, he wouldn’t have let that whole situation get to the point it did. He owed it to Miranda to fix it. But she had made it clear she didn’t want him to fight that battle for her.

Which surprised him.

So many people expected him to help them out.

He’d get a better idea about her at the meet and greet. He wanted to see her outside her professional persona. Bring out that genuine smile again, the one she’d given him when Trevor had pissed him off. Find out if that smooth, satiny voice ever took on an edge, or her sleek, shiny dark hair ever looked mussed. Like someone had run their fingers through it. See how the spark of temper he’d caught in her brown eyes might be turned into a different kind of heat.

He felt a stirring in his groin. Where the hell had that come from? One brush of her breasts against him and he wanted the whole package?

Luke straightened on the seat and began to run through the Empire’s playbook in his mind. One of his signature moves was not using a wristband with plays listed on it. He kept a mental file instead—it made his decisions on the field easier. And it intimidated his opponents.

Football was a physical game, but it never hurt to mess with your enemy’s mind, too.

Chapter 4

“This is awesome,” Theo said, his hazel eyes the size of saucers. They’d just been escorted into the VIP box.

“Awesome is right,” Miranda agreed. She was startled to discover that the box was decorated like someone’s large, elegant living/dining room, except for the wall of glass that overlooked the outdoor seating and the brilliant green of the football field. She’d gotten tickets for people to sit in VIP boxes more times than she could remember, but she’d never actually been in one herself. She’d imagined they would be decorated with team logos and neon beer signs. This suite boasted oak paneling, tan leather sofas, and plush russet carpeting.

“Mr. Archer got you one of the nicest boxes, and you have it all to yourself,” Heather, their young hostess, said. She’d met them at the VIP entrance, wearing a skirt and jacket in the now-familiar Empire blue, and whisked them up to their luxurious suite in an elevator.

Dennis whistled. “Four flat-screen TVs.”

“Hot dogs and pizza.” Theo inspected the contents of the chafing dishes laid out on the marble countertop.

“A private bathroom,” Patty said, sticking her head in the door. “With real towels, not paper ones.”

“Anything you want, just ask Milt here. He’ll be taking care of you.” Heather introduced them all to a wiry older man dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt with a black necktie. “I’ll be back after the game to take you to the lounge.”

“You folks want something to drink?” Milt asked. “Anything we haven’t got right here, I can get for you.”

Theo ran to his mother and beckoned for her to bend down so he could whisper in her ear. She listened and then nodded. “Yes, but after you eat.”

The boy raced over to Milt and skidded to a stop just in front of him. “Mr. Milt, do you have milk shakes?”

“Chocolate, vanilla, or peanut butter?” Milt asked with a smile.