Page 102 of Perfect Satisfaction

“How many times have you been?” he demands.

“I’ve lost track,” I admit.

Arek mutters something rude under his breath. I hold my hand up to my ear and say, “Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“You weren’t meant to.”

I laugh delightedly.

“I cannot believe you’ve been to Brendan Blake and Danielle Madison’s home and you’ve never written about it.” He stabs a fork in our shared tiramisu like it has mortally offended him.

I yank the plate away before he can do any more damage. He gives me a squinty stare before I explain, “I want to eat it, not watch you mutilate it.”

Arek roars with laughter.

I can’t help myself. Maybe it’s the chianti, maybe it is the sweetness of him ordering dinner—something that doesn’t involve steak—but I lean over and do what I wanted to do the very first time he laughed. I press my lips against his throat.

All the laughter dissolves. I feel Arek’s heart rate speed up beneath my lips as I trail them up and down the column of his neck. I try to pull away but find his hand threaded through the back of my hair, holding me right there.

“Why,” he rasps.

In many ways, tonight is a lot like our first date—the first time we made love. It’s filled with banter, humor, and sexual tension that could set a city on fire. It’s also filled with honesty if the right questions are being asked and Arek did just that. “Because I wanted to the very first night we met. You laughed on the plane at something I said, and it was all I could do not to.”

His hand spasms. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. I guess we have ten months to figure it out,” I answer honestly.

I ignore how his eyes flash with hurt at my response because it’s nothing but the truth. Arek wouldn’t be here if there weren’t one-hundred-fifty million reasons he needed to be.

CHAPTERFIFTY-TWO

“Winsome” Ward Burke was spotted at the little French delight, La Parisienne Café. Sadly, he was meeting with his financial advisor, Lynne Bradbury, for breakfast this morning instead of enjoying their salmon brioche with me.

Aside from the fact he’s sin in a suit with a rear you could bounce a half dollar off, lie to me and deny that’s not a conversation you wouldn’t want to be a fly on the wall for.

Even if I only had a dollar to invest instead of the almost billion associated with Ward Burke’s family fortune, I’d be following that advice.

—Moore You Want

Angela Fahey Burke eyes me warilyas I wait in the lobby at LLF, LLC.

I have my foot resting on my opposite knee. I begin to jostle it restlessly in agitation while I wait for Carys Burke-Lennan to emerge from behind the imposing wood doors that separate the lobby from the inner sanctum. The one time I visited here before, I’m grateful it was Ward Burke who ushered me back the moment I hit the well-appointed lobby. I’m not certain I’d have made it through the Brendan Blake interview with half as much aplomb as I did if I saw her face for the duration I’m presently enduring.

I’ve opened and closed my mouth half a dozen times to say something but each time, she shoots me a look filled with such disdain I cower back.

When the doors open and Carys emerges, it’s not to come to me but to head directly to her assistant. Her first words make me want to laugh, but I restrain myself. Barely. “How many times did Becks make the feeds today?”

“Sixty-four,” Angie replies. A wide smile breaks across her face. “I swear Sula’s counting because she mentioned Ward just to put him over the top.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” She scans the page and then outright laughs. “He’s going to wring her neck.”

“I’m waiting for him to come in,” Angie admits. She pats the file folder on her desk. “I already printed it out. The part about his butt is fabulous. It might...”

I immediately whip out my phone and check out Sula’s blog. Then I choke before gasping, “That little vixen.” The comment about Ward Burke’s butt I know is solely for her best friend. But now I know where she picked up the incredible takeout she brought back to the penthouse after her morning run. And where I can go to return the favor.

Carys and Angie exchange an inscrutable glance. It’s Carys who politely inquires, “Is there something amiss, Mr. Ronan?”

“I was treated by my housemate to some delectable salmon rillettes after she went out for a run. I couldn’t figure out where she found them. Now I know.”