“Bullshit,” I tell him, keeping my voice light but chastising. I step in further and set the bag on the conference table and start pulling out delicious smelling food, hoping the aromas will tempt him as much as my company might. “You’d stay here until you’re left with the options of a green smoothie or a protein bar, neither of which is ideal.”

  “Tiffany—”

  “I got you a chicken and veggie stir-fry with brown rice, or there’s beef and broccoli, if you’d rather,” I continue, plowing right over his objections. “Now refuel, and we can talk about what’s on your mind.”

  It’s subtle, but it gives Daniel an ‘out’ that this is just business. He puts his pen down and tilts his head left and right, stretching. When he stands and comes around his desk, I can see how hard he’s been working. His tie is loosened, his sleeves are rolled up on his corded forearms, and there’s a hint of a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks. It could look disheveled, but on him, it looks sexy as hell.

  He sits down at the head of the table, pulling the beef and broccoli toward him. “This smells good.”

  “Thank you. And thank Vanessa. It was in her contacts,” I tell him, taking the chicken and veggies before offering him a pair of chopsticks. “What’s keeping you here late this time?”

  “The settlement on the Carlton lawsuit,” Daniel says, taking the chopsticks and deftly splitting them. “I don’t know if we should accept it.”

  I split my own chopsticks and pluck a bit of chicken from my cardboard box. “Well, give me a breakdown. What’s the case about?” I pop the chicken in my mouth, chewing it thoughtfully as I listen.

  “Carlton sued us over what they’re claiming was a violation of a construction contract we made with them,” Daniel explains. “We’re building a new technology center in New Jersey, and when they didn’t meet the timelines, it triggered certain withholding clauses in the contract. They’re saying we triggered them without cause. We’re counter-suing for breach of contract because they haven’t held up their end of the bargain.”

  “Ah . . . and what are the reasons for the construction delays?”

  “The crunch on materials. But if that were the case, why the hell were they able to keep popping out cookie cutter suburban housing units like it was nothing?” He angrily bites into a piece of broccoli.

  “Best guess? Profit margins. It’s always the money.” He points his chopsticks at me, agreeing. “So what’s the best and worst that could happen if you do or don’t take the offer?” I ask.

  “Basically, they want both sides to drop the claims and we go back to work like there’s nothing wrong,” Daniel says. “Problem is, this lawsuit’s put the whole damn project eight months behind schedule, and I don’t trust them to complete it.”

  “So if you reject it, what happens?”

  “We might be able to get by with mediation, but it’ll go to trial, most likely,” Daniel says. “If we lose, we could be on the hook for the rest of the contract plus paying someone else to do the job.”

  “And if we win?”

  “We get out without having to pay anything, and we hire someone else.”

  I chew my vegetables as I think. “Have you ever played serious poker?”

  Daniel’s brows furrow at the odd segue. “No?”

  “Once upon a time, I went to Vegas with a friend.” I lift a brow, not naming Elle, but both of us know that’s who I mean. “We took a little cash, nothing crazy, mind you, but enough to have fun if we paced ourselves.”

  I remember back to the trip with Elle. We had a blast running up and down the strip, taking pictures with every photo op, dancing at strobe-light filled nightclubs at ten in the morning, and daring each other to do crazy things. Well, crazy by our standards, which was pretty tame by Vegas standards. But it was fun either way.

  “We did well at first, were conservative with our bets and didn’t sit at the same slot machine all night. But then I won a little, nothing major, but at the time, it would’ve made my college life a lot easier. It was like a switch flipped in my mind. When the money was mine from working and scraping by, I was careful. When it was winnings, I didn’t have the same death grip on them and would take more risks.”

  “How does that relate to the settlement?” he asks. I’m pretty sure he’s already three steps ahead of me, but he’s interested in my take on the whole thing.

  “People with their own skin in the game rarely bluff. You know, some guy sits down with a thousand bucks he just got at the slots, he’s going to bet big and bluff like a madman. But when it comes down to a situation where if he doesn’t win, he doesn’t eat? He’ll play smart and tight. He might tease a bluff now and then, but if you press him, he’ll fold before he loses everything.”

