Maybe he wasn't meeting with his COO. Or maybe he had met with him, and they'd gone to a club, and danced with some women, and one of those women was all over Nate, her long nails trailing along his strong arms, her hair falling against his chest, and her breasts in his hands.

She burned inside at the pictures that flashed before her eyes, but the reel wouldn't stop. It ran faster, and unspooled more scenes as she saw him pushing the elevator button, stepping into it with a beautiful brunette, pressing her up against the wall, and kissing the stranger the way he'd kissed her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to block out the foul images, but they didn't end until she was seeing him in a dark and sexy room, stripping off his belt, undoing his shirt, and fucking this nameless, faceless woman who was surely with him tonight.

Finally, she fell back asleep, the pit in her stomach eating away at her.

When she woke up to the sun streaming through her window, she found a new message. From Grant Abbott.

It was a beautiful day in Hong Kong. It was made even lovelier by the executed copies of our partnership. Little pleases me more than a well-done deal. (Well, perhaps a FEW things do please me more.) In any case, I've said it before, I'll say it again-I am delighted to be in business with you. This partnership will be fantastic for both our companies.

My best,

Grant

She breathed deeply as she pulled on workout clothes. It was a good thing that Grant had written to her. It was the necessary reminder of why she was spending more time than usual with Nate. So she could have a better chance of becoming the woman that the Grant Abbotts and Scott Nixons of the world would want. A woman who'd learned to rein in her controlling tendencies, her alpha female-ness.

Fine, even if Grant wasn't writing to her about her, who cared? Either way, she was a woman on a mission. She was in hot pursuit of the big love, and the only way to get there would be to excise the parts of herself that had held her back from truly having it all. That was what Nate was helping her with.

Only that.

She contemplated heading to her gym for a swim. She'd been on the swim team in high school and still loved the water. But right now, she craved speed. Riding a bike in New York City required a determined sort of focus that would help clear her head. Heading to the basement of her building, she retrieved her wheels from the bike storage area, strapped on a helmet, and attacked the West Side Highway Bike Path, burning off the final remains of the waste of energy she'd let consume her last night. Jealousy was such a stupid, worthless emotion and there was no need for her to be envious whatsoever of Nate's after-hours activities. She had no claim to him, and besides, he knew the score. He was merely training her to hand her off to someone else.

For a new start.

And a new start called for a new dress. Whether for Grant, or the next man who was suited for her.

After her workout, she'd go shopping. That would pass the time until the baseball game. She'd see Nate tonight, and she'd smile, having forgotten completely about the fact that he'd promised a photo. What photo? Who cared? Not her.

The emerald-green dress hugged her in all the right places, and her friend Jane agreed.

"That is a rocking dress," Jane said, nodding appreciatively as Casey stepped out of the dressing room of the boutique on Christopher Street. "It's sexy, but it's not over the top."

"So I should get it? Is it first date material? Would you wear it if you were on a first date again with Matthew?"

Jane laughed, practically doubling over, then shook her head, her wild curly brown hair framing her face.

"Then why are you telling me to get it?" Casey asked, parking her hands on her hips.

"That's not what I'm laughing at. I'm laughing because it's been more than three years since I had a first date with Matthew, and we didn't even technically date. We went from him interviewing me for a story about my music to sleeping together," her friend said. Jane was a rock star. Literally. She'd won a Grammy three years ago for a hit album, and had continued churning out top-notch, and top-selling tunes.

"You're no help then," Casey said, teasing, as she checked out her reflection in the store's mirror. The dress hit her above the knees, and had a soft flare to the skirt. It was suggestive, but not inappropriate, and that's what she liked about it.

"Just ask your BGF," Jane offered.

Casey shot her a curious look. "Gay Best Friend?"

"No. That would be GBF. I mean BGF." Jane snapped a few times, like she was trying to recall something. "You know, that guy Nate. Your Best Guy Friend."

Casey felt a flush spread through her cheeks when Jane said his name. She didn't know if it was due to the heat, or the secret almost-sex, or the fact that she still hadn't heard from him. Odd, since they were supposed to be going to the ballpark in eight hours.

"Send him a pic and ask his opinion if you don't believe me."

She waved her hand to shut down that idea. "No. I don't want to send him a picture," she said.

"Why not? Isn't that the point of a best guy friend?"

Jane was right. It was the point, or one of the points, but it was also what Casey should be doing instead of wondering why he hadn't called or sent a picture. Normal. She had to keep things normal with Nate.

Casey handed her phone to Jane. "Take a picture of me."

She struck a pose-a simple, friendly pose-and texted it to Nate.

Should I wear this on a date with Grant? Yes or no?

Then, because this is what she would have done if she weren't sleeping with him, she called him.

He sounded pissed when he answered.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Washington D.C, Morning...

from: Joannasimone@gmail.com to: nHarper@theluxe.com date: June 11, 6:04 AM subject: Trying to reach you Dear Nate, I hope this note finds you well. I'm thrilled that everything seems to be going swimmingly at The Luxe. It makes me so happy to see you thriving in your career, but then I always knew that you would do great things. I tried to call you earlier this week but I haven't heard back, so I'm emailing you at your work address. I hope you don't mind. But there is something important that I need to discuss with you. I would greatly appreciate it if you could give me a ring. I'll try you again soon.

All my best,

Joanna

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Washington D.C, afternoon . . .

Nothing had gone as planned for Nate. Not a damn thing. The meeting with his COO in Miami had been quickly derailed when Tom came bearing bad news about the New Zealand hotel manager they'd hired to open the new property in a few months. The guy had flown the coop already, after a competitor in Auckland had wooed him.

