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I take a hefty swig of my wine glass, damn near emptying the thing. Lacey pours more.

“Okay, more new ways to look at this. Yes, you’ve only known him for a short period of time, but tell me all the things about him you like. Tell me about the ways he makes you feel.”

I groan, trying to figure out where to start.

Before I know it, the list is sliding off my tongue.

Lacey nods encouragingly about not only the physical impact Dalton has on me, but how powerful he makes me feel—sexually, professionally, and personally.

After one day with the team, I already know he’ll let me stand on my own, but be there if I need the support.

“And when I imagine myself waking up every morning, kissing the man I love, being successful in my own right with a partner I love and trust, it’s with a guy like Dalton.” I startle at the revelation. How have I gone from spinster workaholic to wanting a partner by my side?

Lacey’s eyes have gone all soft and gooey, like she’s watching the best part of a Hallmark romance. “Do you envision a guy like Dalton? Or Dalton?”

Fuck me. Of course, it’s Dalton. I know it. She knows it. He knows it. But I’m not ready to admit that yet. Not after such a short amount of time. Love at first sight is not a thing. Lust, yep. Love takes time.

“I have to focus, Lace. Ramona dumped ninety percent of the work on me. I have way too much to do right now, and adding Dalton to the mix is reckless.” I say in an attempt to deflect one last time.

“I thought you said he’s keeping it professional?” Lacey’s head tilts, but she doesn’t push on the lack of response to her question.

“He is. I’m the one struggling to keep my lips to myself.” My head thunks down on the counter. I tap it against the cool surface twice more to knock some sense loose. “Ramona loves me right now. If she finds out I jeopardized her precious charity auction, she’ll hate me. Never trust me again.”

“Then give it a few weeks before deciding. Get to know him better. If things go to shit, at least there was some good sex. If Ramona fires you, she can fuck right off. There are other PR firms out there, Jenna. You’re damn good at your job.

I’ve seen you make nightmare clients into beloved household names. ”

I snort, the sound echoing off the counter before looking up. “Speaking of nightmare clients. Did I mention his ex to you?”

Lacey’s forehead furrows, eyes going unfocused as she runs through some mental list. “Wasn’t he last seen dating Ellie Edwards?”

I seal my lips, eyebrows raising.

“No shit?! Ellie Princess Edwards is not the sweetheart she pretends to be?”

“Promise not to go running to a columnist at work?”

“YES!” she squeals. “Wait. Wait. Wait.”

Lacey refills, then snatches up her wine glass, clutching it in both hands as she leans in like a kid about to hear the best bedtime story. “Okay, go!”

“You’re never going to believe me,” I warn her before spilling the oh so hot gossip tea that has little to do with me and everything to do with Dalton’s ex.

Four weeks pass in a blur of trainings, negotiations, press releases, and meetings.

All peppered with Dalton’s presence. Sleep is now a myth, while the morning coffees from Dalton with inspirational messages are my new best friends.

He’s kept his word. During the PR trainings, Dalton is the model player and Team Captain.

He leads the guys less like a father and more like the big brother no one wants to disappoint.

Under his “by example” leadership style, the guys fall in line and damn if I’m not proud of their skills.

Well, everyone except Trent. Zero surprise there.

Dalton even took him out for a beer to smooth things over, give him some guidance.

Trent agreed to the drink, but stepping up was not on the table.

While there hasn’t been another dick waggling incident, The Vortex’s resident bad-boy has been MIA from every training and PR event.

He couldn’t even bother to show up at the Children’s Hospital meet and greet, despite being requested by several kids.

Everyone else showed up on time, most staying over an hour after the press left to play with the kids.

Over half the guys made anonymous donations by the time we left, and ten of them promised to come back next week in their favorite superhero costumes without the press in tow.

Of course, that was Dalton’s idea, who would be dressed as Dr. Strange. Swoon.

Any hope of the passing weeks tamping the inferno of attraction between us to an ignorable spark is a complete and utter under-estimation of the allure that is Dalton Ward.

Just yesterday, I almost shoved him in a janitor’s closet to rip his clothes off and propose making this the real deal while ravaging the man.

If the janitor hadn’t showed up with a mop bucket right as we walked past, I would have dove head first into that cluster fuck of a situation.

Tonight, in navy blue slacks and a white button down, the outfit so close to the one he wore on our date, it’s impossible to keep my eyes off him.

Even with Ramona in the room and fifty other potential sponsors milling about.

The schmoozy mixer in the arena’s penthouse suite has been my baby for the past month.

Taking the guys’ lists from the first day, then pulling every string I had, the final sponsorship deck sent Ramona squealing with delight.

All the hard work and sleepless nights leading to this moment, a room full of deep pockets in need of high-profile influencers, and a team of guys ready for the challenge.

It’s the ideal launching point for lining everyone’s pockets while proving I deserve my title.

“Damn, he looks good.” Lacey leans in, whispering as she stares at Dalton, who’s playing the golden child by Ramona’s side. He says something, and the group around them bursts into laughter. Ramona a little too hard. There’s a pang of jealousy that I can’t hear the conversation.

Lacey tilts her chin in his direction. “If you still don’t want that…”

“Only look, Lace.” I elbow her in the ribs.

“Are you telling me or reminding yourself?”

“Both,” I admit through gritted teeth, plastering on a smile when the Adidas rep catches my eye. She’s talking with both Caderwall and Masters. I’m ninety percent sure they’ll have contracts by next week.

“Thanks for getting some of the men’s skincare brands here, too,” I say to my cousin in earnest. I should owe her my firstborn for working her connections at the magazine to get me in touch with several fashion brands and male-focused self-care companies.

But her only request was a ticket to tonight’s event.

“My pleasure! Now, which of the guys are single again?” Her head swivels like a lioness picking out her prey, emitting a purring sound similar to a proud cat. As of last week, she and Reg Bootycall are officially on a break.

I laugh, giving her the lowdown when a commotion at the doors wipes the smile right off my face.

I find Dalton in a heartbeat. The color drains from his face as he sees the uninvited guests.

Stumbling, sunglasses askew on his face and that cocky as fuck smirk is Trent.

But it’s the lanky girl hooked on his arm that causes my gut to plummet.

Unlike her date, Ellie Edwards’ eyes are sharp as a hawk’s.

In one preternatural sweep of the room, they land on Dalton.

Shit.