  Daniel nods in understanding. “So, if this were poker, Carlton might know they’ve got a weak case. Because they’d rather salvage what they can rather than risk their bluff being called.”

  “Exactly. It’s a risk either way,” I admit.

  “A big risk,” Daniel says.

  I reach out, laying a hand on his forearm. “There are times to take risks. When the payoff’s big and the danger’s relatively low . . . you usually end up winning more than you lose in the long run.”

  Daniel’s eyes go to my hand and then to my eyes. He knows what I’m saying and that right now, my story has very little to do with construction contracts or Vegas poker tables.

  Daniel turns his hand, and I think he’s about to take my hand when his fingers brush against the plastic bag his fortune cookie’s in . . . and he pauses. “Maybe my fortune will reveal some wisdom.”

  It’s a redirect and we both know it, but he cracks open his cookie and pulls out the slip of paper. He pauses, then looks at me. “Yours first?”

  I shrug, taking the other package and breaking the cookie open. I chuckle. “This place definitely doesn’t do fortune cookies the way I expected.”

  “What do you mean?” Daniel asks.

  “Mine’s a movie quote,” I explain. “In the end, there can be only one.” I laugh softly. “Guess fortune cookie makers are Highlander fans.”

  “Who isn’t?” Daniel asks wryly and then reads his fortune. “Huh. Sports quote. You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”

  “Wisdom cookies,” I comment, setting my paper down. “So, are there any shots you want to take?”

  Daniel turns his eyes to me, and I realize that I’m truly asking myself that question. We’re here, at this moment. Either I take my shot . . . or I don’t. My future is going to depend on it. I measure the risks and the reward like I used to in poker. The truth is, I don’t know if the odds are in my favor.

  I could be burning a bridge here.

  But I have to make a decision. Because in the end, there can be only one.

  Slowly, I get up from my seat and walk toward Daniel. I give him time to stop me, but to my surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes back from the table slightly, turning toward me as I place one hand on the table and one on the back of his chair.

  Before he can stop me, before he can object, I lean in and kiss him. At first, it’s me kissing him, his lips immobile beneath mine, and I almost stop. But I can’t, not when I’m finally this close to getting what I’ve always wanted.

  I take my shot.

  And finally . . . finally, he comes to life beneath me. His hands move slightly, first on the arms of the chair before reaching up to my hips, and his mouth becomes warm, alive, meeting me and returning my touch. I never dreamed that Daniel was this . . . alive.

  In seconds, he’s pushed me back so he can stand before pulling me to him, his mouth claiming me. He’s hot and powerful, his tongue invading my mouth. I moan slightly, and he cups my ass cheeks, guiding me up and onto the corner of the table where his hands lift to twist themselves through my hair, holding me tight to his mouth.

  “D–Daniel,” I gasp when I can take a break, and he grasps my chin firmly, holding me in place, and though I started this, I feel like he’s in control . . . and I like it.

  “Tiffany,” he says, almost in warning. Like, you asked for it . . . now you’re gonna get it.

  His mouth finds mine again, and I’m pressed against his body, my hands kneading and scratching his back as he tastes my very soul. His hands trace over my body, learning my curves. One strong hand strokes down my side before drifting to my stomach and then up to cup my right breast.

  Hunger, hot and demanding, is building fast, pooling in my center and threatening to take all control. I want his touch on my body desperately, but I force myself to pull back. I lay a hand over his heart and feel the vibration of his sound of displeasure against my palm.

  His eyes spark with need, calling to my body. My heart hammers in my chest, and I might as well have In Heat tattooed on my forehead . . . but I force myself to hold back, giving him a naughty smile.

  I want to leave him wanting, starving for me. If I give in too soon, I could get one glorious night. But after, he’ll withdraw just as quickly, and I’ll lose any chance at more. I have to push him and then retreat and give him time to want more so he thinks progressing us is his idea.

