by Kendall Ryan
I conduct a full mental sweep, keying in on the words Peyton is saying.
“I started Wish Upon a Gift when my best friend was pregnant and overwhelmed. I started making little gifts for her to help her in the final weeks, and then once the baby was born too.”
My smile widens. “That’s very thoughtful.”
“Thank you. I’ve always loved showering friends with gifts, to be honest. It was really fun to do that for her. I heard from other new moms that they also, not surprisingly, felt overwhelmed. And I thought about meal services and food-delivery subscriptions, but I also wanted to do something that wasn’t just utilitarian.”
I nod, liking her story. “Yup. I’m with you. Utilitarian and practical is good, but little luxuries and treats are too. We love our luxuries in the wine business.”
A gleam of excitement lights up her eyes. “Exactly. I wanted to move beyond the practical and curate gift boxes for date nights, or for no occasion at all. Something that can make an ordinary Tuesday special—a box of chocolates, massage oil, maybe a bottle of wine.”
“You’ve done well with it,” I say, recalling Brody’s notes. “A lot of people these days are wanting to give more authentic gifts. The heyday of the gift card is starting to wane, and consumers are wanting to put more thought into their gifts.”
“Exactly! People just default and give each other gift cards, but a lot of people still want to give meaningful gifts to friends and loved ones, and that’s where I wanted to take Wish Upon a Gift.”
She reaches into a cavernous bag on the floor and takes out a few boxes to show me. Her excitement is infectious. She’s passionate and delighted and truly seems to care. More than that, these boxes are fantastic. They look classy, but fun.
We chat more about terms, and options, and how this would pan out. And since Brody made his wishes clear, there’s only one thing left for me to say.
“Peyton, we’d love to work with you. And I’m confident we can continue a business relationship, while at the same time putting this awkward situation behind us.”
Her blue eyes sparkle. “This is a tremendous opportunity.”
I clear my throat. “Fantastic. I’ll email you more details on the terms.”
But as she stands, her chair rolls a little closer and her knee brushes mine while we rise. I glance down at her legs, then back up.
It was less than a second of innocent contact, but we both seem to fixate on that moment more than we should. When my eyes meet hers again, her breath catches, her cheeks pinken with bright spots of color, and a flush travels up her neck.
I can feel it in the air . . . all the possibilities. Hauling her into my arms and kissing the lipstick off her.
I bet it would be fantastic. Hot and wet and unraveling.
And then I remember that less than twenty-four hours ago, Peyton was the recipient of a candid shot of my goods, and now we’re going to be business partners. I’ll have that memory in the back of my mind every time I talk to her, and I’m afraid I’m going to sabotage this deal.
Brody will kill me if I fuck this up.
Chapter Six
Peyton
As Josh and I walk together toward the elevators, I want to dance for joy, to squeal and punch the sky. But there will be time for that later. Right now, I need to be professional. Just because I’ve seen this attractive man’s johnson doesn’t give me the right to leer at him. So I put on my best game face and pretend that my stomach isn’t tied in a gigantic knot.
“I think this will be a great partnership,” I manage to say.
“I do too. And I promise to keep it professional.” Josh extends his hand to me.
As I stare down at his open palm, my mind immediately wanders to how his long, thick fingers would feel against my skin.
Jeez, am I really so starved for sex that a handshake will make the floodgates open up? Playing it safe, I opt to place a business card into his palm instead.
“Absolutely professional,” I say on a trembling exhale, hoping I can actually live up to it.
Josh pockets my business card, his mouth curling into his signature half smile that sends a spark of heat dancing up my spine.
“It’ll be fine,” he says, pausing just past the reception area. “Even in unusual situations, I try to do my best to close a fantastic deal.”
I look down in an effort to conceal the blush I feel spreading across my cheeks.
Closing a deal? Is he suggesting something, or am I reading too much into things? Is this another example of his terrible flirting?
“I’m excited to be in business with you.” I’m doing my darnedest to be businesslike, but when I repeat in my head the words I just spoke out loud, they sound strangely flirty too. Was something in the bottled water?
“Business is indeed exciting.” There’s a hint of something more in his blue eyes, a spark even. “Thank you again for coming in. And feel free to call—or even text—with any questions about all the contract paperwork.”
“I’m sure I’ll be in touch soon.” I give him my best everything is great and I’m totally not attracted to you at all smile. “Do you have a business card I could take?”
He produces one from his suit coat pocket and places it in my hand. His fingers graze my skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
“Th-thank you, Josh,” I murmur.
Clutching the card in one hand, I give the team behind him one last wave before I breeze past him and head straight toward the elevator bay. Part of me is worried that my speedy exit will come off as rude, but the rest of me knows the longer I stay in this office, the higher my chances are of making a fool of myself.
As the elevator doors close, I allow myself one final peek. Sure enough, there’s Josh, loosening his tie and shooting me that devilish smirk.
Bastard! It’s not fair that he accidentally flashed me his privates, yet I’m the one who’s frazzled.
Once the elevator starts moving, I finally release all that composure I’ve been faking and take the first deep breath I’ve managed all morning. I thought the last eighteen months of building this business were difficult, but I have a feeling that things are about to get a whole lot harder. No pun intended.
