Page 13 of Champagne Fizz

“How about I show you the contract,” Simon says, putting a hand on my elbow and nodding for me to follow him away from this circus act.

Why yes,my lady parts reply.Please lead me to one of the back rooms…perhaps the bathroom where I hear—

“Yes, thank you!” I cough out, squeezing my legs together and trying to keep myself from overheating. “That’d be great.” I gesture to Ned and Olivia that I’ll be a minute, and moments later I’m standing in the back office of the restaurant.

Simon’s office.

I’m in sexy Clark Kent’s office … alone.

The lady parts are liking this scenario, despite the fact that Simon looks like the kind of man who’s had a love affair with office supplies. Everything in his office is arranged and in perfect place. Every bin is labeled. Every paper filed. Every pen has been organized by color and size.

“You’d have a heart attack if you saw my office,” I say under my breath.

“What was that?” Simon asks, looks back at me genuinely through those sexy-librarians-r-us glasses and I force myself to bite my lip. Sue Blade would not advise me to lead with my weaknesses.

“Uh, nothing,” I cover. “You’re very”—I nod to the immaculate perfection that is his office—“tidy.”

“You have to be if you’re going to run a business,” Simon says, completely serious as he gestures to his office like it’s proof of his success and his words aren’t a dagger in my yellow lifestyle of mayhem. “I’m going to officially put you on the calendar for the 28th.”

Simon fishes a contract out of a drawer (aptly labeled contracts) before sitting down behind his desk and starting to fill out the paperwork.

“Look, before you do any of that,” I interject, walking up to his desk. “I owe you an apology for what I said in the elevator.”

Simon’s blue eyes flick up to me behind his glasses and my stomach does a somersault.

“Yeah … but do you actually?” Simon asks, leveling with me and pointing to the dining room we just came from. “I’m pretty sure Arie lived up to every stereotype you have about Flambé.”

“She’s—uh …” I try to look for something polite to say.

“Abrasive?”

“Colorful?” I try, and Simon smiles.

“You’re the one who’s colorful.” He motions to my suit. “Arie’s a raging control freak, and her idea of small talk is debating the best techniques for fellatio.”

I almost choke when he says that word.

Simon’s eyes flick to my mouth and for a second I think we both might be considering—

“Well, uh …” I cough, my skin heating again, and my mind racing with the thought of getting on my knees behind his desk and watching his eyes flutter shut behind those glasses as—

Nope.

Red alert!

I can’t think about that.

Not only because I’m going to turn into a flaming horn-ball and embarrass myself, but because Simon might end up being my only ally at Flambé. An ally I desperately need to survive this wedding. I’m not allowed to fantasize about—

“I think we should get a drink,” I blurt out.

Mouth? Brain? Hello? When did you two decide to let my lady parts take the reins?

“A drink?” Simon asks surprised, his eyes darkening as they flick up from my mouth.

“I mean, not like—”

Snicker-my-doodle, that soundedexactlylike I was inviting him out so I can liquor him up before my mouth finds its way around his man parts.

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