“We’ll bring her to you at the Big House around seven,” he told them, making up the plans as he went.
His temples throbbed a bit at the impulsivity of this entire situation, but his heart hammered with the beginnings of excitement. When was the last time he’d felt this way about something that wasn’t totally business? He couldn’t remember. What he did know for a fact was that tonight’s dinner with Tate Dennison wasn’t all about Infinity, not by a long shot.
* * *
She’d agreed to go out with the boss. All day long, Tate had been thinking of what she’d gotten herself into. Or actually, what the person who’d tried to break into her car had gotten her into. Were it not for the shattered windows on her car and the missing car seat she wouldn’t be indebted to Sean and left with no other option but to go out with him tonight.
She didn’t want to go on a date with Sean Donovan.
If she spoke that aloud someone would think she was crazy. Especially Ashton, the receptionist on this floor, who thought the sun and moon both took their cues from the Donovan men that ran this magazine.
“Girl, I’d take either one of them any day of the week. Okay, well not Dion, since he’s already spoken for, and I actually like Lyra. But Sean and Parker are still fair game,” she’d told Tate one day at lunch.
Tate hadn’t really been interested in the conversation. She’d resolved not to dream or even hope about another involvement with a man—even if it was a Donovan. Ashton, on the other hand, couldn’t think of anything else.
“What about Savian?” she’d asked, just because he was the only Donovan man that frequented the magazine that wasn’t married and that Ashton hadn’t already mentioned.
She’d scrunched her face a little and Tate almost laughed. “He’s a little on the uptight side. But, you know what, he’s still fine, so I’d give him a try, too.”
They’d laughed about that and much of the other gossip Ashton had fed her that day. Gossip that Tate was glad her name had not been connected to—although that could have been a convenient deletion on Ashton’s part.
Tate knew Ashton wasn’t the only female who worked at the magazine who felt that way about this particular family of men. Hell, the family stretched all the way to the West Coast. That meant that most likely there were thousands of other women who felt the same way. And if this had been four years ago and she didn’t know what she knew now about relationships, Tate might have had those same stars in her eyes.
But it wasn’t. And she didn’t. At least she was going to convince herself that she didn’t.
In front of her office building she met O’Shea, the rotund Caucasian man with the balding head and cheerful laugh, who’d picked her and Briana up this morning. He was driving a town car, long and shining, almost like a limousine.
“Afternoon to ya, ma’am,” he spoke with an Irish accent that matched his piercing blue eyes. She was willing to bet that before his hair had turned snowy white and taken a permanent leave of absence it had been carrot-colored.
“Good afternoon,” she said, heading toward the back passenger door. She slipped inside and put her purse and bag on the seat next to her, and then did a double take.
“Where’s Briana’s car seat?” she asked as soon as O’Shea climbed into the front seat.
“Oh, took that back to your apartment just like Mr. Donovan told me to.”
“But how’s she going to get home?”
“He said to take you to the repair shop. That’s what I’m gonna do.”
O’Shea put the car in Drive, humming a tune to himself as Tate stared out the window, hating that she’d have to borrow the day care’s car seat again.
“How was your day?” O’Shea asked when it seemed he’d grown tired of humming the song.
“Great,” she murmured. “Just great.” Not very interested in idle chit-chat, she looked out the window, watching the city pass them by.
“Young,
His temples throbbed a bit at the impulsivity of this entire situation, but his heart hammered with the beginnings of excitement. When was the last time he’d felt this way about something that wasn’t totally business? He couldn’t remember. What he did know for a fact was that tonight’s dinner with Tate Dennison wasn’t all about Infinity, not by a long shot.
* * *
She’d agreed to go out with the boss. All day long, Tate had been thinking of what she’d gotten herself into. Or actually, what the person who’d tried to break into her car had gotten her into. Were it not for the shattered windows on her car and the missing car seat she wouldn’t be indebted to Sean and left with no other option but to go out with him tonight.
She didn’t want to go on a date with Sean Donovan.
If she spoke that aloud someone would think she was crazy. Especially Ashton, the receptionist on this floor, who thought the sun and moon both took their cues from the Donovan men that ran this magazine.
“Girl, I’d take either one of them any day of the week. Okay, well not Dion, since he’s already spoken for, and I actually like Lyra. But Sean and Parker are still fair game,” she’d told Tate one day at lunch.
Tate hadn’t really been interested in the conversation. She’d resolved not to dream or even hope about another involvement with a man—even if it was a Donovan. Ashton, on the other hand, couldn’t think of anything else.
“What about Savian?” she’d asked, just because he was the only Donovan man that frequented the magazine that wasn’t married and that Ashton hadn’t already mentioned.
She’d scrunched her face a little and Tate almost laughed. “He’s a little on the uptight side. But, you know what, he’s still fine, so I’d give him a try, too.”
They’d laughed about that and much of the other gossip Ashton had fed her that day. Gossip that Tate was glad her name had not been connected to—although that could have been a convenient deletion on Ashton’s part.
Tate knew Ashton wasn’t the only female who worked at the magazine who felt that way about this particular family of men. Hell, the family stretched all the way to the West Coast. That meant that most likely there were thousands of other women who felt the same way. And if this had been four years ago and she didn’t know what she knew now about relationships, Tate might have had those same stars in her eyes.
But it wasn’t. And she didn’t. At least she was going to convince herself that she didn’t.
In front of her office building she met O’Shea, the rotund Caucasian man with the balding head and cheerful laugh, who’d picked her and Briana up this morning. He was driving a town car, long and shining, almost like a limousine.
“Afternoon to ya, ma’am,” he spoke with an Irish accent that matched his piercing blue eyes. She was willing to bet that before his hair had turned snowy white and taken a permanent leave of absence it had been carrot-colored.
“Good afternoon,” she said, heading toward the back passenger door. She slipped inside and put her purse and bag on the seat next to her, and then did a double take.
“Where’s Briana’s car seat?” she asked as soon as O’Shea climbed into the front seat.
“Oh, took that back to your apartment just like Mr. Donovan told me to.”
“But how’s she going to get home?”
“He said to take you to the repair shop. That’s what I’m gonna do.”
O’Shea put the car in Drive, humming a tune to himself as Tate stared out the window, hating that she’d have to borrow the day care’s car seat again.
“How was your day?” O’Shea asked when it seemed he’d grown tired of humming the song.
“Great,” she murmured. “Just great.” Not very interested in idle chit-chat, she looked out the window, watching the city pass them by.
“Young,
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