Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2) novel Chapter 19

“You know . . . you’re inexperienced. With a woman who’s been around the block, it’s more okay to play a little fast and loose, because she knows what she likes and doesn’t like, and she won’t be afraid to call a time-out.”

“But I did tell you to stop,” she fires back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Doesn’t that prove I’m capable of holding my own?”

I would laugh at her trademark resolve if I weren’t rapidly approaching exasperation. “I’m trying to apologize for not treating you better.”

“I know. And I appreciate that. I just need to know you see me as an equal. I don’t want you handling me with kid gloves. I agreed to this”—she waves a hand as she searches for a word—“arrangement of my own free will.”

“Even a casual partner still deserves to be treated right.”

She nods slowly, like she’s confused over my choice in words.

I tip my head toward the celling and draw a deep breath before meeting her eyes again. “So, would you like to go to dinner with me?”

She stares back at me for a moment before softening. “Yes. That sounds really nice.” Her expression turns the tiniest bit mischievous. “But it’s still not a date, right?”

I keep a poker face. “Right.”

“Just wanted to make sure. I’ll get dressed,” she says, then heads into the bathroom to get ready.

I should feel better having gotten that apology out of the way, but somehow I don’t. I only feel more confused.

• • •

Overlooking the Thames, we share platters of native Cornish oysters on the half shell and roasted vegetables and a variety of desserts.

Although we’re talking shop, analyzing the various offers I’ve received over the past two days, it doesn’t feel at all like work. It’s easy and fun, and highlights all the aspects of this job that get my blood pumping.

Presley is so sharp, and we tune so easily into each other’s wavelengths that our collaborating feels effortless. It’s nice. Relaxing, even. With a business partner like her, synergy isn’t just a marketing buzzword, but something real and invigorating.

I’ll start bringing her to meetings soon, I decide. I was a fool to ever think of restricting her to my bed—she’s too valuable an asset to be kept away from the negotiation table.

The cocktails and conversation loosen my tongue until I’m rambling about my most unlikely dreams. “Someday we’ll be worldwide.” I smile, taking the last sip of my wine. “An Aspen property in every country—or at least one on every continent, I’ll settle for that.”

Presley smiles at me over her glass of prosecco. “Even Antarctica?”

I realize I misspoke, but I go with the flow and joke, “Sure, why the hell not? An ice palace with attached ski resort.”

“And penguin-watching tours,” she says with a giggle.

It feels good to see her laugh, to laugh together with her. When was the last time I felt so good? Probably right before I found that fucking Genesis stuff in her bag. The worst of that is behind us now . . . but still, I can’t deny it was a useful wake-up call, pulling us apart before we got too entangled. Too invested in a connection that could never last.

I sigh, the reality of my life bringing me back down to earth. “On the other hand, I really need to start trimming back my hours. I shouldn’t miss all of Emilia and Lacey’s childhood.” That was meant to be another joke, but it came out downright dismal.

“You can do both, right? If you find good people to delegate to,” Presley says.