The truth? I have no great love of digital marketing. But securing a director position would be the precise stepping stone I need to reach where I really want to be one day: the executive suites. Plus, I could sure use the salary bump to help pay down my student loans. But Graeme doesn’t need to know that.

“Because I’m good at it, okay? I’m good at crunching numbers, testing new marketing tools, and figuring out how to achieve results. And the higher up the ladder I go, the more opportunities I have to implement my vision. Now, why do you love it so much? You’re not even on social media.”

“Oh, ho, someone’s been doing some light stalking.”

Crap. “Not stalking. Intel. Know your enemy. Sun Tzu’s Art of War and all that.”

“You think I’m your enemy?”

I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

The waiter comes back with our mojitos and I take several long gulps of the crisp, minty drink. “So why aren’t you on social media? Are you one of those privacy nuts—‘the government is out to get us’?”

“No. I used to be on social media, but I deleted all my accounts over a year ago.”

“Why?” Not that I’m super active on social media myself. Sure, I have Instagram and I send Snaps to my college friends every now and again, but generally I’m too busy to keep up with it. But it’s strange for someone our age to have no social media presence at all, especially someone who does it for a living.

Graeme lifts and lowers one muscular shoulder. “I don’t like splashing details about my life across the Internet. It’s not real, what people post. It’s a carefully cultivated highlight reel. Everyone is marketing their own personal brand whether they know it or not, and I’d rather keep my personal life to myself instead of trying to sell a fake version of it online. And opening up your life to others means people can comment on it,” he adds, so low I barely hear.

“Seems like a lonely way to live.”

“Not to me.” His tone holds a harsh edge.

Flopping back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest. “Can we ever have a conversation without arguing?”

His lips quirk. “I like arguing with you.”

“You do?”

“It’s fun. I like a challenge, and you give as good as you get.”

“You have no idea.” Instead of sounding flippant, my voice comes out in a rumbly purr.

Graeme’s eyes grow hooded. “Maybe not yet.”

My nerves sing and my heartbeat stutters. Graeme holds me captive with his glinting, raw-edged gaze. The feeling knocks me off-balance and I take a shaky sip of water. The heavy clanking of the anchor rising reverberates through the dining room.

What would it be like to be with Graeme?