“This is your cat?” I shout, wincing at the scratches on my forearms. “What was it doing in my store?”

“He’s just exploring!” Ryan says, cuddling the cat to his chest. It scrabbles away and leaps onto a nearby shelf, scowling down at us with fierce yellow eyes.

Ryan has earbuds in—probably listening to a smutty scene while he works—but he pulls one out as he looks at the cat.

“It’s all right, Hades,” he says in a soothing voice. “Did the mean lady scare you?”

I put my hands on my hips, facing Ryan. “Scare him? That cat ruined my event.”

“What a shame.” Ryan narrows his eyes. Lurid red scratches are blossoming on his neck, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I’d hate to inconvenience those highbrow customers of yours—”

“Did you send him over on purpose?”

Ryan shoves his messy hair out of his face. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re so desperate to beat me you’re willing to play dirty?”

“I won’t need to play dirty to beat you,” Ryan snaps, leaning down until we’re eye to eye.

We lock eyes for the length of a breath, then another.

“When I win,” he says in a low voice, “it’ll be fair and square. But I will enjoy watching you squirm.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly thick. “I don’t squirm.”

“We’ll see.”

Then his gaze flicks to my mouth and stays right there.

The air between us crackles. Now I’m staring at his mouth and remembering the whipped cream on his upper lip and that glimpse of his tongue when he licked it away—

I take a step back, clearing my throat.

“Listen,” I say, smoothing my skirt, “Xander put us in this situation, but we should at least act like adults.”

He folds his arms, a sulky look on his face. “I’m not the one throwing around ridiculous accusations.”

“And I’m not the one who allowed my pet to sabotage someone else’s event!”

He huffs. “I didn’t—”

“No interfering with customers,” I cut in, taking a calming breath. “They’re off-limits.”

“Fine,” he says. “So are my staff. I won’t have you treating them badly to get at me.”

I scoff. What does he take me for? “I would never do that, Brian.”

His face contorts in disgust. “It’s Ryan.”

“Is it?” I arch an eyebrow.

“You know my name.”

“Do I?”

“Yes!” he roars.

I smirk; he’s way too easy to rile up. “My mistake. By the way, you owe me for the broken bottle of wine and three broken glasses.”

Ryan’s face reddens, and he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. “How much? Twenty bucks? Forty? Here, have a hundred and let’s call it good.”