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  “Call ahead next time and I’ll set time aside for you,” a pretty brunette said to Gavin.

  “Thanks. I’ll be sure to remember to do that.” Gavin slid her business card into his suit pocket as they left the showroom.

  “You really are a woman whisperer.”

  He flirted with every saleswoman, but he was suave in his designer suit and purple tie, laying on the charm just thick enough to leave the women wanting more. And yet he’d been a perfect gentleman with Serena since she’d told him she had a boyfriend, which showed that he had at least some modicum of morals.

  He smirked. “The Wheeler charm is a burden.”

  “I bet,” she said sarcastically.

  “Seriously. Just ask my brother, Beckett. He swears fending off women is a full-time job.”

  “And you?”

  A puckish look sparked in his eyes. “A gentleman never tells.”

  “Ah, so you’re a gentlemanly woman whisperer. Got it. Are you from Boston?” she asked as they headed for the elevators.

  “No. I’m from Oak Falls, Virginia, where everyone knows your name and your secrets.”

  “That sounds ominous. I guess you had a lot of secrets to escape?” she said as they rode the elevator up to the second floor.

  “I wanted more than Oak Falls had to offer,” he finally said as they stepped off the elevator. “Not much has changed about how business is done here over the years. But the Market Stalls are pretty amazing.”

  She followed him toward the west wing. “Nice subject change.”

  “I have many talents.”

  Goose bumps rose on her arms as the Market Stalls came into view, featuring high-end antiques dealers with goods from around the world.

  “Wow. This is even more incredible than I remember.” Being here was exhilarating.

  “I know. This is my favorite part. I love the high-end contemporary designs, but there’s nothing like finding the right period piece to anchor a room.”

  “Agreed,” she said as they made their way through room after room of an eclectic mix of furniture, lighting, and art from the seventeenth through the twentieth centuries. “There are so many antique shops on the Cape. Some are ridiculous, you know, where they call a 1989 table a fine antique.” She made air quotes as she said antique. “But some are incredible. I love knowing that every antique has a story. I want to know what each piece would say if they could tell us what they’d seen over the years.”

  “A good shop owner can tell you that.” He cocked a brow. “Or make up something.”

  She laughed. “Yeah. That’s true, sort of. But you know what I mean.”

  They meandered through the displays, commenting on pieces and showing each other which looks they gravitated toward and why. Gavin introduced her to several vendors. He was as charming with the men as he was with the women, and Serena realized he simply knew how to work a room. She’d always thought she was a master at that, but she was more of a hugger and more likely to ask about people’s families and personal lives once she knew them well. Those were things she needed to get over in this industry. At least in the heart of Boston, where she wouldn’t see clients at the beach, flea markets, or local concerts.

  “Where did you source materials at the Cape?” Gavin asked as they made their way back downstairs.

  “Locally, of course. At least as often as I could. Someone needs to support the local economy. We may be small, but we have incredible shops. Have you been there?”

  “Twice, when I first moved to Boston. But life gets busy, you know? And all the things you hoped to do get put on the back-burner.”

  “Gosh. I hope not too much. I love my life back home. I’m heading back this weekend.”

  “Good luck with weekend traffic. It’ll take you several hours instead of one and a half.”

  “Oh, shoot. I hadn’t thought about that.” She knew how awful traffic was on the weekends. He was right. It would take her forever to get there.

  “I can see you stressing. Do you want to call your cookie beau?”

  “His name is Drake,” she said with a smile. “I’ll call him later. I’m sure he’s busy with the resort.”

  As they left the building, Gavin said, “Do you still want to get food to take back to the office, or did you say that to impress the juniors?”

  “I don’t need to impress them. I have a ton of work to do, and I happen to like my teammates. So be careful how you refer to them, or I might have to bring out my nasty side.”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I like my juniors, too, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up my lunches.”

  “Sorry. I’m still trying to find my comfort zone with the infrastructure of the company. I’m not used to being around the type of people who take credit for the work of others. You should have seen their faces when I said I wanted them to come to an initial meeting with a new client. It was like they wanted to go but thought they’d get their noses swatted with a newspaper. It was pretty awful.”

  He was quiet for so long, she realized he might be just like the others. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. God, foot in mouth much?”

  He chuckled. “Relax. I was just thinking about how I felt when I first came on board and how much I’ve let go since then. I know what you mean. It’s unfortunate that they’ve learned their place, but fortunate for them as far as job longevity goes. I know a great café by the office where we can get food to go. Let’s take a cab and talk on the way over.”

  They flagged down a cab, and as they rode to the café, Gavin filled her in on the ins and outs of the office.

  “Here’s what you need to know about KHB. Like any business, there are two distinct areas that matter. Quality of work and image. KHB prides itself on working with the upper echelon of the business world, which is why we get clients like Younger, who want our name behind them. And that’s cool. You know, KHB has made a name for itself and achieved something not many companies could. But it comes at a price. A few days after turning in your billable hours, Suzanne will come talk to you. She’ll advise you to take your clients to BDC and rack up as many billable hours as possible. That makes the clients feel special and also fills the well.”

