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“What the hell, Sienna?” Lena’s eyes are practically glowing red. “I know I’m usually on Mason’s neck about tension in meetings, but there’sdefinitelysomething you’re not telling us. That man would not stop looking at you.”

My stomach does a nervous swoop. I noticed that I held Nick’s attention more than the others during the meeting, but then again, we’d met before. And had a nice conversation. And texted over the weekend.

Yeah.

“I think he’s just trying to throw us off, Lena.”

“Us?”

“Well, me specifically.”

“I don’t like him,” Mason says. He’s got his arms crossed, one shoulder leaning against the wall.

“Of courseyoudon’t like him.” Lena’s head is in her hands. “He didn’t stare at you like you were seven-layer cake all morning.”

“It’s fine,” I tell them. Itisfine. Nick was shockingly co-operative during the meeting. He listened, asked questions, and nixed none of the changes we’d made to the plan. After we finished, he drained the last of his coffee and promised to have his father’s lawyers look over the contract as soon as they could.

On the surface, a successful meeting for Charters PR Management.

But I can’t shake the feeling it wenttoowell, especially after Nick and I’s conversation on Friday.

“Do you think they’ll take the deal?” Mason asks me.

I weigh the question, staring at the snowy street outside the window. “Any other client, and my answer would be an unequivocal yes. The Harwoods are a special case, though.”

And as much as I don’t want to admit it, I know more about Nick than my co-workers do. I know that the three-month plan we’ve laid out is risky for him—Nick needs his reputation turned around ASAP. His charity gala is in less than three weeks, and it took one google to find out that the company’s shareholders will be there. By the time Nick goes to Fiji only a week after the gala, most of the opportunity to impress the shareholders will already be gone.

I came to the meeting this morning expecting him to object to the timeline, but he just … took it.

“I think he’s got something up his sleeve,” I say finally. “We communicated over the weekend, and it didn’t seem like?—”

My phone buzzes.

En masse, we look down to my hand. Even Robin looks from behind the reception desk.

“It’s him,” I say, reading the notification.

Mason and Lena huddle around my phone, watching as I tap in my passcode. There’s a pinch between Lena’s brows. “What’s he saying?”

“He wants to meet for dinner tomorrow to discuss further. Just me.”

“Well, he’s lost it,” Mason says. “Tell him we work together as a unit. If he wants to discuss, it should be with all of us.”

“Yeah, but only because that sounds like a date, and I don’t approve,” Lena adds.

There’s a shiver feathering its way down my spine, like I took a sip of a sweet, blended drink after sitting in the sun. “You don’t like him either?”

She laughs. “Darling, I fell in love with that man the moment I walked out of the elevator, but we know better than to mix pleasure and business.”

I nod. “I still think I should accept this.”

“What?!”

Tucking my phone back in my pocket, I start pacing in front of Robin’s desk. “We’re making headway with him. Some more time together, and I’m positive I can get it done. He’s Nick Harwood, for god’s sake. He’d probably flirt with a department store mannequin.”

“If he ever walked into a department store,” Mason remarks.

“Which he wouldn’t, because he’s a billionaire,” Lena says.