It’s a valid question that she’s asked.

Do I wish I’d known?

If I knew, we might not have continued the date. And I don’t know that last night should be erased from our personal history.

“You’re right. I suppose I’m glad I didn’t know who you were. Plausible deniability is a good thing.”

“A very good thing in this case.”

“Anyway, now that we are talking about the elephant in the room, yes, I am in media finance. Synchronicity Media is a media portfolio firm, and we buy websites and other media properties that we think will have synergy.”

“Synergy,” she says, with a laugh and a too-cute eye roll.

“Hey, now. What’s wrong with synergy?”

She adopts a more serious expression and formal tone. “Hey, Bob. Let’s dive into the transparency of all the synergies in our business systems.” She returns to her own voice. “‘Synergy’ is just sooo corporate.”

“Sometimes I have to be sooo corporate.” I give it back to her but add a smile.

“Fine, be all corporate,” she says, and there’s that pals tone again, but it’s laced with a little flirtiness that I don’t want to let go of.

“I will be all corporate,” I say, trying to rein in a smile.

Dammit. I don’t want to give up a second chance with her.

She leans back in her chair, letting it spin a few inches, then she sighs. “What are the chances the guy I met in a cute little collectible shop would be my new CEO?”

The realist in me answers. “More than average, actually. I’d been meeting with Hadley before I popped into the store. Meeting with her to finalize some terms.”

“And now the sale is final.” It comes out a little heavily.

I drag a hand through my hair. “Look, even though I’m glad I didn’t know you work here, since it gave us the chance to have last night, and I don’t and won’t regret the most epic date and most epic sex of my life”—I stop to register the curve in her lips, the glint in her eyes—“I’m also surprised I didn’t put two and two together. I read a ton of articles on the site beforehand. I bought the site because I thought the content was great and the traffic and ad numbers are insane. But I don’t recall reading an article from a Bryn. It’s kind of a memorable name.”

She offers a faint smile. “Maybe you remember the byline of Elizabeth Hawthorne?”

The light bulb flicks on, and I groan. “Are you kidding me?”

“That’s me.”

I laugh, but it’s borderline humorless. “I remember that name now. I enjoyed her articles, especially the one calling for the eradication of dick pics.”

She pumps a fist. “That article worked. Yay! You sent me a pussy shot instead.”

“See? I can be trained. Though, confession time, I have never sent a dick pic to anyone. Also, you’re the first woman to receive a kitty shot.”

She brings her hand to her chest. “I am the luckiest gal in New York. Because Queen LT is awesome, and I do want more pics of her. Anyway, Bryn is my middle name, though I’ve always gone by it. I use Elizabeth as my byline because I didn’t want an easily traceable name when writing about dating. Elizabeth is easier. A broader name. But I don’t write that often for the site.”

“Because you’re in charge of all the content,” I say, stating the obvious.

“And now you’re in charge of all the site,” she says, also laying out the cold, hard facts.

“Yeah.” Another sigh. Another wish that she weren’t off-limits.

“Which means . . .” She stops, waving her hand like she’s saying goodbye. “I won’t be seeing you on Friday night.”

13LOGAN

I scrub a hand across my chin, wishing I could find a way around this problem. That’s what I do—find alternative paths to a solution. But I don’t see a route to Bryn. An appropriate one anyway. Reluctantly, I agree. “Friday night does seem to be out of the question now.”

She gives a sad smile. “Too bad. It was fun while it lasted.” She peers at the clock on her wall. “For less than twenty-four hours.”

I scoff. “Hey, now. Don’t count us short. We should start the clock from that first fateful moment in the shop on the corner when we met. So, we had the moment in the store, then we talked online, then we went to Gin Joint, then we had last night, then we texted and talked this morning.”

“Whoa. We’ve had an entire modern relationship in three days.”

“Exactly. And my records say . . .” I make a show of looking at my watch. “It was right about ten fifteen on a Friday morning when we locked eyes.”

“Then that means it was fun for three days and one epic night.”

I need to stop, but I don’t pump the brakes just yet. “One absolutely epic night that I very much wanted to do again.” I linger on those words like I’d wanted to linger on her this Friday. I hold her gaze, driven to speak the truth. If I can’t have her, at least I can have a touch of the honesty we shared, the honesty I’d missed those last few years of my marriage.

“Listen, Bryn. You need to know I wanted to see you for more than the sex. Maybe that sounds crazy, since we only spent one night together. But I really liked talking to you. I liked how we were together. I liked how it felt to be with you.”

“I liked all that too, Logan. A lot,” she says, soft and breathy, dipping into that submissive zone she likes to inhabit in the bedroom.

That connection between us, the intense attraction, sparks up again. I lower my voice even more, my eyes full of intent. “And I also loved fucking you.”

She shivers, biting the corner of her lip. Oh, hell. That’s the woman I had on the couch last night. That’s the woman who wants me to do bad things to her.

“I loved it too,” she says softly. “I had a few things I was hoping we could try on Friday.” There’s a touch of coyness in her tone that gets the attention of my dick.

Well, in that organ’s defense, my dick was already sitting up just from being near her.

And that’s why I should cut this conversation off at the knees. I should be the cool, composed businessman.

And yet . . . I don’t want to.

“I’m pretty sure I’d have loved doing all those things to you.”

She picks up a pen, twirls it, and shoots me a flirty stare from across her desk. “How do you know you’d have loved it?”

I lean forward, elbows on my thighs. “Because you and I like to fuck the same way.”

Twirl goes the pen. Dark go her eyes. She kicks her heel back and forth, and I don’t resist staring at her legs for a few seconds. “Inappropriate” is my new middle name.

“We do. We did,” she says, emphasis on the past tense. “And it’s a damn shame, Logan. Because sleeping with my new boss would be a terrible, terrible decision.”

Maybe it’s the two “terribles.”