I want my business to succeed, and that means I have to keep my eyes on the prize and off Josh’s bulge. If he says he can keep it professional, then I can do the same. And I know when I get my first big paycheck from this company, the restraint will all be worth it. I have to do what I have to do, and unfortunately, what I have to do isn’t Josh, as much as every part of me would really like it to be.
A notification pings my phone. Happy hour with Sabrina and Libby at five.
Thank God. I sure could use something strong to curb these nerves and help me forget about Josh and all of his gorgeous parts.
• • •
At a few minutes to five, I walk over to our favorite bar, Speakeasy. Once inside, I glance at our favorite corner table by the window.
Sure enough, Sabrina and Libby are already there, laughing, each of them well into their first martini of the night. No doubt they’re chatting about details for their weddings this summer.
It’s weird to be the only one out of the three who isn’t engaged. Don’t get me wrong, I’m beyond happy for both of them. I just wish I at least had someone to bring as my plus-one.
As I approach the table, I spot a grapefruit martini already waiting for me, and I grin. These girls just know me.
“Look what corporate America dragged in!” Libby teases as I snag the seat across from my redheaded friend. “Did they keep you late offering you millions and millions of dollars?”
I roll my eyes. “Not even close. But things did go pretty well, for the most part.”
“Of course they did.” Sabrina grins, somehow managing to look younger than her thirty-one years. Someday, I swear I’m going to get her to give up all her skin-care secrets. “Because you’re a rock star.”
She holds up her martini, and Libby and I follow suit,
clinking our glasses together.
“To Peyton livin’ her dream,” Libby says before taking a nice long sip of her martini. “So, tell us everything. Do you think the deal is going to work out?”
“I still have a lot of paperwork to review,” I say, tapping my bag full of the legal documents I’ll be spending the next week poring over. “But things are looking pretty good. They seem very excited about the boxes, but I don’t think it’s going to be particularly easy working with Josh. He’s one of the owners.”
“Why? What’s up with him?” Libby asks. She’s an account manager at an ad agency, so I knew she’d be quick to make sure I was being treated fairly as a client.
I take a sip of my tart beverage and release a slow exhale. “What’s up with him is that he’s beyond gorgeous, and he totally knows it. And he knows that I know it. Rock meet very hard place.”
“Oh no, being offered a deal with a major corporation and having to stare at some sexy man candy all the while knowing you’re getting paid for this torture. Sounds horrible,” Sabrina teases, pulling out her phone and punching in the company website. “What’s his name?” She’s already scrolling through the management team’s head shots and bios.
“Josh Hanson.”
Libby leans over Sabrina’s shoulder as she scrolls, then stops on Josh’s head shot. Their eyes widen, and for a second, I’m worried I’ll have to pick Libby’s jaw up off the floor.
“Holy shit,” Sabrina whispers, zooming in on Josh’s angular jawline. “Are you sure this is the co-owner and not some model they hired to try to win you over as a client?” She turns her phone to face me, as if to get confirmation that this is, in fact, the guy.
The picture hardly does him justice, but I’d recognize that cocky smile from a mile away. If only they knew I could one-up this image with the “self-portrait” of Josh I have on my phone.
“That’s him.”
“I presume this means that after the deal is closed . . . well, that you’re going to go after that, right?” Libby props her elbows on the table and leans in toward me. She’s the more sexually adventurous of my friends.
Normally, I adore that about her, but right now? I need her to stop talking. ASAP.
“Yeah, right. That would be super inappropriate.”
Libby makes a face like she just sucked on a lemon. “What’s inappropriate is how long it’s been since you’ve gotten laid,” she blurts out a little louder than I’d like.
Sabrina raises her glass and drinks in agreement. “Cheers to that. Please tell me there’s been somebody, anybody, since that pencil-dick ex of yours.”
Sheesh, first Gram, now Sabrina and Libby. My total lack of a sex life may as well be front-page news at this point.
It’s my own fault—working nonstop, thinking I can exist entirely on work, takeout dinners, and my favorite dirty Tumblr page at night when sleep won’t come. It’s been a gross mistake on my part to remain in a self-imposed state of celibacy for the better part of two years.
The worst part about it all is that they’re totally right. I need a man. A red-blooded male with a functioning cock. And stat.
Josh’s cock looked pretty damn functioning.
Shit. I’m woman enough to admit that it won’t be Josh’s cock in my future. That much is certain. It can’t be, no matter how much I want it to be. If I have to choose between success and my sex drive, Tumblr will always be there for me with no strings or awkward meetings attached.
But opportunities like this might not be.
Chapter Seven
Josh
I’m eight blocks into my walk home from work when my phone buzzes with the message I’ve been waiting for all afternoon.
Brody: How’d the meeting go?
I knew this text was coming, but that doesn’t mean I have a good answer to it. I pause, stepping out of the flow of foot traffic to stare at the text for a second before I respond.
Josh: Funny story . . . *eggplant emoji*
As quickly as I’ve typed the text, I delete it. I can’t let Brody know about my screwup. But I can’t ignore him either, so I go for a vaguer approach.
