“It was torturous. He’s sitting so close that I can smell his cologne. And he looks at me like he feels bad for me.”

Maggie nodded. “That’s exactly why I have the perfect new plan for you.”

“I’m all ears,” I said, then drained the last of my wine and signaled the bartender for another glass.

“The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

Emboldened by the alcohol, we created a new plan—an online dating profile that Maggie typed up for me on my phone.

“Ms. Fifty Shades of Sexy seeks lovable Christian Grey type for cuddling, misadventure, and more.”

I snatched my phone back from her. “You can’t write that.”

She smiled like the cat who’d eaten the canary. “Oops. Too late.”

By the time we’d polished off a bottle of wine and eaten a few tacos apiece from a food truck out front, I felt immensely better. On the cab ride home, anything seemed possible.

Maybe I wouldn’t die a pathetic spinster with a cobwebbed vagina after all. I had a new plan, one that had nothing to do with Smith Hamilton. It didn’t matter that I’d been in love with him half my life . . . it was more than past time to move on.

My failed attempt at seducing him was like a flashing neon sign from God to move on. Smith who?

Tomorrow was a new day.

Chapter Eight

I stared at my computer screen. For the tenth time that day, I saw not a single number in front of me, in spite of the fact that they filled the screen from top to bottom.

Nope, instead of eights, I saw the lush curves of one Evie Reed in all her glory, sprawled on my hotel bed.

Instead of sixes and nines, my brain instantly supplied a dozen carnal images of the two of us doing exactly that. My mouth on that sweet, wet pussy, and her hot, juicy lips wrapped around my cock.

Instead of ones, I recalled the secret knowledge that I was the only man to have been inside her.

It had been a week since we’d left France to head back to the States and begun working together on a daily basis. I wasn’t an idiot—I’d known day one would be bad. And I was right. Monday had been the ultimate shit show, with the two of us steering around each other awkwardly like ships passing in the night.

Except I wanted to fuck this particular ship so badly, I was in a near-constant state of arousal.

By the time Tuesday had rolled around, I figured I had it on lock. I’d jerked off when I got home Monday night, and then again before I left for the office the next morning.

Then Evie had decided Tuesday was apparently the appropriate time to roll out a brand-new pair of black fuck-me pumps, complete with freshly painted scarlet toes peeking out, and I was a goner.

I got through the day, but barely.

Cue Wednesday, when I had not only rubbed one out in the shower before work, but had also removed myself from the premises to work at the coffee shop downstairs, decreeing to all who would listen that I was doing something super number-y and super important, and was not to be disturbed. The truth was I just couldn’t make it another second in her presence without doing or saying something inappropriate.

I’d made it to two in the afternoon without incident, until I had no choice but to venture out for a late lunch. It was like fate was working against me, because I stepped into the building’s lobby and directly into Evie’s path. She skidded to a halt, but not before her soft breasts bounced off my bicep and the papers she’d been holding went fluttering everywhere.

I spent a full minute picking up the scattered sheets with her pert little pencil-skirt-covered ass mere inches from my face. I’d handed the papers over only to catch a whiff of her light, citrusy scent, and it was Stiffy Central all over again.

Flash forward to today. Friday, the start of the weekend.

Instead of planning some great activity—maybe a wine tasting, a dinner date, or a hike—I was prepping for a whack-a-thon. Cueing up enough porn on my laptop to fill my days and nights in hopes of coming into next week with the old tank on empty. I was a thirty-year-old man, but felt like I was sixteen all over again.

I blew out a sigh and glanced at the clock. Five fifteen. I’d built in the extra quarter of an hour so as not to get stuck riding in the elevator alone with Evie, and it was finally time to go.

I packed up my briefcase and snagged the file I’d barely gotten anything done on due to my distraction, vowing to catch up over the weekend. With one last glance at my desk to be sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, I swept out of the office and down the hall.

“Hey. No overtime on a Friday,” Evie murmured in a low voice as she stepped up beside me with a smile.

She matched her stride to mine as we walked toward the elevators, and it was all I could do not to turn and snarl at her like a cornered dog. Did she have any idea what she was doing to me?

I shot a glance her way only because I couldn’t seem to help myself, and swallowed a groan. She’d clearly made plans for after work, because in place of the fitted blazer she’d worn to the office that morning, she had on a peach cashmere sweater. It hung saucily off one shoulder, revealing about five inches of creamy skin that I wanted to lick more than I wanted to take my next breath.

Her glossy peach-colored lips were tipped up in a smile as she cocked her head. “You okay? You look . . . weird,” she said, her brow furrowing.

I had to bite back a bark of laughter at that. Weird, you mean like all I can think about is fucking-your-brains-out weird?

But what I actually said was, “Nah. Just been a long week. Ready to get out and get the weekend started.”