Maisey Yates - Mistresses - After Hours With The Boss - Her Little White Lie / Their Most Forbidden Fling / An Inescapable Temptation

And yet she could see something behind his eyes. Calculation. She could almost see him filtering out the unimportant, retaining bits about failing businesses and mistresses who might cause trouble in someone’s professional life.

Then he smiled, a smile that some might call warm, and bid the older woman goodbye.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“A friend of my … parents,” he said, the word coming out in a few, halting syllables.

“Oh.”

“I’ll confess, I don’t like these things, either,” he said. “But, you do hear interesting information. It’s worth it. So that about sums up my altruism, really. It’s for charity, which is nice. But I get something out of it, too. Nothing is purely altruistic.”

She thought of Ana, of how much joy Ana brought to her life. How much love and purpose. “I suppose not.”

“Does the purity of motivation really matter anyway? As long as no one is hurt. As long as people are cared for?”

“I always imagined it did.”

“Nobody gets points for good intentions.”

“I suppose not.” The champagne spoke for her again. “Does anyone hold bad intentions against you if you don’t act on them?”

“Speaking of yourself, or of me?”

She shrugged. “Just curious if it works both ways.”

“In my experience, intentions, and sometimes actions, don’t really matter at all. What matters is what people think.”

“Now that is true,” she said, sighing heavily, thinking back to how people had perceived her in her home town. Of how the social worker perceived her and her situation.

He lifted his glass. “To reinvention,” he said.

She lifted her glass in response but opted out of taking a sip. She needed to get her feet back on solid ground, needed to get her words back under control. And she really needed to get her thoughts in regards to Dante back under control.

“Perhaps when we’re through with this you and I will both be totally different people,” she said. “Or at least, in your case, people will think so.”

A smile curved his lips. Not a friendly smile. One that was dangerous. And, though it really shouldn’t have been, sexy. “Perhaps.”

PAIGE took her latte off the counter and waved to her favorite barista as she walked out the door of the coffee shop.

She paused and put her sunglasses on, taking a sip of her drink while admiring the afternoon light filtering through the palm trees. It was a perfect day. The light glinted on her new engagement ring and it put a slight dent in her moment of zen.

There was a flash to her left and she turned to look. It was not a little flare of afternoon light. There was a photographer, standing there, holding his camera up, not even trying to be subtle.

“Uh … could you not do that?” she asked.

“Ms. Harper?”

“What?”

“When are you and Dante Romani getting married?”

She clutched her sequined purse to her side and strode down the sidewalk, away from the man with the camera, her heart pounding. She turned back to look and saw that he was still there, snapping off shots casually. Like she was a monkey in a zoo.

Her purse vibrated and she reached inside, casting another glance behind her as she retrieved her phone and answered the call. “Hello?”

“Ms. Harper, this is Rebecca Addler with child services. I wanted to speak to you about your case.”

She quickened her pace, heading back to the office building. Back to Ana. Back to Dante even. She could hide behind his broad chest. And she wasn’t even ashamed for wanting to hide behind him right now.

“Right. Great to hear from you. What about the case?” she asked, scurrying through the revolving door to the Colson’s corporate building and walking quickly to the elevators.

“We’re going to have to interview your fiancé. He’s going to be involved in the process, of course.”

“Well, of course.”

“And he’ll be adopting Ana, as well.”

Damn .

“So there will be paperwork for that,” she finished.

Paige had overlooked that bit. She’d overlooked it completely. “Of course,” she said, her throat dry. She took another sip of latte and scalded her mouth. She punched the up button on the wall and waited for an elevator.

She dashed inside as soon as the door opened.

“And we’ll want to do a parent interview with him.”

“Naturally. Dante will be delighted—” like Dante was ever delighted about anything “—to participate.”

“We’ll do a little meet-up this Friday if that works for you.”

“Of course it does!” she said, far too brightly.

The elevator reached her floor, and she stood inside, waffling. Then she hit the button that would take her to Dante’s floor and the door slid closed again.

She tapped her foot while she finalized the details of the appointment with Rebecca. She ended the phone call as quickly as possible and tapped her fingers on the wall, waiting for the elevator to stop. When it did, and the doors opened, she nearly ran out, past Trevor, and to Dante’s office.

She didn’t bother to knock.

“I just got my picture taken. Like … a hundred times by some photographer. And then Rebecca Addler called and said we need to start doing interviews as a couple. Oh, I just realized there will be a home study, and we’ll have to start over and do it at your house because as far as everyone is concerned that is where we’ll be living. And you’re going to adopt Ana legally. Which is sort of … obvious but I didn’t think of it until now and … and I’m officially panicking a little bit.”

“Don’t,” he said, standing from his position behind the desk, his large, masculine hands planted palms down on the pristine surface. He didn’t even have the decency to look surprised that she’d burst into his office. He just looked … smooth and calm and unaffected as ever.

It was just unfair, because her cage was well and truly rattled.

“Don’t panic?”

“No. There’s no need. When we divorce I’ll sign custody of Ana over to you. You have my word on that.”

“Oh.” She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in a rush. “That does make me feel better.”

“I thought it might.”

“Then there’s the home study.”

“You and Ana should move in with me. Soon.” That he said with a kind of grim determination that let her know exactly what he thought of it.

“I can see you’re completely thrilled at the idea.”

“I value my own space,” he said.

“Well, as you mentioned, it’s a big house. I’m sure we won’t be on top of each other.”

He lifted one dark brow, and horror crept over her as she realized the double meaning of her words. As she pictured just what it might be like to be on top of him.

Or to have him on top of her.

Her entire face heated, prickling awareness spreading over her skin. Her heart was racing and she was … turned on. And it was obvious. She was certain it was.

She was such a dork. A side effect of spending her school years as the funny one. She didn’t know how to be smooth; she knew how to go for a joke. Another side effect of that was that guys didn’t flirt with her.

Well, that might have also been because of the time Michael Weston had tried to make out with her at a party and had ended up cutting his tongue on her braces. No one had wanted to kiss her after that. Kissing her became a running joke, and very firmly kept her in her place as school screwup.

Well, after that someone had made her think he wanted to kiss her, and more than that. It had all been a gag, of course. Thinking about that reduced the horror of the situation a little bit, because nothing, nothing in the history of the world, was quite as bad as meeting a guy under the bleachers after prom to … to … and having the popular kids standing by, waiting for just the right moment, waiting for the top of her prom dress to come down, for her “date” to pull her out from beneath the bleachers onto the field so they could throw eggs at her. And laugh. And take pictures of her humiliation for posterity.