Page 23 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

"Probably." But he's smiling. "Though I have to say, your terrible ideas have worked out pretty well for me so far."

“I see. So, this is all some elaborate revenge plot for the pancakes?"

"I don’t waste time on revenge." His gaze sharpens. "You're good, Ariana. Very good. Yasmin pulled your past PR crisis cases. Your track record is impeccable. No leaks, no disasters, no unresolved messes. You don’t just put out fires—you make sure no one ever sees the smoke."

"You actually researched me?"

"I don’t make blind investments. And if I’m bringing someone in this close to the company—someone who, let’s be honest, has firsthand experience managing... unexpected situations—I need the best. That’s you."

My pulse skips, but I force myself to play it cool. "And this has nothing to do with Vegas?"

"Not nothing," he admits, and damn him, he looks entertained by my skepticism. "The IPO is in eight weeks. We can't afford any... distractions."

"And I'm a distraction?"

"You're a solution." He turns back, and something in his expression makes my pulse skip. "The Elvis chapel is already pushing for reality show rights. Who knows what else might come up."

"So you want to hire me to... what? Make our drunken mistake disappear?"

"It's not like it was legal anyway."

My stomach drops. Because it was legal. Very legal. I'd checked the marriage certificate myself, had my sister Kat (who, thank god, doesn't know it's mine) review the paperwork. But Connor doesn't need to know that. Not when he's offering exactly what I need to start my own firm.

"Right," I say carefully. "Just a funny Vegas story."

"Exactly." He moves closer, and suddenly the office feels too small. "So what do you say? Want to join the Clearwater team?"

I should say no. I should tell him the truth. I should definitely not be noticing how good he smells or how his voice does that thing that makes my skin feel too tight.

"What exactly would this job entail?"

"Whatever's necessary." Another step closer. "We'd work... closely together."

"How closely?"

"Very." His eyes drop to my lips, then back up. "Though obviously keeping things professional."

"Obviously." I resist the urge to touch the earring he'd returned, my eyes going to the table in the corner with a stack of pancakes. “And what are those?”

"A signing bonus. That, and the Elvis robes. I still have yours, if you’d like to get it.”

“You keep it. Anything looks better than that robe."

"I don't know." He's definitely too close now. "You made gold lamé work."

“Does this usually work on your new hires?”

“What do you mean?”

“The charm you turn on, full blast.”

He steeples his fingers. “This isn’t charm. This is a conversation, Ms. Bristol.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to be charmed into a job. I want to be convinced. Leaving Drake PR after all these years and starting over is no small feat.” I lift my mug, taking a sip. “And you’re not as charming as you think are, Mr. Reeves.”

"No?" He leans forward, gray-blue eyes trained on my face and then my neck. “So, why are you blushing?"

"Because it's hot in here."

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