Page 32 of A Ticking Time Boss

“A superlative, and so early in our friendship?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, nudging his elbow again. “It’s all downhill from here.”

“It’s okay. We had a good run,” he says. And then, spoken beneath his breath, “Peanut guy.”

“So, no date?”

He’s quiet for a beat, but his voice is as smooth as always when he speaks again. “I didn’t say I came without a date. But she left a little while ago.”

There’s a brief pang of something in my chest. Disappointment, perhaps, even if it makes little sense. It’s not like I’m his only confidant or friend, and I’m definitely not his date.

“You’re good at cutting your dates short,” I say instead, my voice playful. “You did it the night we met too, remember?”

This time, his smile warms his eyes to amber. “Only when you show up.”

I laugh at the absurdity. “Right. You’re too charming, you know. You’re not allowed to exercise that on friends, not to mention employees.”

“Sorry. I don’t know how to turn it off.”

“Don’t,” I say, bumping his elbow again. He’s big and solid by my side, taller than most and more handsome than all. “It’s good practice for me, you know. I don’t lock up around you the way I do when I go on dates. If only I can get that way all the time.”

Carter looks at me for a long moment. “Isn’t your date with the piano teacher tomorrow? You postponed.”

“Yes,” I say, forcing down the nerves in my stomach. They’re instinctual at this point, coming whenever I hear the word date. I wish they’d call it something else.

Something with less expectations.

“While I’m more than happy to be your guinea pig,” he says, “you really don’t get nervous around me?”

“No,” I say with a grin. The idea of him, perpetually sarcastic and smiling, handsome and rich, ever dating me is ridiculous. He’s so firmly outside of the box of romantic possibility.

He grins and flashes his dimple, proving my point. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or hurt by that.”

“Relieved, probably,” I say. “Couldn’t help you turn the Globe around if I was tongue-tied around you, now could I?”

“Valid point,” he says. “You’re all business, spitfire. I admire that about you.”

I drain the last of my champagne. His eyes widen, and then he gives a quiet laugh. It’s dark and sensual, just like his voice, and sends shivers down my spine.

“Liquid courage,” I say. “Think I can introduce myself to Dean Allen?”

Carter takes my glass, our fingers brushing against one another, and sets it down on the counter. “Of course you can, although I can make the introductions, if you’d like.”

“You know him?”

“Not well,” he admits, “but we sat next to one another at an industry event last year. I was scoping the Globe and attended them all.”

“A year of just speaking to people like this?! How do I live your life?”

He chuckles again and nods toward the crowd. “Come on. Dean Allen awaits. Do you have your notebook?”

“Very funny,” I say. “I’m not going to write down his answers.”

Carter bends to whisper in my ear. “But admit it. You want to.”

I grin, feeling fierce and free and confident, a woman in charge of her destiny. “Yes.”

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