“You can’t play around about coffee,” I said. “And the right mug is hard to find. My cabinets are full of ones that are either too small or too heavy when you put liquid in them.” Realizing I was rambling, I looked back at the blueprints. “Anyway, yes, I think that would work out nicely. If you can get the permits for an elevator.”

“You can leave that part to me. I have a long history of getting things like that approved. I would like to see the area in person first, to make sure my vision is feasible.”

“Of course. I’ll warn you that it’s rough right now. Lots of graffiti and the skittering of rats.”

“It’s New York. I’m not afraid of rats. Would Monday work for you? That way, we can see if we can move forward with the paperwork?”

“Monday works for me.”

“You don’t need to consult your schedule?”

Damn.

A woman of my “stature”—as Bastian put it—would likely have days booked out weeks in advance.

“I leave Mondays open for any potential problems that might pop up over the weekend.”

That lie came out so smoothly that I mentally patted myself on the back for it.

“Would you like to meet at your office?”

At my nonexistent office? Yeah, no.

“We can meet at the building,” I said, reaching for my mug to take another long sip. It seemed like our meeting was going to be short, and I didn’t want to waste a drip of his insanely rich coffee. “Is there chocolate in this?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“Just a touch,” he said, his smile making his eyes go just a bit more gooey. “No one’s ever noticed that before.”

“Coffee and chocolate are my two favorite food groups.”

“Good to know,” Soren said. If I wasn’t just imagining it, I could have sworn his gaze slipped to my lips before landing on my eyes again. “What time works best for you?”

“Time for what?” I asked dumbly, unable to hear past the whooshing of my blood in my ears, to think past the distracting pounding of my pulse in my chest, neck, wrists… and somewhere else entirely.

“To tour the building,” Soren said, eyes and smile saying he knew exactly what was wrong with me.

Dammit.

I had to get a grip.

I couldn’t screw this up.

What could I say to Renzo? Sorry, Renz, but the guy was stupidly sexy and I couldn’t think straight around him?

“Right. Would one in the afternoon work for you?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you need to consult your calendar?” I asked, throwing his words back at him.

“I’ll have Teresa clear it.”

We were talking about a business deal.