Cade contemplated her question. “Huh. That’s curious.”

With a ding! the elevator arrived at Brooke’s floor. She stepped out. When he followed her, she knew.

“Which one is you?” he asked.

The butterflies in her stomach, the ones that had started fluttering around back at the restaurant, were now doing cartwheels. Still, she kept it cool, determined not to let him see that, yes, he had her a little flustered. “2506.”

She led the way, digging around in her briefcase for her keys. When she got to her apartment, she turned around and faced Cade. “I’m not inviting you in.”

He stepped closer. “That’s not why I got on the elevator. You know that.”

Yes, she did. Otherwise, she would’ve stopped him in his tracks before he’d gotten off. She raised her chin. “Then why?” she asked, even though she already had a feeling she knew the answer.

He closed the gap between them, his eyes dark blue and smoky. “I got on that elevator for this.”

He lowered his mouth and kissed her.

Quickly, Brooke realized that despite any other faults, Cade Morgan knew how to kiss. He teased her lips open, his mouth seductively moving over hers in a way that left her tingling down to her toes. She slid her hands up his chest—wow, he had some serious muscles—and allowed herself one teeny, tiny moment to give in to this . . . whatever between them.

He reached up to cup her face, deepening the kiss as his tongue wound hotly around hers. He explored her mouth possessively, a low rumble in his chest when she responded by nipping playfully at his lower lip.

They heard a ding! down the hallway, as an elevator arrived at her floor.

Cade pulled back, his gaze heated as he traced his thumb along her bottom lip. “Good night, Brooke Parker.”

He turned and left just as a middle-aged couple, Brooke’s neighbors in 2508, passed by. Cade nodded at them with a pleasant “Hello,” then strode off with the strap of his briefcase slung over his shoulder.

Brooke watched him leave, silently admiring his tall, broad-shouldered frame, and trying to muster up more irritation over the fact that he’d somehow managed to get in the last word once again.

Twelve

THE NEXT WEEK, not surprisingly, was a busy one for Brooke. On the first of the month, Sterling would be taking over the food service at the Staples Center, which meant she needed to work nearly ’round the clock to complete the employment contracts for the managerial employees they’d hired.

That was her project for this week. Next week, she would have to oversee the company’s yearly anti-harassment and discrimination training, which was mandatory for all staff at Sterling’s eight Chicago restaurants. After that, it would be something else—there was always something else. Not that she was complaining.

Well, not mostly, anyway.

Shortly after four o’clock that afternoon, Ford called to check in on her. “You’re still planning on making it to the game tomorrow, right?”

Brooke balanced the phone against her shoulder, so she could talk while signing off on the expense reports that Lindsey had prepared for her. “I should be good to go. I’m trying to wrap everything up tonight so that I only need to work on Sunday this weekend.”

“Do you want to meet for lunch before the game?” he asked.

“Yes. But not at Murphy’s,” she said. “I got two beers dumped on me last time we went there before a game.”

“All part of the experience.”

“She who giveth the skybox tickets gets to picketh the restaurant.”

Ford grumbled at that. “Fine. But not Southport Grocery,” he said, referring to a cute brunch spot a few blocks from Wrigley Field, one she’d dragged him to on several occasions.

“Come on. They do awesome egg-white omelettes.”

“Remember that best-friend straw you pulled, the one with the penis attached? That straw does not do brunch before the Cubs/Sox game.”

Lindsey stuck her head into Brooke’s office, interrupting the debate. “You have a visitor. A Mr. Cade Morgan.”

That was a surprise. Brooke had been expecting a phone call, not a personal visit. They hadn’t spoken since their non-date last Friday, although Cade had crossed her mind a time or two. That kiss had been good—really good—but realistically, it wasn’t as if things were going anywhere between them. Like her, he obviously had issues with relationships, given the things he’d told her the other night about his so-called “emotional unavailability.”

“Send him in,” she told Lindsey, before turning back to her conversation with Ford. “I have to run. I’ve got a business meeting to get to.” Technically, that wasn’t even a lie. She and Cade did have a professional relationship. Mostly. “I’ll e-mail you later about lunch tomorrow.”

She hung up the phone, then caught herself checking her hair in the window’s reflection before remembering—oh, right—she wasn’t trying to impress Cade.

“Here you go, Mr. Morgan,” she heard Lindsey say, followed by a familiar rich, masculine voice thanking her secretary. Cade strolled into Brooke’s office a half second later, looking dashing and handsome as ever in his gray three-piece suit.

Oh, Lord.

She’d always had a weakness for three-piece suits.

From the doorway, Lindsey smiled at Brooke. “If you need anything, Brooke, just let me know.” Behind Cade’s back, she silently mouthed one word: Wow.