One Night Wife (The Confidence Game 1)

She held up her basket, the tartan rug on top. “I’m Vivian, and I came to take you to lunch.” He frowned, so before he could object she said, “It’s to thank you for all you’ve done for us.”

He let go of her hand. “You’re who?”

“You’re Edward and I’m—never mind. You have a brother named Halsey, and I pitched Halsey with the art deco cufflinks, and I can’t help thinking they’re the same person. I feel like I was set up, but I still want to take you out for a picnic lunch.” Because she was officially starstruck by Cal Sherwood.

He reached for the basket, and she let him take it. “Come with me.”

They went down the same central corridor and past the room where she’d learned about W words and fantasized about unprofessional activities happening on the table, right to the corner office.

There was a big squishy, brown leather couch and a glass topped desk with a massive screen on it, and the view was over the park.

He put the basket on the desk with a heavy enough hand the rattan squeaked.

“First off. I like your outfit, but I don’t know who Vivian and Edward are. Secondly, the Halsey you pitched is my brother. Did you think I’d let you go into that room and pitch cold without a dress rehearsal?” He shook his head as if that was just damnable. “I was going to tell you, but I thought it might throw you off, and you were happy. I didn’t want you to think it wasn’t real. Also”—he pushed his hand through his hair—“you distracted me with those fucking incendiary kisses. I can’t come to lunch wi

th you, Fin.”

He snapped that last part out, so she knew he was irritated. What did he have to be angsty about? “Why can’t you come to lunch?”

“How do you know about Halsey?”

She pointed down the corridor toward reception. “Your sister had incense.”

He looked at the ceiling. “That explains everything.”

“It’s only lunch.”

“No, it’s not.” He waved a hand at her, up and down, expression all hot and bothered. “It’s you in that outfit sent to drive me mad. It’s you being a distraction again. Doing your triple threat thing.”

She tapped the basket. “It’s a sandwich and a ginger beer.” No one had ever called her a triple threat.

“You have a rug.”

As if that was the problem here. “For the grass.”

“There’s not going to be any grass.”

“Figures.” He was a big grumpy, stick-up-the-ass, can’t-use-a-W-word, scared-off-by-kisses… “You said you weren’t having a good time. I wanted to give you some fun.”

“You want to give me heartburn.” He stalked to the door and closed it.

“I don’t know why you’re closing that.” At least when she opened it to leave, she could make an event out of it.

“So the rest of the office won’t know I’m having a picnic.”

“What, in here?” Trout faced, temperamental…

He picked up the basket. “Can’t do it without grass?”

She might be starstruck over him, but she wasn’t stupid. “Not sure I want to do it with you.”

“Oh, you want to do it with me.” He put the basket on the floor, pulled the rug off the top, and snapped it out so it floated down over the carpet. He turned to face her. “You want to do it with me so badly, any minute now, you’re going to shove me up against a wall and stick your tongue down my throat.”

Ah screw this. “If my tongue got that far it had help.” She was out of here.

She took two steps around him, and he touched her arm. “Pretty Woman.”

She didn’t look at him. “Is that a compliment?”