Josh: Went great. Work on getting the gluten out of your system. Talk more tomorrow.
When he responds with a thumbs-up emoji, my whole body relaxes. Thank God, I’ve got more time to figure out my strategy in dealing with Peyton and our business plans.
Having my business partner double as my best friend has never been a problem before, but then again, I’ve never been one to mix work and sex. I’m a professional, after all, not some horny intern who doesn’t know the rules of the workplace. I’ve been deliberate about keeping my hookups far, far away from my work life. Because they’re just that—hookups. A way to blow off steam here and there.
If this were a normal dating-app match gone wrong for me, Brody would be laughing his ass off with me over drinks—of course, beer for me and tequila for Brody’s gluten-intolerant ass. But this situation is about as normal as a three-headed pit bull, and as dangerous too. Brody spent weeks hunting down the right business to collaborate with before he landed on Peyton’s genius little company. He’d have every right to kick me in the nuts if he knew I nearly fucked up his deal by sliding dick-first into Peyton’s DMs.
When I’m back in the apartment, I grab a beer from the fridge and open my calendar app to check my availability this week. Amidst all the weirdness, I didn’t accomplish half the shit Brody had wanted me to get done with Peyton at this meeting. Which means I’m going to have to set up another meeting soon.
My dick perks up at the thought, but I will it to stand down. This isn’t the time for my dick to start acting up, and it’s certainly not the girl, no matter how goddamned sexy she looked during our meeting today. What I’d give to have those pretty, pouty lips open up for me. She’s already seen what I’m packing. I could have asked her if she wanted a taste.
Nope, nope, nope. Get it out of your system now, dude, because this won’t fly.
This potential partnership could be next level for our company, so the only thing that’s allowed to be hard around here is the work I’m putting in. Nothing else is an option.
With work on my mind, I settle in on the couch with my beer and tap open my email. Maybe logging a few more hours will serve as a cold shower for my wandering, dirty mind.
First on the to-do list: arranging another meeting with Peyton.
I open a new email and start carefully crafting my message. No slipping up and accidentally saying nuts again, Hanson. Time to pull out all the stops on all the least sexy corporate terminology I learned in business school. For good measure, I work in the word synergy so she knows I’m not messing around.
The email ends with the suggestion of a lunch meeting tomorrow. I give her the link to the site for the restaurant in our office lobby. It’s not exactly Michelin-star-worthy food, but it’s upscale, and it beats being stuck in that conference room with her again. After what I’ve put her through, the least I can do is expense a panini for her.
Hardly a minute passes between pressing SEND and the ping of a response. Her reply is short and sweet.
From: [email protected]
Confirming for noon tomorrow. Looking forward to it.
—Peyton Richards
I stare at her email signature, finally putting a last name to her first. Peyton Richards. PR. Like public relations. Like in nightmare. As in the kind of scandal we could have on our hands if word of my first-impression picture ever got out.
• • •
If Peyton was looking like a ten yesterday, today she’s looking like infinity.
No, seriously. With the way that little black dress hugs her body, she’s looking as curvy as an infinity sign.
I got to the restaurant a little early to be sure we snagged a table before the lunch rush hit. It was a good move based on how packed the place is, but a bad move based on how late Peyton is running. Normally, I’m a stickler about being on time, but one look at her sculpted
legs revealed by that dress and all sins of her tardiness are forgiven.
Her dark hair is pulled back at the nape of her neck, and as she scans the restaurant for me, I can’t help but linger over the delicate column of her neck. It’s impossible not to imagine myself nipping at it as my hands grip her plush ass. And it’s hard not to wonder about all the other soft places she might let me bite.
Fuck me. I have to stop this now.
“Josh.” She brightens and waves to me when she spots me across the crowded restaurant.
I give her a nod of acknowledgment to beckon her over to the table. Not gonna risk standing up and showing off a clothed and napkin-covered version of the picture she has of me.
“Sorry I’m a little late.” She checks the time on her phone and her eyes bug out. “Wow, okay, a lot late. I had to drop Gram off at the senior center.”
Once she’s settled in her seat, I pass her a menu, letting my gaze settle on the pretty pink flush the fall air has left on her cheeks.
“Nice of you to drive her. Do you spend a lot of time with your grandmother?”
The pink in her cheeks deepens two shades. “Um, actually, I live with her,” she says meekly, peering at me over her menu. “She’s in good health, but she shouldn’t be living on her own. And we’re actually kind of best friends. I know, it’s sort of weird.”
I sip at my lemon water without so much as raising a brow. “I don’t think it’s weird at all. Nothing is more important than family.”
Her embarrassment morphs into pleasant surprise. “I agree completely. Do you see much of your family?”
I give her my typical spiel about being the only Hanson left in Manhattan, how my family is mostly upstate and all that, but I’m interrupted when the waitress comes by to take our orders. Turns out, I was right yesterday when I guessed she would be a panini type of gal. I go with my usual salad with a filet of salmon on top, batting away my concerns about having fish breath. Hopefully it will reinforce the fact that I’m not planning on swapping spit with anyone today. Problem solved.
