Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(10)

Instead she’d left it all to the last minute, ending up more disorganized than ever.

And, if she was perfectly honest with herself, her procrastination may have had an emotional component. Excited as she was by her company’s growth, much as she knew her employees needed more space in order to do their best work, she would miss this place. Or at least what it represented. Maxcessory may have been born in her tiny studio apartment years ago, but it spent its formative years here.

Now the company was all grown up. Still her baby, but older now. Growing. A little less dependent on the one who’d birthed it.

“Don’t make it weird, Naomi,” she muttered to herself.

“How?”

Her head snapped up, and she blinked in surprise at the unfamiliar man standing in her doorway. “I’m sorry?”

“How were you making it weird?” the man asked with an easy smile. A charming smile, and deliberately so.

Red alert.

Naomi knew men like this. The ones who knew they had above-average good looks and used said looks to get whatever they wanted. Naomi didn’t judge him for it. Hell, she was all for using every possible advantage to get what you wanted.

But she was smart enough to know a move when she saw one, and her guard went up. Her eyes flicked briefly through the glass walls toward Deena’s desk, already knowing her assistant wasn’t there. No way Deena would let anyone get to Naomi’s desk without an appointment, no matter how great the smile.

And it was a really great smile, Naomi had to admit. Just a little too perfect for her tastes, but it nicely complemented the expensive cut of his dress shirt and slacks and the touch-too-much gel in his dark blond hair.

“May I help you?” she asked.

His smile never lost its confident edge as he came toward her, hand extended. “Dylan Day. Pleasure.”

Naomi let out a startled laugh as she recognized the name of the TV producer who’d been hounding her for weeks. “Congratulations, Mr. Day. You’ve reached a new level of pushy.”

“Thought maybe all those voice mails and emails might have gotten lost,” he said with a wink. “Looks like I might not totally have been wrong.”

He glanced around at the mess. “Relocating?”

“Yup.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. Which is why I intentionally don’t have any meetings scheduled today,” she added pointedly.

“Gotcha. And the past couple weeks that you’ve been dodging me, you’ve been . . . packing?” he said, glancing around at the half-full boxes, piles of Bubble Wrap, and general clutter threatening to explode out of her office.

There was little doubt in anyone’s mind that her packing had started, oh . . . two hours ago.

But she wasn’t about to explain herself to a man whose current mission was to turn her life into an exposé. She needed him gone, sexy smile and all.

“Mr. Day. I appreciate your company’s interest in my story—”

“So you did get my messages.”

“Well, yes. You used every method but courier pigeons.”

“Only because I heard they don’t treat the birds well.”

She smiled in spite of herself, and he saw it. Pressed his advantage. “Let me take you to dinner. Give me a chance to explain what we’re thinking. Why we think the world needs your story.”

She rolled her eyes. “If the two dozen roses you sent didn’t work, the cliché lines definitely won’t.”

“Noted.” He held out his business card. “Your terms. You pick the time, the place, I pay the bill.”

She told herself to ignore the card, that this man had trouble written all over him, his interest in her clearly personal as much as professional.

She took the card anyway. Ever since the uncomfortable confrontation with her past in the form of Oliver Cunningham, Naomi had been itching for a distraction.

In the same way some women turned to therapy or booze or pills when life got uncomfortable, Naomi sought diversions. And there was nothing more diverting than a flirtation. Even better if it turned toward sex. It was why she’d gotten involved with Brayden Hayes. He’d been the perfect antidote to the loss of her mother. Or at least he had been before she’d realized his playboy persona was actually a disguise for scum of the earth.

She looked up at Dylan. “You’re not married, are you?”

He laughed. “Forward. I like that. I am not.”

He looked around at the mess of boxes. “You know, I worked for a moving company during summers in college.”

Naomi lifted her eyebrows. “That explains the brawn.” Dylan’s eyebrows lifted right back. “Why, Ms. Powell. I’m flattered.”

“What?” she teased. “You’re seriously telling me you didn’t buy your shirt one size too small on purpose?”

There was a clearing of throats. “Naomi?”

She looked toward her office door, and her smile froze.

Normally Naomi would be thrilled by a surprise visit from Claire Hayes and Audrey Tate. But if there was anyone she didn’t want learning of her connection to these two women, it was the man who would love nothing more than to air her dirtiest laundry.





FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 28

Oblivious to Naomi’s turmoil, Dylan grinned at the sight of the two women hovering in the office doorway. “No meetings scheduled, huh? I’m wounded. Come on in, ladies, I was just leaving.”