Page 24 of Boss of the Year

I could do this, couldn’t I? I was twenty-five years old, for Pete’s sake. I could handle one little glass of champagne.

Across the party, Joni’s eyes popped open like a cartoon character’s as I tossed the contents of the glass back.

I smirked.

And then I coughed. A lot.

“Whoa, there. All right?” Daniel’s hand landed on my shoulder with a heavy smack.

I straightened, still hacking, but managed to stifle the coughs with sheer force of will and several deep breaths. “I—yes. Sorry. Wrong pipe.”

His grin came out again. He was so free with it. It was like the sun beamed on me just for talking to him.

He procured me another glass of champagne and watched as I sipped more slowly this time. He was right. The butterflies in my stomach did subside, though my head was decidedly less clear.

“All these years,” Daniel murmured. “Why didn’t I ever notice you before?”

“I don’t know. Why didn’t you?” Apparently, the champagne made me bolder too.

Hmm.

The dimple made another heart-melting appearance. “I don’t know. I was an idiot, I guess.”

I affected my very best Parisian shrug. “Maybe you were.”

Was I crossing a line by calling my employer an idiot? Probably. But as Joni told me plenty of times when she was juggling dates, “Men are like cats. They only like you when you treat them like shit.”

I doubted that rule applied to Nathan, whom she adored openly. Nor did I think he would understand that kind of game playing either. Daniel Lyons, on the other hand, seemed to get it just fine, because he couldn’t stop grinning and licking his bottom lip in a very distracting way.

I knew that look. It was the look he’d given a hundred women on nights just like this. The one where he liked something they were doing. The one right before he asked them for something more.

Without another word, Daniel took my half-empty champagne glass, gave it to a passing waiter, and turned to me.

You know how there’s always a scene in romantic comedies when the boy files through a crowd at an event, stands in front of the girl, and asks her to dance with nothing but an extended hand?

Daniel was doing that now.

For me.

“I’m noticing you now.” Hope sparkled like diamonds in those big blue eyes. “Will you do me the honor?”

I swallowed. “I—of course.”

I watched as my hand set itself in his, as if it were acting separately from my brain. His palm was warm as his other hand slid to the small of my back and guided me down the lawn toward the big tent and the dance floor.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.

And yet, it was.

“Holy shit, Daniel…” One partygoer’s eyes dragged down my body as Daniel led me past him.

“Who isthat?” murmured another.

More than one head turned as Daniel steered me to the center of the dance floor and raised a hand toward the stage, where the band leader nodded. The opening chords of “The Way You Look Tonight” sang through the night air.

Cliché? Sure.

Amazing? Undeniably.