She’d kissed the hell out of her boss on a conference room table with her skirt hiked up around her waist.

Harlow groaned, and dropped her chin to her chest.

She couldn’t succumb to Easton’s panty-melting—and clearly brain-scrambling—hotness. She needed her job. She needed the money now more than ever.

And a fling with her boss was the last thing she needed on top of all the current complications in her life.

She couldn’t think of Easton right now. She hated that he knew all the gory details of the shit that was swirling around her and her father.

At least he didn’t know that Antoine had blackmailed her into dinner.

She finished with her lipstick—a soft pink. Minimal and natural. She was trying to look as plain as she could. Her hair was in a simple twist and she wore the plainest dress she owned. It was black, and had a high neck, long sleeves and ended at mid-calf.

It did hug her body, but at least it covered her skin more than anything else in her wardrobe.

“Shoes.” She pondered her admittedly large shoe collection. She didn’t own any ugly shoes.

It would have to be the Louboutins. She’d be keeping the sexy red soles firmly on the ground.

Harlow felt a little nauseated as she walked into the gorgeous Italian restaurant in Nob Hill five minutes late.

She dragged in a deep breath. Suck it up, Harlow. You agreed to this.

She strode in and stopped at the hostess desk. “Armand table.”

“This way,” the elegant woman said.

The woman led Harlow through the restaurant, with its old-world elegance and low, romantic lighting. A huge vase of fresh flowers dominated a central table. Nearby, Antoine saw her and rose, a smile on his face that made her skin crawl.

“Harlow, you look beautiful.”

She moved to the chair opposite him and sat. “I agreed to come. I did not agree to be nice.”

He sat and eyed her with a half smile.

“I don’t like you,” she said. “And never will, and until I know you’ll leave my father alone, I won’t trust you.”

A server appeared, hovering and uncertain.

“A bottle of the Bruno Giacosa Borolo Riserva,” Antoine said.

Harlow didn’t react. Her father had mentioned the Bruno Giacosa Riserva. The wine went for almost a thousand dollars a bottle.

“I promise you, Harlow, I’m not the monster you think I am.”

She thought of what Easton had told her. “Nothing you say will change my mind.” She grabbed the glass of water off the table. No way she’d drink wine and lower her defenses tonight.

“You should be nicer to me. We both know your father can’t come up with what he owes me in two days.”

Despair flared in her belly. “How much?”