EIGHT

      Tessa tilted her head, the words not quite registering. “Wait, you want me to what?”

      “In order for this to happen, I’ll need you to quit the temp agency and take over the event this year as coordinator,” Kade said, his tone no-nonsense.

      She stared at him, wondering if he’d knocked his head on something or maybe had gotten sauced on his lunch break. Clearly, he was talking crazy.

      “We’d, of course, pay you a fair salary since the position will be full time for the next few months.” He slid a document her way, pointing to a salary number that would take her at least two years of temp work to make. “You’ll have a small office in the PR department and access to one of their assistants if you need administrative help.”

      “Van, I mean, Mr. Vandergriff—” she said, panic rooting in her chest and spreading outward. He was being serious?

      “Please, call me Kade.”

      “Kade,” she said, her eyes lifting from the document before her. All the things he’d said about the event swam through her brain, forming a whirlpool of there’s no fucking way protests—thirty restaurants, booking bands, getting a headliner … “I appreciate the offer, but you don’t understand. I’m not qualified to—”

      “Of course you are,” he said, his tone not leaving room for argument. “No one will be more passionate about swaying people to participate. I received a copy of your resume from the temp service. You have the basic office skills you need to stay organized, and the admin can help with the little details. Your main focus will be on garnering participants and planning the event. You listed event planning in your Other Skills section on the resume.”

      Shit. Once again she was reminded why lying was such a bad idea. She’d added that at Sam’s suggestion to fluff up the resume. And sure, Tessa had planned big parties before, but only at her home, nothing for anyone who was paying her to get it right. “Those events were personal ones. Nothing official. I don’t think I’m capable of taking on—”

      “This is the condition, Tessa. Nonnegotiable. I have complete faith that you can do this. If you can’t get the donors lined up, your charity is the one that suffers. And I know you won’t let that happen.”

      Her lungs felt like they’d been flattened with a rolling pin. She tried to pull in a breath. There was no way she could take this on. It’d be an utter failure. The highest-level job she’d ever held was the one she had now, and that was only one step above being ticket taker at the local theater. But if she turned it down, Bluebonnet Place wouldn’t get the money at all. She’d walked in promising herself she’d do whatever it took to get this chance and now that promise was coming home to roost like a big, fat, squawking hen.

      “Do you accept my condition, Tessa?” Kade asked, all business.

      Did she accept? As if she had any choice. Nerves moved over her skin like static. What if she completely embarrassed herself? What if donors laughed in her face? She rubbed her hands along the arms of the chair, trying to get them to stop shaking.

      “I guess I do. I’m not sure why you would want me to—” Another worry sparked in the hollows of her chest, cutting off her train of thought. “Wait, tell me you’re not doing this because of what happened between us Friday night.”

      She’d die if this was some handout because she hadn’t had money that night, or worse, if it was some after-sex payoff. Bang the CEO, get a job.

      He smiled. “Rest assured. I’m not doing this because of Friday night.”

      She nodded, hearing the sincerity and taking comfort in that. Thank God. “Okay.”

      He pulled out another sheet of paper and slid it on top of the other. “I’m doing this because of Friday night.”

      She peered down at the new document with dread. “What is it?”

      “This says that you will report directly to the head of the PR department, not to me, and that I have no say-so in your employment status and no authority to terminate you in the future.”

      “I don’t understand. Why does that matter?” she asked, scanning the page but not really understanding why it was necessary.

      He reached out and put a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face toward his. “Because when you’re in my bed again, I don’t want you worrying about business getting mixed with pleasure.”

      Her ribs pulled tight, her spine going ramrod straight. “Excuse me?”

      He lowered his hand but not his uncompromising gaze. “I told you on Friday. One night was not enough.”

      “And I told you that’s all I had to give,” she said, the words barely making it past her constricted throat. “Is this a condition of the deal?”

      His lips curved with hot promise. “Of course not. I plan on pursuing you whether you take the job or not.”

      “Kade,” she protested, goose bumps breaking over her skin at the thought of him touching her again. But bad idea didn’t even begin to describe what getting involved with him would be, especially now. “I can’t, we can’t …”

      He stood and walked around the desk, sliding into the spot in front of her. The look he gave her when he perched on the edge of the desk and peered down stripped her to the studs. “Tell me you haven’t thought about Friday night.”

      Her gaze dropped to her hands. God, of course she had, about a thousand times since she’d left him. I can teach you things. His naughty words had reverberated through her every night when she’d lay in bed alone. “It doesn’t matter if I have or haven’t.”

      “Of course it does. In fact, right now, that’s all that matters to me,” he said, his voice like warmed honey sliding over her. “Put me on your list, Tessa.”

      Her attention snapped upward. List? “What? How do you know about—?”

      “Your friend, Sam, let it slip when I tried to find you to see if you were okay,” he said, as if it was totally normal that he’d sought out her best friend to track her down.

      Humiliation washed through Tessa, and she made a mental note to kill her best friend. Headstone: Samantha Dunbar, death by TMI.

      “So what item did I check off for you?”

      She put a hand to her forehead. Jesus. This is not happening. “We are so not talking about this.”

      “Oh, we so are.” He nudged her with his knee, his whole demeanor switching to playful mode. “I’m dying to know. Was it seduce a stranger?”

      She snorted. “Hello, you seduced me. I was