“Is your boss the fastidious type?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I’m probably more fastidious than him.”

The bartender chuckles. “So what is it?”

Totally against my will, my cheeks heat up, and I try to hide the blushing by taking another sip of juice.

“Ah.” The bartender smiles knowingly. “I see. You have a crush on your boss?”

No point in denying it. Mr. Cute knows.

“Can I at least ask your name before I tell you all my darkest secrets?”

“Mark Cooper, pleased to meet you.”

Mark offers me a hand and I shake it. “Blair Walker. Nice to meet you, too.”

“So, this boss…” Mark lets the phrase hang.

“Do you ask all your patrons about their private lives?”

“Occupational hazard, I guess.”

Again, his kind expression compels me to talk. “Yes, I sort of have a crush on my boss.”

“Mmm…”

“And we’re going to LA for the weekend,” I continue.

“For?”

“A charity gala.”

“Oh, black tie event?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I run the women’s section of an online magazine.” I hand him a business card. Never miss an opportunity to market. “You should check us out.”

Mark takes it. “Inceptor Magazine. Cool name.”

“Yeah, Richard picked it.”

“Richard the forbidden boss?”

“The one and only.”

“So tell me.” Mark leans his elbows on the counter. “What are the obstacles for this impossible love story? Is the boss-man already taken?”

We chat a little and I explain the situation, even including the sordid details of the first time I talked to Richard—at least the one time I remember.

“So you’re hoping something will happen this weekend?” Mark asks when I’m finished.

I shrug. I don’t know what I do or should hope. From the moment the boss asked me on this trip, I’ve spent countless hours daydreaming about what could happen. Dinner à deux by the ocean, dancing at the ball—very Beauty and the Beast in my head—bookended by Richard whisking me off my feet at the end of the night. In reality, I’m pretty sure nothing is going to happen. This is just business for him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he brought a Californian date along for the evening. Oh, the horror… what if he does?

“Are you still here?” Mark interrupts my mental rant.

“Yeah, sorry.” I’m about to explain my inner turmoil when my phone beeps, startling me. “It’s Richard, he’s here.”

“Please tell him to join you,” Mark begs. “I have to meet this guy.”

“You can’t say anything,” I warn.

He does a zipper-over-the-mouth gesture. “My lips are sealed.”

“Do you mind if I change shoes?”

Mark seems surprised by the question. “Please, go ahead.”

I climb down from the stool and swap flats for spiky black pumps.

“Whoa.” Mark’s eyes widen when my head comes back level with his. “You shot up… like… five inches!”

“That’s the whole point.” I store my ballerinas inside the hand luggage, close the zipper, and sit back on the stool.