  “I get it. Clients want to be treated like they’re worth every penny they pay, and the company wants to suck them for every penny they can. But I’m still hung up on the taking-credit thing. Do you take credit for your junior designers’ work?”

  He shook his head. “No. But most of the seniors do. It’s the way the game is played.”

  “Not in my book. That’s why I’m taking them with me to that meeting. Why visit twice when we can do it in one shot and cut down on the…? Oh man…That’s about billable hours, too, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged, but his facial expression confirmed her thoughts.

  A few minutes later the cab pulled over to the curb, and she said, “Why is everyone pushing client lunches? They’re not billable.”

  She went for her purse, and Gavin pulled out his wallet.

  “I’ve got it. Company expense.” He paid the driver and asked him to wait. Once they were on the sidewalk, he said, “Client lunches…Employees need to eat. What’s more advantageous for the company? That we eat while having one-on-one time with our clients, making them feel special, which equates to marketing for KHB, or that we shoot the shit with each other in the break room?”

  “Everything is about money?”

  He pulled open the door to the café and said, “Welcome to the world of big-city business, Cape girl. You want to know why I treasure my lunch hour?”

  “Sure, but if it has to do with money, please lie to me.” She stepped into line beside him.

  “We work our asses off from morning until night most days. Lunch is the only time we can put it all away and turn off the designer side of our brains. Let me ask you something. Why did you become a designer?”

  “Why did you?” she threw back, giving her time to decide just how honest she wanted to be
about her family life.

  “I’ve always loved putting things together, whether it’s fashion—”

  “I have noticed your penchant for nice threads,” she teased.

  “Part of my charm.” He waggled his brows. “Clothing, spaces, fabrics. I love it all. Your turn.”

  “I wanted to make my mark.”

  “Mark? Like a Serena Mallery brand?”

  “Kind of. I didn’t have much growing up, and I always craved the basic things in life—a family unit, a decorated bedroom, cute school supplies like the other kids had. My mom was never around, and my sister, Chloe, and I took care of each other. We created our family with friends and their parents, and we found ways to fit in. When I realized I couldn’t buy nice things, I began changing everything I could get my hands on, making it special. Making it my own. As a kid it was bedazzling a notebook, painting my room, or writing on my shorts to start a trend instead of following one. I worked as a teenager, scraped together every penny, budgeted it out, came up with plans months ahead of time to make sure I had a dress for the prom and all that silly stuff that seemed so vital back then. And since I couldn’t buy things to decorate, I lived vicariously through my friends and their families when they redecorated rooms in their houses. One day it all came together and clicked. I realized I had vision, and I liked the nuts and bolts of bringing things to life.”

  They ordered sandwiches to go, and she told him about working with Drake to open the music stores and the upcoming grand-opening celebration.

  On their way out of the café, he said, “You do realize that this is a whole different world, right? You’ll get clients that you have full control over, but you’ll have a lot of Muriel Youngers, too. But don’t worry. You’re just starting out here. Those things you love might change.”

  “No, they won’t. I know where my heart lies. In all the years since I started college, I’ve never once been bored or become disenchanted with what I do.”

  They climbed into the cab and he said, “Then why did you leave your last company?”

  “Bayside Resort? Because I helped them set up the entire resort from scratch, from the billing to marketing strategies. We designed every office, every cottage, every room. There was nothing left for me to do except help run the day-to-day operations. I wasn’t bored. I worked with good friends I’ve known forever, and I met new people all the time. But it was time for me to achieve my own success.”

  “And you think this is it? Working for KHB?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “It’s too early to tell, but parts of it, maybe. What about you?”

  “This is a step in a ladder for me. I’m thirty-one years old.”

  “Me too,” she said.

  “Really? And you haven’t outgrown your cookie habit?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “I’ll never outgrow that.”

  “Good. Some things should always be part of who you are. For me, it’s family. I know what I want to end up with. A wife who understands marriage won’t always be easy, because the last thing I need is a diva who has no idea what being a family really means, more reasonable hours, and—like everyone else—something of my own.”

  “Laura said the last two senior designers left for bigger, better opportunities. Is this a stopover for everyone? Is that why it feels like something’s missing?” She didn’t even realize she’d nailed down her feelings to something being missing until just then. She’d never felt like something was missing at the resort. Her need to move on was driven by her job, the one she’d been hired to do, being completed. She’d readied the resort for someone else to walk in and run the areas she’d set up and managed. But had she felt complete for so long there because of Drake? Because of her friends?

  “Until you own your own business, I think everything is a stepping-stone.”

  “I guess that’s true.” Wasn’t everything in life a stepping-stone to something? Like school was to a career and dating was to marriage?

