Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

“Attending a B2B conference in Denver. You approved her itinerary several weeks ago.”

I detect a hint of reproach in her tone. Or maybe that’s just my embarrassment talking.

“Oh . . . right. Sorry, I totally blanked on that.” And not only did I forget, I had to make an ass of myself about it too.

“No problem, sir.” Her graciousness just makes my gaffe worse. “Would you like me to call her cell instead?”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll just email her about this, and she’ll see it when she gets back.”

I hang up, feeling like I’m losing my goddamn mind.

Frustrated, I massage circles into my temples. I absolutely can’t let the stress get to me like this. I need about a gallon of coffee—well, what I really need is for those fucking reporters to have kept their mouths shut, but coffee is better than nothing. I almost ask Beth to bring me some, then decide to head downstairs to the cafeteria instead. Maybe getting away from my desk and stretching my legs will help clear my head.

The crowd is at less than half its usual lunchtime peak, and I’m grateful for that, but there are still enough people that the sensation of them staring at me is almost intolerable. I clench my teeth and focus on filling a paper cup with scalding-hot black coffee, and then getting the hell out of there.

Someone walks over to me. Expecting it to be an employee thirsty for details, I reluctantly look up, only to see Oliver.

He gives me a sympathetic smile that I’m really not in the mood for right now. “How you holding up, man?”

Everyone who works in this building—maybe everyone in Seattle—has seen that story, and they know it hasn’t even come close to dying

“Shitty,” I reply sourly.

Oliver scratches his head. “So, uh . . . what’re you gonna do about

but that’s not fair of me. I

see how there’s anything

where “breaking up” applies? I’m the one who told her I wasn’t looking for anything serious and I wanted to stay casual, and yet here I am, losing my shit over her—in more ways

to hurt her. I’m sure I’ve

my cup, I can’t help but recall a joke Oliver once made about the way I like my coffee—midnight black—just like my soul, he’d joked. Only now I’m not

wry, sympathetic twist of his mouth. “I know it royally sucks.

she was a good girl and I was only going to ruin things, I find they now ring truer than ever. He’d have a viable career in fortune-telling if

think it’s the right thing too.” And

Why is my heart jumping up and down screaming no? Why can’t I shake the sense that I’m making the biggest mistake of my life? I didn’t feel this awful after I had to stop seeing Sara. Presley and I haven’t even gotten to the actual

wouldn’t let things go this far. And yet I didn’t have the strength to control the situation. One kiss, and I lost all control. One taste, and I threw my rules

by squeezing my shoulder. “I’m always here

Ollie,” I say. “Got a time machine

your misery, at least. How about we meet in your office this afternoon and talk about this over whiskey? Maybe we can