Page 16 of Tempt Me

Gigi wasfloored. Howdid he knowallthis abouther? “How—”

“A lotof thisispublicrecord,”hesaid offhandedly. “The other stuff, well,let’s justsayI havemy sources.”

“I…I…”She couldn’tquitefinish her thought.

“I knowthis is alottotakein. I’mnota patientman, Gigi. You eitherwantthejob oryoudon’t. What’s it tobe?”

“Can I atleastcomeandmeet you and your daughterbeforeI decide?”sheasked as soon asher brain snapped backintoaction.

“Yes,of course. Comeandmeetmein an hour.”Herattledoff an address,which she committed tomemory.She hung upthe phone then put it downontothebench justasJen emerged fromthe bathroom. Gigiturned tostareather.

“What’s up,Borello?”Jen asked with a grin. Shewas dressed in ashortskirtandmidriff top,her hair perfectlyblow-dried and styled.

“Why didn’tyou tellmeyou were givingoutmy number, and to your new boss of all people?”

Jen’s facefell.“Oh,that,”shesaid. “Iguess itslippedmymind.”

“Letitunslip yourmind,”Gigi replied witha small snarl.

“Hey,I don’tknowwhyyou’reso upset.My boss needs a babysitter. You’relooking for a job. I thinkit’stheperfectsolution.”

Nomatter howmuchshewanted todenyit,Jen had madea good point. Shedid need a job,even if itwasfor only a fewweeks until theinternshipstarted…if she gota place ontheprogram,thatis.

Snatching her bag fromthecounter,Gigikeptupthepretenceof anger andwalked backtoher room. She neededtoshower and changebeforegoingto meether prospectiveemployer.

*

Gigi peered up attheapartmentbuilding where Maxhad told her tomeethim.Itwas in the meatpacking district,sotheexteriorlookedindustrial,butshewassureitwasmoderninside. Steppinguptothe intercom onthewall,sheranherfingerdownthelist ofapartmentnumbersandhitthebuttonshe needed.

“Yes?”Max’svoicestill hadthatrichtimbretoit,despitethetinnyedge.

Sheclearedher throat.“It’s Gigi Borello,”shesaid loudly.

Therewas abuzz.

“Comeon up.”

Climbing thestairsup tothefifth floor,shefound therightapartmentand knocked. Shewasn’t surewhy,butshewasnervous.Sheswipedherpalms onthetop ofherjeansandletoutashort breath.Thedoorswungopen.Themanstandingon theotherside madeGigi’sknees weak.His dark hair was artfully messy, his jawline square and strong. His lips were a perfect Cupid’s bow, and her mind turned to fantasizing about what he tasted like.

“Gigi?”heasked.

Shenodded.“Max?”

His bourbon-coloredeyesgaveher aonce-over.“Comein.”

Shestepped insidehisapartment, her eyes immediatelydrawntoalargemodern painting hangingonthewall.Theythentraveleddown totheruginthe middle ofthefloorwhereababywas playing in a baby walker.

“Is this your daughter?”sheasked.

“Yes,”he replied in a clipped tone. Hegesturedtothecouch.“Sit.”

Whatishisproblem?Gatheringhersmallbagintoherlap,shesatdownontheedgeofthe leathercushion,notallowingherselftogetcomfortable.FromherfirstimpressionsofMax,she didn’tthinkshe’d betherethatlong.

Standinginfrontofher,hestudiedGigi… No,itwasn’tstudying;hewasscrutinizingher.Refusing tobecowedbyhim,she methis intensegaze and raised one brow.

“Doyou drink?”heasked.

“No.”

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