Iris

I stood at a crosswalk, hands jammed into my pockets to keep them warm, and cursed my stupidity. What the hell was I thinking? When I started this company ten years ago with my best friend, Parker Jones, we both agreed to never dip our dicks in the office pool. Easier said than done for two young men in their twenties. It became clear early on it was easiest to avoid temptation if we kept boundaries in place. Boundaries like never going to eat alone with a female associate.

We crossed the street. Ivy's attention was on her phone, not walking, and she moved toward the outside of the sidewalk. With a sigh, I put my hand on her lower back to guide her to the inside. The touch should have felt simple and innocent; instead, it felt as intimate as a bedroom caress.

"Sorry," I said when she lifted startled eyes. Her cheeks were already pink from the cold, and though it was difficult to tell in the dim lighting, I swore the color deepened.

"No." She tucked a strand of silky hair behind her ear. "That's very gentlemanly of you."

Snatching my hand back when I realized it remained just above the curve of her ass, I cleared my throat and said the first thing that came to my mind. "I hope you don't walk about the city like that often."

"Walk about how? On the outside of the sidewalk?"

"Ye—no. I meant I hope you don't go about distracted like that. Is everything okay? You seemed concerned by whatever you were reading."

Ivy turned her phone between her hands. "It's nothing. Something I've been putting off and someone reminding me I can't anymore."

A cryptic answer. So it was likely personal, and one hundred percent none of my business. But I didn't like the crease that grew between her eyes whenever she looked at her phone.

"It's not Paul, is it?"

"No," she laughed. "It's not Paul. It's fine, I promise."

We walked into the restaurant. It was a favorite of mine, but the moment I saw Ivy in the space, I regretted my choice. I'd never seen her eat anything but salads and diet sodas. Not a single thing on the menu here was health conscious.

"Oh, I love this place," she said, following the server to a cozy booth for two across from the backlit bar.

"You do?" I tossed my jacket over the seat and slid in.

She nodded, her pink lips parting in excitement. "I love fusion style restaurants, and this is by far the best. Oh, I hope you knowing about it doesn't mean it's about to become insanely popular. I avoid hot spots like the devil."

Another detail that didn't fit with what I thought I knew about Ivy. She seemed like the type to flock toward trendy places. Not to enjoy them, but to be seen.

I watched her break her chopsticks apart like a pro with a small smile. "No worries on that front. I'm the same way. My favorite breakfast spot now has a line around the corner every morning, so I haven't eaten there in almost a year."

"That's a shame."

The server arrived and took our order, and after he left, we settled into an uncomfortable silence. Ivy tapped a chopstick on the side of a soy sauce dish and looked everywhere but directly at me. I, in turn, did the same because every single time I looked at her, I was reminded of how unbelievably sexy she'd looked wearing my glasses. And every time the memory surfaced, a singularly dirty thought that involved her wearing those glasses and nothing else followed it.

"So tell me more about this pitch," she blurted out.

Finding the question odd, I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes. "We just spent the last four hours on the pitch, and you've been working on it in some capacity for months now. I'm not sure what else there is to tell you."

"No, no... I guess I worded that wrong. I meant, how did this entire thing come about?"

"Do you really not know?" Surely, Portia had explained the history to Ivy when she was first hired, but I supposed it was entirely possible she'd forgotten or didn't pay much attention.

She squirmed in her chair, suddenly appearing very nervous. "You know, I probably just forgot. You know I don't always pay attention."

Precisely what I'd suspected. I took a sip of my drink and set it back on the table. She did the same. Only afterward, she dragged her finger through the pool of condensation that had formed on the wooden tabletop. Drawing loops and shapes, she waited for my response without making eye contact.

"Simon Thornton was a friend of mine in college—"

"The CEO of Seed?"

"Ah, so you do listen sometimes?"

She rolled her eyes as the server set our food down. When he left, she said, "Better hurry before my attention span expires."

"Well, to make a long story short, he came from a very privileged background and had zero direction in life. Parker Jones and I invited him to be a partner in our business; instead, he offered to be a silent investor. And he just kind of took off from there. Investing in start-ups tripled an already impressive net worth."

"So because he has all this money, he's turned to philanthropy?"

"Pretty much," I replied. "Every year he invites the companies he's invested in over the years to pitch an idea that serves the community. There will be a winner from each industry, and he funds the project. It started small, but it's fairly high profile now. And you're right, it would be easier to just dump the money somewhere, but we get more out of making sure we run the program."

"I'm sure it doesn't hurt that you can get your clients involved by using their products and services."

"We wouldn't be a very good marketing company if we didn't think outside the box now and then," I said with a laugh and a wink.

A pretty blush spread across her face, and she became very interested in her plate. Strange. None of this matched what I'd heard about Ivy over the years. A simple wink shouldn't affect her like this, not if she was the man-eater everyone claimed she was, or maybe this was the game she played? Pretending to be innocent to lure me in...

I didn't much care for games, but fuck... I'd be lying if I said it didn't call to my baser instincts as a man and make me want to see how far that blush spread. There was nothing innocent about the things I imagined doing to her.

"Garrett?"

"W-what?" I forced down the debauched desires, refusing to be ruled by them.

"Your phone. It's ringing."

"Oh." Simon's name scrolled across the screen. "One second, I have to take this."

"Go ahead."

Sliding out of the booth, I hit the answer call and put the phone to my ear. "Breaking your own rules this year? I thought you didn't talk to me or Parker right before the pitch to avoid accusations of favoritism."

I spoke the words in a teasing fashion, but Simon's response was somber. "We have a problem with your pitch."

My stomach knotted as he explained the issue, and by the time he finished speaking, I was completely numb. With a promise to get back with him later, I returned to the table, the knots and numbness coalescing into rage.

"What's wrong?" Ivy asked, reaching over to put her hand on top of mine, concern shimmering in her bright brown eyes.

Her touch calmed me and pulled me out of the red haze. Through gritted teeth, I told her. "A competitor stole our pitch. If we don't submit a new one in the next twenty-four hours, we'll be disqualified for the year."