Against his will, he felt a rumble in his throat.

  What was that?

  A purr? Dear God, he was purring. For his jailer. This was so wrong on so many levels, yet when she carried him to a plush bed in a ray of sun, he flopped onto his back and accepted her attention.

  “Oh, you look so handsome like that.”

  State the obvious, much?

  Of course he looked handsome. That was his J-O-B.

  “Your stripes look fabulous. I should take a picture. I bet Logan would find it amusing.”

  She sighed, tapping her finger against her lips as she held the device above him.

  “I can’t send him a cat photo though. I mean, that would be wrong, right? Or would it be right? Maybe cat photos are acceptable? It’s been almost a week in the same office with him.”

  He stared at her, daring her to take his picture, then did something thoroughly uncharacteristic. He stretched for her, posing just so.

  This was his best side.

  He would look good as he languidly gave her a view of his full, lush body.

  “Ah, look at you! It’s like you’re posing. And you look like a handsome devil. I’m going to send this right now. I’ll title it When your cat poses for the very first time. There. Sent.”

  She scratched his chin, and oh, dear Lord, that felt good. So good he might stop coughing up hairballs to irritate her. This was better than trying to taunt your captor. So much better.

  “Oh! Look. He replied already. And he sent us a picture of Queen Of Tofu. Oh, and she is a stunner. Check her out.”

  She thrust the device at his face.

  Oh.

  Oh, yes.

  Meow indeed.

  Hello, lady cat.

  He flipped to his belly, stretched his arms over the edge of the cat bed, then crossed them. It was a charming pose. This lady cat would likely be quite taken with it.

  Surely he looked like an elegant, modern cat.

  The woman snapped another picture. “That is literally the best picture ever of you. He’ll love it. And this is what I’ll say: Logan, I’m not sure what’s come over Bruce today, but he seems to be posing. Perhaps your cat inspired him? There. I sent it.”

  A few seconds later, she clutched her device with excitement. “Ooh. He wrote back. He said, What if our cats are secretly communicating with each other through some underground cat network that we know nothing about?”

  With another stroke of his fur, she spoke again. “Obviously. There is no other explanation.”

  15

  BRYN

  There is nothing wrong with texting my boss.

  There is nothing wrong with sharing cat photos.

  I repeat this mantra as I walk to work on Friday morning, one of those people. Yep. I’m the distracted walker. The ped-text-rian with her head bent over her phone, laughing, unable to tear her gaze away.

  As I stroll down my block, Logan and I continue to chat about cats.

  Bryn: This might sound crazy, but have you ever thought of entering your cat in a cat photo contest?

  Logan: Is that a thing?

  Bryn: IS THAT A THING?

  Logan: Did you just shout at me?

  Bryn: I did, and you deserve it.

  Logan: Why do I deserve it?

  Bryn: Because how do you not know that cat photo contests are a thing? Everything is a thing.

  Logan: That is true. That is absolutely true. But should everything be a thing?

  Bryn: Now you’re going all philosophical. Were you a philosophy major?

  Logan: Shockingly, I was not. I studied political science.

  Bryn: And you went into business?

  Logan: Yes. I think it’s much better than politics.

  Bryn: You’re not wrong. How did you make that transition?

  Logan: I realized quickly that politics leads to misery pretty much every way you slice it. So I went to business school and earned my MBA. That’s how I eventually devised my Theory of Feline/Political Synergistic Interdependence.

  Bryn: Explain, please.

  Logan: My Twitter feed is the best example of the principle at work. I follow politics, which makes me angry, and cat memes, which make me happy again.

  Bryn: That makes complete sense. And yet you were woefully unaware of the existence of cat photo contests.

  Logan: But now I’ve been educated. And watch out, world—from paintball to cat photo contests, here I come.

  Bryn: Okay. I’ll bite. You play paintball?

  Logan: I do. My friends and I are in a league. It’s fun, and we have a blast.

  Bryn: That’s kind of adorable. The same friends you and your sister play softball with?

