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way,” Penny says as the server drifts away to check on a group of newcomers settling in at a table for four across the bar. “I insist. It’s the least I can do to thank you.”
    “Absolutely not. These shots are obscenely expensive.”
    She grimaces. “How obscenely?”
    I let my voice go low and rough, “Dirty, filthy, wrongly expensive.”
    “Wow.” Her eyes glitter, and for a second, I wonder if she feels it too, the crackle of potential energy in the air every time our eyes meet. But then she laughs, a light, airy sound that makes me feel silly for reading too much into the moment. “Then I’ll let you get this and I’ll pay for pizza tonight while we work.”
    “Sounds good.” I take a fortifying swig of my drink, determined to keep my mind on business. “We’ll have to make the most of every minute before we leave on Tuesday. We only have forty-eight hours to cram in a week’s worth of preparation.”
    “We can do it. I mean, it’s not like we’re complete strangers. We already know a lot of each other’s backstory.” Her mischievous grin makes a dimple pop in her cheek. “I even know your LetsGoLove password so I can change it for you on days when you want to be locked out of your account.”
    “You do,” I agree, even as I think of all the things I intend to keep secret from Penny. Things like how sexy she looks sipping scotch at eleven o’clock in the morning in her running clothes and a messy bun and how much I’d like to pull her back into my arms.
    Or onto my lap.
    Or roll her beneath me on this couch and discover every inch of her incredible body.
    But none of that is going to happen.
    Penny knows the Magnificent Bastard rules better than anyone—never get emotionally involved, never confuse fantasy with reality, and never, ever, take things further than a kiss.

CHAPTER NINE
    From the text archives of Sebastian “Bash” Prince and Penny Pickett
    From Bash: Let’s talk about the monkey piss you were drinking last night.
    It has come to my attention via your last e-mail that you have been subjecting your taste buds to the unfiltered night sweats of an unwashed homeless man—aka Bud Light—with your pizza.
    That shit will cease immediately.
    Your salary has just been raised two hundred dollars per annum in order to afford you the luxury of purchasing Labatt’s Blue Light, the true king of light beers.
    You’re welcome.
     
    Penny: Thank you!
    I’m so grateful I’m not even going to ask how you know what monkey piss or the night sweats of a homeless man taste like.
     
    Bash: A wise decision. Some stories are best left untold…
     
    Penny: LOL! Color me intrigued…
    I wonder if I’m the first assistant in the world to get a beer snob raise…
     
    Bash: I doubt it. Good bosses know that life’s too short to drink bad beer.
     
    Penny: Amen.

CHAPTER TEN
    By the time we finish our second round of drinks, Penny and I have made it through a quick refresher course on the basic who, what, where, when, and why of our personal histories—Penny’s twenty-five, born in Los Angeles, raised in the Hamptons, and a graduate of Vanderbilt, Boston University, and the school of hard knocks; I’m thirty-two, born and raised in Manhattan, a graduate of NYU, Columbia, and the school of reformed corporate land sharks—and we’re both a little buzzed.
    Penny’s giggles are coming more frequently and I’m finding it harder to keep my eyes from straying to her lips and my thoughts from straying to territory as obscene as the price of our drinks.
    Much, much harder.
    So hard that I know there’s no way we can tackle the next stage of orientation until I’ve had the chance to decompress, sober up, and take a long, cold shower.
    After settling the bill, I put Penny into a car headed toward Brooklyn with a promise to be at her place at six p.m. and aim myself toward the West Village, hoping a long walk will help me get my head on straight.
    Thankfully, after logging several miles, chugging a