Nate and Tom quickly devised a new plan, and jetted to the nation's capital in the middle of the night. The D.C. property manager was their top guy, but his second-in-command was sharp as nails too, so could step in immediately. Nate and Tom had spent Saturday morning convincing the property manager to move halfway across the world to open up the New Zealand hotel. The man was a D.C. native, had only worked at properties in the nation's capital, and he loved his hometown. He drove a hard bargain too, and was asking for a hefty raise for the new international post. But by midday, he was leaning towards yes. It was a yes Nate desperately sought, since he needed the New Zealand opening to go smoothly.

Nate planned to take him to dinner and then crash in D.C. for the night. Hell, he needed some shut-eye. He hadn't slept last night. Add in Joanna's note to the mix, and it was one of those days where everything was piling on. He had no clue what Joanna could possibly want to talk to him about, and very little interest in knowing either. What sucked the most about this upended Saturday was that he was missing the game tonight. He'd texted Casey earlier that he wouldn't be able to join her, but he hadn't heard back from her yet.

When he checked his phone once more for a reply, he cursed. He must have sent her the text when he was in a dead spot in the lobby. It hadn't gone through. Fucking D.C. hotel had far too many dead zones. This was one more thing he needed to add to the everspiraling to-do list. Improve the cell phone service at his hotel that served the nation's political elite. He shoved his hand roughly through his hair, and blew out a long stream of air as he leaned back in the leather chair in the office he was using at The Luxe.

He started to dial Casey's number to tell her he had to cancel, when his phone rang.

He was tempted to ignore Ethan, but decided to err on the side of being a good friend. He slipped his Bluetooth over his ear and answered.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Oh, not too much," Ethan said with a hearty and deliberately drawn-out yawn. "Just tired still from another late night with a pretty bartender."

Nate smiled. This was the first bit of good news he'd had all day. "Excellent. Now I can say I told you so."

"I owe you, man. Thanks for giving me the push to talk to her."

"Couldn't be happier for you."

"I'm seeing her again tonight," he added as a new text message flashed across Nate's screen. He sat up straight. His pulse raced when he saw the text had a paperclip icon on it. Casey had sent him a photo. He tapped quickly on the paperclip to open it.

"I'm going to have to advertise my matchmaking services soon."

"Or your kick-a-man-in-the-ass-to-get-him-moving services," Ethan said as the picture filled Nate's screen.

"Yeah, that too," he said, and that quickening pulse went into overdrive when he saw the image. The gorgeous, stunning image of the woman he wanted desperately to see tonight.

But there was one big problem.

One huge problem, as a matter of fact.

The note that came with the picture.

His fists clenched as he read it. His jaw tightened. No way was she wearing that dress for Grant. No way was she wearing that dress for any other man.

Seconds later, her name popped up on the screen-incoming call.

"Hey, Ethan. I gotta go. I have Casey on the other line."

"Joy Delivered Casey?" Ethan asked.

"Yeah, that's her," he said, eager to end the call.

"You doing business with her? I emailed her a few days ago."

Business. Yes, he had business with her. He absolutely had business with her. "You could say that," he said, and then hung up.

He clicked over to Casey.

"I don't like that dress," he said through gritted teeth. Those were his first words.

"You don't?" she asked, surprise in her voice.

"No. I don't like it at all."

"Oh. I thought it was pretty." Now she sounded crestfallen. Shit. He hated upsetting her, but not as much as he loathed the idea of her looking that edible with another man. He grabbed a sheet of paper on his desk, crumpled it up and threw it across the room.

"Sorry. But I don't think it's a first date dress."

"Okay," she said, measured and cautious, like she was distancing herself from him. "Why do you sound so angry?"

"I'm not angry," he said, but he could hear the lie in the bitterness of his tone.

"But you sound angry," she said softly. Traffic hummed behind her. She was probably out shopping in the Village, having fun, and he was ruining it for her. But that dress . . . fuck. He couldn't take it. He dropped his forehead into his hand. "And you didn't send me a picture last night either," she added.

He sighed heavily. Everything had gone to hell, and on top of it all, Joanna had reared her head. "I'm sorry. I had a ton of fires to put out. I had to fly to D.C. in the middle of the night," he said, but he stopped there. He didn't feel like breathing his ex's name. "And I tried to send you a text to tell you I can't make the game tonight. I have to take my property manager out to dinner to make sure he can take over the New Zealand hotel."

"Oh," she said, but she didn't sound so distant now. Just disappointed. Hell, he was disappointed too. Then she seemed to pull out of her frustrations, because her next words were sweet. "Well, I totally understand. I'm sorry you have to deal with all of that, but I know that's just how it goes."

"It's been crazy. I've barely come up for air. I'm going to call my sister and let her know I can't make the game."

"Well, I better go. I think I'm just going to get the dress anyway. I like it," she said. "But I do appreciate your input."

Five hours later, he couldn't get Casey out of his mind. As he and Tom finished up a round of celebratory drinks with the manager, who'd agreed to the last-minute transfer since they'd agreed to his terms, he couldn't stop thinking about how Casey had sounded annoyed, then sad, then let down, then deliberately upbeat again. He tried his best to focus on the men at the table with him in the corner booth at one of the nation's capital's finest watering holes.

But that dress was taunting him. It was an image he couldn't shake. It was his sole focus.

And as they polished off a second round, he couldn't take it anymore. He scrubbed a hand across his unshaven jaw. Hell, this was why he was the CEO. He oversaw the whole company. He hired the right people, trusted the right people, and gave them authority to do their jobs. He'd done his part in convincing his guy to head to the southern hemisphere. Tom could handle the rest.

He had to see Casey. He had a lesson to teach her.