  That’s the only way to get what I truly want from Daniel . . . forever.

  “What are you playing at, Tiffany?” Daniel growls, his chest rising and falling as he tries to regain control of himself.

  I lean forward, but instead of touching him, I slide off the table at the last moment, stepping beside him to whisper in his ear, “I’m not playing. I’ll see you tomorrow, Daniel.”

  I rub my cheek against his, listening to the rasp of his stubble against my soft skin. I savor the tiny flutter of his eyelashes I’m rewarded with as I step back and turn to leave. Walking out that door is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I do it, knowing it’s for the best for us both.

  I may lose, Daniel . . . but you’re going to find out that this is one hand I’m not bluffing on. The pot’s too rich, and I’m willing to go all in to get you.

  Chapter 11

  Daniel

  In the silence that follows, I try to convince myself that the kiss didn’t happen. It was only a figment of my imagination.

  But I know that’s not true. I can smell her perfume in the air. I can taste her kiss on my lips. I can still feel the soft pressures of her body against mine.

  It happened, all right, and it shifted something fundamental inside me, making me see Tiffany in a new light. She’s not just ‘a woman’. She’s . . . she’s the woman. The woman I want. The woman who suddenly seems like the answer to all the questions I’ve had for over a decade. The questions inside that I never thought would be answered again.

  Even so, I successfully fight every urge and desire I have for the rest of the week because regardless of what she started, it’s up to me to proceed or refrain, doing what’s in both our best interests.

  For days, I keep it up, locking my desire behind iron walls and titanium chains. I lock away my thoughts in my head, and if I just happen to avoid going through the lobby after nine in the morning or before six in the evening? Well, it’s for our own good.

  At least, that’s what I convince myself of until the end of the day on Friday. Then I overhear Ricky telling Billy about how he’s taking Miranda out on a date, and my walls come crumbling down.

  I’m suddenly worried about Tiffany’s plans for tonight. Is she taking her team out for drinks again?

  If so, should I stand by in case she needs me?

  On the heels of that, another idea strikes me.

  What if she’s going out with someone else?

  The thought freezes the very blood in my veins. She can’t go out with anyone but me. I won’t allow it.

  That’s when I know I’m well and truly fucked. Because I’m not worried about her getting carried away accidentally by a surprisingly strong drink. I’m not worried about her teammates, or her driving, or any of that.

  No, I’m desperate to know what she’s doing and who she’s doing it with. Because I want her to be doing it with me.

  I contemplate the stupidity of what I’m considering. I know I shouldn’t. It’s stepping onto a landmine with a big arrow pointed at my head. It’s risking everything I’ve worked so hard for—my reputation, my position at Fox Industries, and my relationship with my daughter.

  It will literally be dancing on a tightrope over the Grand Canyon. One misstep, one unlucky gust of wind at the wrong time, and it’s straight down the whole way, mourners please omit flowers in lieu of a donation to a charity of your choice.

  It’s utterly reckless on a level I would counsel anyone else to walk away from. After I got burned last time, I learned the truth—soulmates are a lie. I thought I’d found mine, and she walked away without a glance back. It’s just a romantic notion to appeal to the desperate masses.

  That’s what I would have said before today.

  Though I already know what I’m going to do, I still can’t admit my decision to myself. But something must be visible on my face because when Ricky and Billy come in to say good night, they pause.

  “Hey . . .” Billy says, his voice trailing off. He looks to Ricky for help, who looks back, his lips pursing as silent communication passes between them.

  “Fuck,” Ricky hisses, rolling his eyes on a heavy sigh.

  Billy grimaces as he slaps Ricky’s shoulder for something I don’t understand. “Guess I owe you fifty bucks.”

  Ricky holds up a hand, looking crazily to me like that guy in the Internet meme who’s ‘refusing’ something. Ricky was the person who first introduced me to that red-jacketed guy, in fact. “Let’s hear what he has to say first, and if I was right, you can pay up tomorrow.” To me, he says, “Well, Uncle Daniel? Might as well get down to brass fuckin’ tacks.”