  Logan: Good memory! My sister won’t do paintball with us, since she says we’re too “caveman,” but she is our secret weapon on the softball team. She hits homers for days.

  Bryn: Woman power! I love her already! And that’s cool that you play so many fun sports.

  Logan: We’re kind of into amateur sports leagues, but we try to mix it up. Some years it’s paintball, sometimes kickball, sometimes dodgeball. We do it for fun and to raise money for charity.

  Bryn: Which charities?

  Logan: Usually animal rescues or pediatric cancer. My friend’s sister died of cancer when he was in high school.

  Bryn: I’m so sorry to hear that. That’s great that you use your free time to try to raise money.

  Logan: Thanks. We try. But back to cat photo contests. Should Queen LT enter this one? It’s to raise money for a local cat rescue.

  He sends a link to pinup cats. I laugh as I cross the busy street.

  Bryn: I know that one! The gal who runs that asked me for some help a year ago when she was developing the site and looking for partnerships. Yes, enter it. Also, that reminds me—I need to introduce you to Casey Sullivan about a potential partnership with Joy Delivered.

  Logan: And you just segued to work.

  Bryn: Impressive, isn’t it?

  Logan: Indeed. Why don’t you swing by this afternoon and we can talk about it? I got the email you forwarded and would love to chat. How’s three?

  Bryn: It’s a date.

  Bryn: I mean, it’s an appointment.

  Logan: See you at three for our “appointment.” :)

  I close the phone, pop into the coffee shop for a latte, and bump into Isaac in line.

  “You look happy today, Bryn,” he says.

  His voice is warm, but I’m frozen. Chills wrap my body.

  Stuffing my phone in my purse like it contains state secrets, I try to answer, but I can’t form words. My skin prickles with my guilty conscience. Am I wearing the evidence of that text conversation all over my face?

  Yes.

  And I need to wipe it off. Right the fuck now.

  I conduct a full facial expression erase and draw on my store of grade A cool, composed lady boss. “It’s a sunny day, and the Yankees won last night. Ergo . . .” I give him a need I say more shrug and a stiff, too-perfect grin.

  “Indeed.” He chuckles, impossible to read. “Those are excellent reasons.” We shuffle closer to the counter. “So, how are you adjusting to the new ownership?”

  “It’s like nothing’s changed,” I say, all cheery and peppy.

  “Excellent. That’s what I like to hear.”

  I clear my throat. “So, how about that infield fly last night?”

  He’s a fan too, so we slide into baseball talk the rest of our time in line, and I spend the rest of my morning at the office setting that conversation behind me.

  Because there’s no reason I should feel squicky about talking to the HR director mere seconds after texting with the CEO.

  Who I’ve seen naked.

  That’s not awkward at all.

  Later that day, I remind myself that it’s not weird to be meeting with Logan.

  It’s not weird, and there was nothing inappropriate about our texts earlier. They weren’t risqué at all.

  They were fun. Light. Professional.

  And because I’m a professional, I want to make sure I look good before I see the boss.

  I leave my office five minutes before three and stop by the women’s room. I brush my teeth. Because coffee breath isn’t nice to inflict on anyone. I touch up my lip gloss, smacking my lips. Because I don’t want cracked or dry lips at a meeting. I consider my reflection. Maybe a tiny bit of powder on the nose. I don’t want to look shiny before I see the boss.

  I turn, considering the side view.

  Yes, this red sheath dress looks excellent and professional. “You’ve got this,” I tell my reflection.

  The door swings open. Teagan’s blue eyes sweep over my frame. “Ooh la la. Sexy lady boss is in the house.”

  I snap my gaze to her, a little indignant. “Who? I don’t see anyone fitting that description.”

  “Oh, please. Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Take a look.” She waves a hand breezily at my reflection.

  “Are you saying I don’t look professional?”

  She rolls her eyes as she saunters into a stall. “I’m saying you look professional and also hot. Like, if I were into girls, I’d have a lady boner for you,” she says as she pees.

  I groan. “You did not just say that.”

