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watched her neck, particularly the tiny freckle on the right side, and wondered what it might taste like if he sampled it with his tongue…
    “What’s wrong?” Crickitt asked.
    He jerked at the sound of her voice, guilty of being caught ogling his almost-new-hire. He released the stranglehold on his spoon. “Nothing,” he said, brushing his thumb along his bottom lip in case his tongue was lolling out of his mouth. “There’s one thing I haven’t mentioned yet.”
    Crickitt put down the spoon and patted her lips with her napkin. Sitting up straight, she trained her eyes on his. “Okay. I’m ready.”
    “Some travel is required.”
    She lifted her eyebrows. “Some?”
    “About once a quarter. Most of our marketing and art department is in Tennessee.”
    “Tennessee. Art Mecca.”
    They shared a smile. He’d heard that before. “Angel Downey, my cousin and Aiden’s older sister, is an amazing graphic designer. I hired her remotely, and as August Industries grew, so did her department. In Tennessee.”
    “Okay. Tennessee three to four times a year. Is that it?”
    “There are occasional out-of-state trips since I’m looking to expand. Of course, you wouldn’t be required to go on all of them,” he added at the last second in case she was thinking of turning him down again.
    She reclaimed her spoon. “Sounds great to me.” With a coy smile, she added, “I think I just accepted the position.”
    Shane pulled his shoulders back, indescribably relieved.
    Crickitt swallowed another bite and gestured with her spoon. “You’re right, this tipped me. Without the crème brulée, I don’t know if I would have said yes.”
    He’d always been good at negotiation. Nice to know he still had it. “Thank goodness I didn’t order the tiramisu.”
    Outside, they paused in front of Crickitt’s car. Shane offered his hand and she took it, and like the night at the club, his palm tingled on contact. It’d been a long time since he’d enjoyed himself this much at a business dinner…or any dinner, for that matter. His work was enjoyable, but it’d never before been…well, tonight had been almost… fun . Though he was pretty sure that aspect of the evening had more to with the brunette whose hand was warming his.
    Crickitt thanked him for dinner, pulling her fingers away a few seconds before he was ready to let go. “Company write-off.” He shrugged, plunging his hands into his jacket. “One of the perks of being president.”
    “That and all the responsibility,” she said, a hint of heaviness in her voice.
    He blew out a surprised laugh. He wasn’t used to anyone thinking he didn’t lead a completely charmed life. Then again, Crickitt understood the pressures of running an empire. She’d built one of her own.
    “How soon do you need me to start?”
    “Yesterday.”
    A throaty chuckle poured from her lips. “How about tomorrow?” She let out a deliberate sigh. “I suppose you want me there at the ungodly hour of eight. And to think I used to start my workday at the crack of ten. And in my pajamas.”
    Eight? Shane nearly grimaced. His workday began between six and seven in the morning, and by eight, he was either in a staff meeting or on his way to see a client. He opened his mouth to argue, but heard himself say, “Sorry. I’m a bit of a tyrant that way.”
    Pulling her keys from a tiny square handbag, she turned to him one last time. “Thank you. For not letting me walk away from this opportunity. I appreciate it, Shane.”
    “Thanks for reconsidering,” he said, meaning it.
    She frowned, a little line denting the space between her eyebrows. “Do I call you Shane, or Mr. August?”
    Everyone called him Mr. August. His receptionist, the janitorial staff, even his cousin Angel, who insisted on doing so to set a good example. Until now he’d agreed. So why, all of a sudden, was he having trouble justifying the formal moniker?
    “Shane, please,” he said, rather than mull it over. It would raise