Only with You (The Best Mistake 1)

Then his mouth closed over hers, and she resigned herself to the inevitable.

She was going to become one of William Thatcher’s women.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Of all the ways Gray expected to be spending his first truly sunny Saturday in Seattle, it wasn’t at a company picnic.

A picnic that he was supposedly hosting.

With the help of his assistant.

Who was supposedly just his friend.

And yet here he was on a gorgeous late-May afternoon, surrounded by balloon bouquets, blow-up obstacle courses, beanbag tosses, and the spouses and children of his employees.

It should have been a disaster.

But as usual, Sophie had been right. Everyone seemed to be loving it. He’d lost count of the number of times that someone had clapped him on the back with the affirmation that Brayburn Luxuries was an even better place to work now that it was under Gray’s considerate care.

Wives had simpered at him, grateful that in a world of corporate schmucks with no soul and no family, that they were lucky enough to belong to a “work family” that respected and supported the homelife.

Gray hadn’t bothered to explain that he’d had nothing to do with it. That every last detail, from DJ down to the corn on the cob, had been masterminded by the world’s biggest people-loving tornado.

Sophie.

He looked around for his erstwhile assistant, hoping she’d see that he was smiling and shaking hands just like she’d instructed. While lending half an ear to some hyper little man from finance, he finally spotted Sophie over by the games tent.

Yes, she’d set up a games tent for a three-hour event. And yes, it was ridiculous.

But damn if people weren’t loving it.

His plastered-on smile faltered as he saw who she was talking to.

As if it wasn’t enough that Jeff Andrews had become a permanent fixture at Sophie’s desk over the past couple of weeks, it would seem that he needed to drool over Gray’s assistant at work events as well.

Since they were friends, Sophie had felt the need to explain that Jeff had just finalized a messy divorce and was in need of a friend. Sophie, being Sophie, had taken Jeff under her wing in an effort to “distract him from his pain.”

Gray, being a man, was reasonably sure that the main focus of Jeff’s personal life at the moment had nothing to do with missing his ex and everything to do with coaxing a sympathetic Sophie into bed. He narrowed his eyes as Jeff playfully tugged at Sophie’s ponytail.

Flirting with coworkers, especially subordinates, was unprofessional and lowbrow.

He promptly ignored the voice in his head that whispered, Hypocrite.

“…and that’s how my wife and I learned that athlete’s foot was contagious!” the bumbling employee from finance was saying, with a proud grin at having captivated the CEO’s attention for all this time.

“That’s, um…that’s…” Why the hell were they talking about this? And what was this man’s name again?

“Oh, there’s my wife now!” the athlete’s foot expert said proudly. “Keri! Keri! Over here, babe! I want you to meet Gray!” He blanched for a moment. “It’s cool if I call you Gray, right?”

No, it’s absolutely not cool. “Sure,” he said weakly. “Call me Gray.”

“My wife will think it’s so cool that I’m on a first-name basis with the company’s CEO,” he said with a delighted grin.

Sure enough, the wife was impressed by her husband’s lofty connections, and it took Gray another ten minutes of listening to conversation about sausage-making before he could politely remove himself. Gray began making his way through the throng of people, hoping his expression said “pleasant, but busy.” He couldn’t handle much more of this chatter. Overall, the afternoon hadn’t been horrible, but if he had to make one more inane comment about the great weather or the merits of the Seattle school districts, he’d probably need a sedative.

Pretending an interest in the food, he kept one eye on Sophie as she continued to giggle with Jeff. Didn’t she have better things to do than flirt? Caterers to coordinate? Wallflowers to soothe?

“Great party, Mr. Wyatt,” said a low feminine voice to his left.