  “Pot. Kettle. You sent me that video of Stanley Tucci making a Negroni and said it gave you a lady boner.”

  “He has good arms!”

  “Exactly. All of the internet has a lady boner for him.”

  “Even the men?” I toss back.

  “If any man could elicit a lady boner from a dude, it’d be Stanley Tucci making a cocktail.”

  “He is sort of inexplicably hot,” I admit.

  She laughs before the toilet flushing briefly masks the sound. “Exactly. But does it need to be understandable to be sexy? I say no.” She pops out, heads to the sink, and turns on the water. “Speaking of unsolved mysteries, are you seeing the boss today?” She wiggles her brows.

  “Yes.” I meet her gaze in the mirror. Anticipation zips through me, chased by nerves. Is it obvious? “Why are you asking? Am I wearing a billboard that says I’m meeting the boss man?”

  She grins salaciously at my reflection. “The dress was a giveaway.”

  My hands fly to smooth the red sheath. “But this is professional. I picked it even before the meeting was arranged. And I’ve worn it to meet with content partners.”

  “And I bet you’d like to partner with his content,” she says.

  “You’re the worst.”

  She turns off the sink and heads to the air dryer. “All I’m saying is you’re a babe, and you look hella hot.”

  “Is this an inappropriate dress to meet with the CEO?”

  She smiles gently at me, shakes her head, and turns down her bawdy dial. “I didn’t mean to worry you, sweetie. I’m just giving you a hard time.”

  “That’s what she said,” I say, teasing her.

  She mimes banging a drum. “That’s the spirit. Anyway, you look professional, and you look good.” Her tone turns more serious. “How are you doing? You holding up?”

  I wave a hand, trying to dismiss the little I banged my boss bombshell. “It’s all good. No biggie. First date I enjoyed in ages, and he’s my boss. Life gets a little hard sometimes.”

  “It sucks, sweetie.”

  “Actually, it’s fine.” I draw a deep, fueling breath. “I mean, it’s not like I developed feelings for him in one night. That’d be ridiculous. Besides, we’re keeping it on the level. We’ve been good all week, and we even texted this morning.” I square my shoulders, like I’m proud of the boss and me for having a friendly conversation. “And it was non-sexual textual stuff.”

  Her eyes stay locked on me, an intensity in her pretty blues. “Is that what you want, Bryn?”

  “What I want is irrelevant. Yes, I’m disappointed that fate played a trick on me. But it’s probably for the best. He could be another Evan. I was pretty taken with Evan at first, and look what happened there.”

  Teagan’s face crinkles with disgust. “Another Evan? As in, a manipulative prick who whines about how you don’t give him enough time when you’re grieving the loss of your only parent, so he turns to other women for solace from your grief?”

  I plaster on a fake smile. “Yes. That. I find it best to avoid that.”

  Teagan’s eyes burn with hate for the man I was once married to. “Your ex was a one-of-a-kind douche.”

  “But I liked him when I first met him.”

  “Of course you did. That’s how it works.”

  “And that’s my point. It’s probably for the best that Mr. Lunch Box and I can’t be a thing.”

  She grabs my arm. “Evan was a special kind of shit. Most guys aren’t like that. Most people aren’t like that.”

  “Are you encouraging me to bang my boss again?” I whisper, a little shocked. For all her boldness, Teagan can be pretty by the book when it comes to workplace decorum.

  “I’m not saying, one way or the other. I think you’re being wise, and since you’re a woman, you have to be wise.”

  “Truer words,” I sigh.

  I don’t need to draw on Mama Hawthorne’s wisdom to know Teagan’s right. Dating the guy above you in the chain of command is always riskier for the fairer sex. Hell, dating at work at all usually turns out worse for the woman than the man. It’s a simple fact of life. I’d be the one to lose my job if this went south.

  “What I’m saying,” Teagan continues, “is simply this—don’t assume everyone is an Evan.”

  But it’s safer to assume that, I want to say.