  “My guess is the reason it feels like something’s missing is because you’re looking for small-town friendships, loyalty, and comforts in the big city. Like I said, that might change. I’ve seen good people like you become hardened, disloyal, and impersonal in a matter of months.”

  “How did you escape it? You seem pretty down-to-earth.”

  “I keep my eyes on the prize. I may not know what that prize is right now, but I have faith in myself. I know one day my future will become clear. My small-town roots have kept me grounded. I might want more professionally, but the day I walk out the doors of KHB for the last time, it’s not going to be as a lesser man.”

  DRAKE PACED AT the end of the resort driveway waiting for Serena to arrive home Friday night. She’d texted when she’d reached the roundabout in Orleans, which was only a few minutes away, and he’d been edgy ever since. The drive had taken her an extra hour and a half. He expected her to be tired and irritated, and he told himself to chill out and try not to devour her the second he saw her.

  Headlights appeared at the end of the road, and he jogged into the street, every nerve aflame, his fingers curling in anticipation of holding her again.

  Her window was down as she rolled to a stop beside him. “Hey, big boy—”

  Her words were smothered with a ravenous kiss. So much for holding back. He couldn’t resist leaning through the open window and taking the kiss deeper. She clutched at his hair, holding tight the way she must have learned turned him on. Sinful sounds slipped from her lungs, and the car began rolling.

  “Brakes,” he ground out between urgent kisses.

  She slammed on the brakes, pulling him by his hair into another kiss. The sting shot darts of pleasure straight to his groin. His Supergirl was back, and he needed her in his arms. The car rolled forward again, and she grasped the wheel with one hand, still tugging his hair with the other, and slammed on the brake.

  “Park,” he ground out. “Fast.”

  He gave her a chaste kiss and sprinted down the driveway beside her car. The second she parked in front of the office, he pulled the door open and she jumped into his arms. Her mouth crashed against his, knocking their teeth together. They both groaned, but neither broke their connection as he carried her into the office and strode up the stairs to his apartment.

  Halfway up she pulled back and pressed her hands to his cheeks, her eyes dazzling with heat as she said, “I swore I wouldn’t do this.”

  He grinned. “You and me both. Everyone’s at the Beachcomber tonight, if you want to—”

  “No! I need to be with you. It’s been a long week.”

  “Thank Christ,” he ground out.

  He reclaimed her mouth as he opened the door to his apartment and pushed it closed with his hip. She wriggled from his arms, and they tore at each other’s clothes, stumbling toward the bedroom. They tumbled to the bed in a tangle of nakedness, eating at each other’s mouths as he aligned their bodies and entered her in one hard thrust. They both stilled, their eyes connecting through a blur of lust and so much more.

  “Don’t move,” she said breathlessly. “I just want to stay right here, feeling all of you.”

  He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in. “How is it possible that I’ve missed you so much?”

  “I don’t know. I look for you at every turn. When I’m in my office, I wish you’d come in after your morning run, shirtless and sweaty, with that look in your eyes that always made my heart go crazy.”

  He kissed her cheek, then brushed his lips over hers and said, “You mean the damn-I-want-you look that was immediately followed by an I-need-a-cold-shower grimace?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  He lifted one of her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to each of her fingers. Then he settled her hand beneath his on the mattress and did the same with her other hand. “This is the first time you’ve been in my bed, and I want to remember everything about it. Your hair spilling over the pillows, the feel of you beneath me, the look in your eyes.
”

  “It’s not the first time,” she whispered. “When we finished decorating your apartment, I lay right across the bed, staring up at the ceiling while you were talking with Rick, remember?”

  “I do, actually. I remember wondering if he’d think I was a dick if I asked him to leave so I could try to seduce you.”

  “Liar.” She grinned.

  “You’re right. I wondered if he’d think I was a dick if I told him to leave and flat-out took advantage of you.”

  Passion simmered in her eyes. “God, how I wish you had.”

  She leaned up as he lowered his lips to hers, meeting him in a slow, sensual kiss as they found their rhythm. The feel of her softness beneath him, her tight heat swallowing him thrust after thrust, nearly made him lose his mind. Their kisses turned rougher. They moved faster, their efforts urgent and possessive. She clawed at his back and wound her legs around his. Her feet slid down his hamstrings, locking just above the crook of his knees as he drove in deeper. He wanted to do everything, to touch her everywhere, at once. This, her, their coming together, was truly and utterly perfect.

  He pushed his hands beneath her hips, lifting and angling, so he could hit the spot that would make her lose control. He quickened his efforts, and her head fell back. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted as she clung to him, stealing gasps of air as they made love to their own passionate beat. A sheen of sweat covered their flesh as he pounded faster, took her harder. He felt tension mounting in her thighs, creeping up her torso, until her whole body was taut, her heels digging into the back of his legs. Her eyes opened, and she held his gaze, sending his heart into a spiral of emotions. His girl knew just what he wanted—what he needed—to see and feel all of her.

  “I adore you,” he said passionately as his mouth covered hers in a greedy kiss.