I pressed my lips together. She was right, as usual. This is why she was my soul-sister. She knew me better than me sometimes. Of course, Rory had gotten under my skin so deliciously—because he’d taken full control and left me wanting more.

“Did you at least sneak a photo with your phone?” Jeannine brought me out of my wild thoughts—where I hunted Rory down and forced him to finish the delicious game he’d started.

“Of course not. If you want to know what he looks like without a shirt, google it. It’s very close to the real thing…except…”

“What?”

The image of the deep V that the cotton towel had barely covered when I’d seen him at Bailey’s made my mouth water. “He’s well defined in ways Photoshop could never touch.”

I chuckled at her wide, opened mouth, watching as the gears turned behind her eyes. She snapped out of it, and lightly smacked me on the shoulder. “And you want to take it slow? You’re insane.”

“We have to.” It didn’t matter that I wanted to test the limits Rory would push me to or the rules he’d make me break. “There is too much at stake if we push it too fast. Not just my name, or his reputation, but my employees. They’re the ones who would suffer the most if our company got dragged through the gutter with too many immoral headlines associated with my name. And we all know the kind of stories the press writes about him. He needs the slow pace as much as I do.”

She hissed. “God it’s like your family are a bunch of politicians.”

Close, at least with the moral standard the world held us to. I couldn't be mad about the life I’d grown up in, though. I believed in those morals, believed I was a good person…I just wanted to do a few bad things before I shut the door on that kind of life forever.

Twelve bad things to be exact.

And, damn it, the only one that kept my breath catching and heart racing was number seven. If Rory didn’t put me out of my misery soon, I might combust before he had the chance.

Jeannine reached across the table and clutched my wrist. “Even politicians make it work. I’m not saying he’s prince charming and will change overnight, but I get you wanting to see where it goes between the two of you. I see how flustered you are simply talking about him. I can’t imagine what he does to you in person.”

Warmth filled my insides, and I licked my lips.

“Or maybe I can.” She let go and laughed as she took my nearly cleaned plate back to the kitchen.

I loved her support, even when she knew the stakes as well as myself. Again, I had the urge to tell her the truth, tell her that Rory and I had nothing more than a business arrangement, but that was one secret I couldn’t risk anyone ever finding out.

Gorgeous rays of Seattle sun illuminated the botanical gardens I had secured for the employee appreciation event, making the rich array of colorful flowers pop against the lush greenery. Round tables draped in the standard cream linens took up the area used for entertainment, and Jeannine had set her team and self-serve stations to the right of the stage I’d had constructed on the site. It acted as the focal point of the event, and the indie-band I’d hired—Black Orchid—were two songs in.

I stood near the entrance beneath an archway of ivy and greeted our guests as they came. Almost everyone had arrived, from our stockholders to the people who ran our packaging department, and the line for food dwindled as our employees filled their plates with signature Jeannine dishes like my favorite lobster risotto, seared scallops, and pan-seared halibut. She was busy busting her moves behind the stations, practically dancing at the ovens placed back to back, allowing her to maintain the supply as soon as it came close to a shortage.

“Paige.” My father’s voice drew my attention back to the entrance, and I smiled as he wrapped me in a side hug. “This is gorgeous. Well done.”

I scanned the area another time, noting the vast amount of empty tables waiting to be filled resting toward the back, and nodded. “Thank you. Our other guests should arrive any minute.”

“Wonderful. The musicians have talent, and I’m glad they’re sticking to melodies that please a wide span of tastes—I can’t tell if they’re folk, modern, or blues.”

“Indie. An eclectic combination of several genres. It’s why I picked them, their wide appeal.”

“You are an extremely smart woman, providing the best for our employees, and inviting those in need to dine as well. Honestly, I couldn’t have thought of a better way to represent our company and the wholesome name behind it.”

I pressed my lips together, accepting his words as a compliment, but knowing I hadn’t once thought about the benefits of inviting the shelter guests for our company. I genuinely wanted to help. I couldn’t care less if the news or top-bloggers picked it up or not, though I wouldn’t put it past my father to have called and scheduled their arrival regardless. He couldn’t help it; it was the businessman in him.

“How did you manage to snag so many wonderful items for the charity auction?” He eyed the station to the left of Jeannine’s set-up, a long rectangular, cloth-draped table holding the items he spoke of.

I shrugged. “I learned from the best.”

A prideful grin shaped his mouth. “You sent Kelsey after them?”

I chuckled. The petite brunette, currently inhaling a plateful of scallops at one of the center tables had been my personal assistant for six years. She’d applied for the position just to earn some money while she completed her masters in art history, but it was her minor in public relations that had won me over. That and her ability to find the humor in even the stuffiest of business situations. Her ability to discover local artists—from painters to musicians to writers—and bend them into donating items was the ultimate bonus.

“How did she manage to obtain Rory Jackson for the day?”

My head snapped to my father, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

“Were you unaware? He’s already given a considerable check and donated a set of signed hockey sticks. I haven’t a clue why anyone would want them, beat up and used as they are, but the bid is already in the five figures. I believe one of our shareholders has the same crush you do.”

Of course, father wouldn’t understand why anyone would want to get their hands on Rory’s stick—he didn’t keep up with sports, let alone the NHL. I nearly choked over the word crush picturing all the not-so-innocent crush-like things we would be doing to each other over the next three months…I hoped. This time when I gazed over the crowd, I hunted for one face.