  Moving as one, they come in, closing the door and helping themselves to the chairs in front of my desk. Both look at me with matching curiosity and shock, but also a lot of love and support.

  “I really thought you were shitting me,” Billy tells Ricky, both of them leaning toward each other and carrying on a conversation as if I’m not sitting right here. “Like, there was just no way.”

  “Even after the way he reacted to her touching you?” Ricky argues back. “You still thought I was making shit up?”

  Billy shrugs, still ignoring me. “I don’t know. Maybe he was worried about HR thinking something was hinky?”

  “Hinky?” Ricky echoes. “You been playing Words With Friends again or something?”

  “I got brains!” Billy snarls. “I can’t sleep sometimes, man, and infomercials and the game help me relax, turn my fuckin’ brain off until I can crash till sunup. Besides, you’re the one who knows all the storylines in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.”

  “You talk shit about Catadora again and I’ll beat your ass,” Ricky growls. “You know they’re—”

  “Guys!” I shout, interrupting whatever the hell this conversation is. “Can we focus here?”

  Ricky and Billy turn their attention to me. “Well, get on with it then,” Ricky says, throwing his hands out, totally abandoning the ‘boss-employee’ role and looking at me as a friend, family member, and equal. “Whatcha got?”

  Now that I have their undivided attention, I’m unsure again.

  Should I go through with this?

  Worst-case scenario, I would trust these two men with my life.

  But that doesn’t necessarily mean I can trust them to keep their mouths closed. Especially Ricky, who’s got a soft heart and is downright gooey about Miranda. Not a bad thing, but he tells her nearly everything in his life.

  I weigh the decision as they look at me expectantly. Ricky breaks first. “Fuck it. If you don’t have the balls to do it, then I’m going home to get mine sucked.”

  He stands to leave, and Billy follows, asking, “I thought you said you were taking Miranda and the kids to the movies? You told me that’s why you couldn’t grab a beer with me.”

  “Afterward, man. Fuck, don’t you know that—”

  “Sit down,” I snap.

  They freeze at the heat in my voice. I’m mad as hell, but not at them. I’m pissed at myself for being so indecisive.

  I’ve built a career, a life, on clear-thinking action. I raised my daughter as best I could with that in mind. I climbed the corporate ladder with that as my mantra. See it, make up my mind, and do it.

  Now I’m waffling back and forth like a kid trying to decide between chocolate chunk or peanut butter cup ice cream. And the world’s not going to wait forever.

  Neither is Tiffany, a voice whispers.

  Ricky speaks out of the side of his mouth to Billy, “Dude, family movies are better than Viagra for Miranda. I love spending time with the kids, but I really love the way Miranda says thank you after they go to bed.”

  Billy nods, understanding. “Okay, I got that. Take care of her babies, and she wants to taste your dick. Cool, cool.”

  But at least they’re sitting now, and finally, they turn their attention back to me.

  “So?” Billy prompts. “Need us to do some recon?”

  The idea is laughable. Ricky and Billy are each roughly the size of a refrigerator and quite obvious in any crowd. About the only place they could blend in would be on the sidelines of an NFL game. “No, not recon. Just . . . intel. Tell me what you know.”

  “About what?” Billy asks.

  Ricky gives me an amused look, also not letting me off the hook. “About who?”

  I’m going to have to say it.

  Billy chuckles, and I realize they’re both smirking, well fucking aware of who and what I want to know. “Out with it. Everything you know.”

  It’s the closest I can come to asking for the information I desperately want. For me, it’s damn near begging and way beyond any boundaries of appropriateness.

  But I don’t care anymore.

  I need to know.

  Ricky gives a relieved sigh, looking to the ceiling like he’s silently thanking some deity for divine intervention. “About fucking time. Have a seat, Uncle Daniel, and buckle up because we’re about to tell you some good shit about your girl.”