  Only, it doesn’t matter what’s safer with Logan, because we can’t be a thing. I look at the time on my phone. “I should go meet with him.”

  She squeezes my arm. “You look like a boss. That’s all I meant by the lady-boss comment. You give off serious lady-boss vibes.”

  I hum approvingly then wiggle my hips. “That’s what I like to hear. See you in the editorial meeting in thirty minutes?”

  She gives me a thumbs-up. “See you then. I have to go gather the latest social media insights for that. And in the meantime, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “That doesn’t limit me much, does it?” I toss back with a wink.

  “Exactly.” She follows me out of the women’s room, heading back to her office.

  I turn the other way, smoothing a hand down my red dress, then rapping on Logan’s door. It’s open, and he calls me in.

  16

  BRYN

  I steel myself for the impact of his handsome face.

  His square jaw, his soulful eyes, his full lips. He’s standing by the window, the phone cradled to his ear.

  His hair is a delicious mess, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up at the cuffs, revealing his ropy forearms and the hint of ink on them. The whole combo makes him a candidate for an arm candy photo of the week.

  He holds up a finger, letting me know he’s almost done with his call. “Sure, sweetie. We can definitely get you a hula hoop. Yes, it sounds like a lot of fun. We can go tonight.” He takes a beat. “All right, Daddy loves you. See you in a couple of hours.”

  My stomach flips. Forget celebrity arms. I’m melting over the way he talks to his daughter.

  He sets the phone on his desk and shoots me a smile.

  “Was that Amelia?”

  “Nah, that was my dental hygienist.”

  I laugh. “Glad to hear you’re on good terms with her.”

  “Good relations for teeth are so important.”

  “And you have lovely teeth,” I say.

  “You have a great smile.” He flashes a grin my way, one of the quadruple-take variety. It sends sparks down the center of my body and makes a pulse beat between my legs.

  Must. Be. Professional.

  He gestures to the couch, and I sit. He takes a seat at the other end and slides into business mode. “Tell me more about this partnership with Joy Delivered and what you envision.”

  I startle, a touch surprised by the direction he’s taking this meeting. “Oh. I thought you’d just want me to debrief you on the pitch, and hand it over.”

  He shakes his head. “I debriefed myself and read the emails you sent. I want to know how you see it. What you think can come from the pair-up.” He leans back against the cushions, waiting for me to share my opinion.

  This is a surprise, but a welcome one. When Hadley was here, she handled the higher-level partnerships, and she didn’t ask for my input. Input I was dying to give.

  I square my shoulders and dive into all the reasons why I think a deal with Joy Delivered is a good idea.

  He tosses questions at me, and we brainstorm the best terms for each party. Finally, he nods thoughtfully and raises a finger. “Idea, Bryn. Why don’t you come with me? I’m hoping to set the meeting up for the week after next. We can both go see Casey and all put our heads together.”

  I try to rein in a massive grin, but inside I’m squealing with happiness. “I’m out of town, meeting with some content partners early that week, but I’d love to after Wednesday.”

  “Great. I’ll set it up.” He lowers his voice and glances around furtively, like he has a secret. “Thanks for the tips earlier today. Check this out.”

  He grabs his phone, shows me the link for the cat photo contest, and then tells me he entered it. He crosses his fingers. “Amelia will lose her mind if Queen LT wins. I know it’s a long shot, but I figured I’d try.”

  I rub my palms together, delighted. “Look at you! You’ve gone from not knowing this was a thing to participating in the thing. I’m impressed.”

  He shrugs, as if it’s all in a day’s work. “Like I said, I can be trained.”

  “I’ll be rooting for your pretty pet. By the way, did I hear Amelia is keen on hula hooping?”

  “Evidently, it’s her new passion. They did it in PE today. She loved it and wants to get one. My sister runs a fitness center, so I figured I’d see if she wants to go hula-hoop shopping with us tonight.”

  “How fun. My friend Amy teaches a hula-hooping class at a local gym.”

  “A class?” He blinks. “A hula-hooping class?”