He tries to neutralize his expression, but every time he gets angry, he gets this look like he just sucked on a sour candy. I’m not sure if he even knows he does it, but his chin tucks in and his lips purse out like he can taste whatever’s bothering him so much. “Good for you. Makin’ boss moves, I see.”

I pretend not to notice how irritated he is. Working with him is great, but it’s also consuming all of my time. Having another project to distract me from my very attractive friend with soft lips that I can’t touch again will be good for all of us.

“I’m trying.” I grab my iPad out of my drawer. “Why don’t you head out and I can meet you at your place after this, if it isn’t too late? If that’s okay with you, of course.”

Because “friend” or not, he’s still pretty much my boss and my job still depends on our ability to work together and get things done.

“That’s fine,” he says. “Just give me a call when you’re finished.”

“Will do!” I call over my shoulder as I start to run down the hall. “And start thinking of a statement we can send to the players union! They’re pissed!”

I don’t turn around to see his reaction, but even without looking, I know there’s a glare on his face. So even though I hate running, I run to Mr. Mahler’s office with a smile on my face.

“Hey Gemma! Sorry about the emails,” I yell as I blow past Mr. Mahler’s secretary and barrel into his office. “Mr. Mahler, I heard you need me.”

I’m out of breath when I say this and I can feel the edges of my hair beginning to curl from the sweat. I really need to work out more often.

“Yes.” Mr. Mahler leans forward on the table, steepling his hands in front of his face. “I wanted to make sure you were still committed to the fundraiser I need organized. I know the other night was a bit . . .” He pauses as he tries to find the word he’s looking for. “Hectic.”

Hectic? Out of everything that night was, hectic wouldn’t have even registered with me . . . and I fucking kissed Quinton!

“Um, yes.” I humor him. “A lot happened”—understatement of the century—“but I do remember agreeing to this and I’m looking forward to helping you create a wonderful and successful event.”

“I knew I could count on you.” He leans back into his leather chair and slaps a wrinkled, unnaturally tanned hand against his bare desk. “Take a seat, let’s chat for a moment.”

Satisfaction that I’m making myself known—and needed—within this organization causes a wave of pleasure that makes my skin flush.