“I don’t do personal.” He hung up.

Exhaling, I put the phone down and contemplated the note I’d made for the roses. I knew it would be obnoxious of me to meddle, but sometimes you had to be a little obnoxious to do a lot of good. I smiled to myself and picked up the phone to order the flowers.

I gritted my teeth, channeling the most patient me possible as I tried to discuss the changes to the list of costs the interior designer Caine had hired had sent him. He’d hired her to revamp the summerhouse he’d just bought in Nantucket. The week was almost over and it would have been so much better if I could have ended it on a high note—not arguing with a cocky she-witch of a designer.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” she said in this nasally voice that, along with her bad attitude, made me want to punch her.

I refrained from verbally punching her. “The problem is you’ve sent over a new list of costs for this refurbishment and it’s fifteen thousand dollars more than the original that Mr. Carraway signed off on.”

“Style takes cash, darling.”

“That’s the thing. I’m going over the lists and I can’t see where that extra fifteen thousand is going …” I suddenly became aware I wasn’t alone and glanced to my right to see that Caine had come out of his office and was standing over me, eyes blazing in annoyance.

I cast him a wary look but continued to haggle with the irritant on the other end of the line.

Suddenly Caine’s large hand appeared and he pressed the mute button on the phone. The jerky movement suggested I was right about him being annoyed, and I looked up at him wondering what the hell I’d done. “I can afford an extra fifteen g. Get off the phone. Now.”

I tsked. “Just because you’re loaded doesn’t mean you should let people take advantage.” I hit the mute button. “No, I’m still here,” I responded to her frantic twittering. “Where was I …? Oh yes, unless you want it getting around that you’re an incompetent idiot trying to screw over your clients, I suggest you stick to the original budget.”

“Well, I … How … I never—”

“Okeydokey, then.” I hung up and looked up at my irate boss. “Why is there a vein popping out on your forehead?”

“What the hell did you put on that card?”

“Card?” I said innocently.

Caine’s angry countenance ramped up to murderous. “I just got a call from Phoebe. She thanked me for the flowers, said my card was so sweet, and that she was looking forward to seeing me soon too.”

So I’d known changing the message on the card with the flowers was forward of me, but I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. Apparently it was. Caine appeared to be excessively irritated and I had to admit that made me more than a little nervous. “Well … I just thought … Well, I thought it was more appropriate to sign the card with a greeting of some kind.” I smiled up at him hopefully.

“Alexa,” he warned.

“You know you can call me Lexie.”

Caine actually growled.

“Okay,” I hurried to explain, “I had them write ‘Phoebe, I look forward to seeing you tonight, Caine.’ And”—I almost closed my eyes in preparation for his reaction—“I may have put a little kiss at the end.”

The air around him seemed to swell with annoyance. “What?”

“An X. You know … a kiss …” I trailed off, wishing I was back in Hawaii with a mojito.

Quite abruptly Caine put his hands on the armrests of my chair and shoved it against the desk as he bent down to level his face with mine. He was so close I could actually see the chocolate coloring in his eyes that stopped them from being entirely black, and his mouth … his mouth was but an inch from mine.

I held my breath from the shock of his sudden movement and his closeness.

“First of all,” he said through clenched teeth, his hard stare holding mine in its grip, “do I look like a man who would ever put a kiss at the end of a message?”

I didn’t have to contemplate the question long. “Not really.”

“Not really.” He nodded, and pushed in closer, his breath fanning my lips and causing me to swallow a gasp. “Second of all, if you ever meddle in my personal life again I will annihilate you. Understood?”

“W-well, annihilate is—it’s pretty final,” I stammered, “So—so yeah.”

His eyes flashed. “Alexa.”

I fought past my physical reaction to him in order to attempt an explanation. “I was just trying to help. I thought it would be more romantic. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“You weren’t helping,” Caine hissed. “Contrary to popular belief, I give a shit about the women I date. That means I don’t want to hurt them. And one way I avoid that is by never making a woman feel like she has more of me than she actually has, because inevitably it won’t work out and I don’t want to be the bastard that led her on. What you did with Phoebe will make me that bastard.”

That was kind of honorable in a fucked-up way.

“But why will things end?” I whispered, confused. “Phoebe Billingham is perfect for you.”

Something flickered across his face and then he grew scarily still. I held my breath as we stared into each other’s eyes. He was so close.

The sexy jackass smelled delicious.