Christine stepped out onto the sidewalk as he held the door open for her. She immediately squinted, the sun a too-bright contrast to the restaurant lighting. As she rummaged through her bag in search of her sunglasses, she thanked her lunch companion.

"You know I'm the one who should be doing the treating, not you, Harlan."

"And you know, darlin', I'm way too much of a gentleman to allow that. A real gentleman never allows a woman to pick up the check, no matter the occasion."

She smiled. "I do know that. You are the perfect gentleman, always have been."

"Even when I had my tongue down your throat?"

Christine chuckled as she pulled the located sunglasses from the bottom of her bag, slipped them on. "Even then."

"Sure you won't join me for a nightcap in my hotel room later tonight?" he asked.

"I am sure."

"Why not, darlin'? You afraid you'll end up in my bed?" His eyes twinkled as he spoke.

Reaching to touch the middle buttons on his crisp white western shirt with the tips of her fingers, she replied, "That is exactly what I'm afraid of."

Harlan cocked his head to one side. "And would that be so bad, sugar?"

"Pleasure-wise...no. Business-wise, yes!"

He took a step closer, invading her space. "So, what if I signed with another publisher? Would that change the situation?"

"Too late. You just signed a contract with us for your next book," she teased, looking up at him.

"You got me there." He leaned in, kissed her on the lips. "You know where I am, should you change your mind." He took a step back, turned his attention to the busy street, hailed an oncoming taxi. "This one's yours, darlin'."

"Thanks, but I don't need it. It's only two blocks back to the office. I'm fine to walk. The weather is too perfect to not."

"In those heels?"

"Yes, in these heels. Now go, before someone grabs your waiting cab."

"Alright, sugar. I'll be talking to you soon."

"Real soon," she assured him as he stepped into the cab, closing the door behind him. She watched as the cab swerved recklessly into the busy street.

She had met Harlan Williams two years ago in Dallas at a writer's conference. She attended as a guest speaker, but was also there in search of new talent. Though the fifty-three-year-old man was twenty years older, she had been fascinated with him the moment they were introduced by a mutual friend. He reminded her of J R Ewing, with the same good-looks and charm, but lacking the cowboy hat and the arrogance. He had insisted on treating her to dinner in the hotel restaurant that evening. Dinner led to after-dinner drinks in the bar, and the next morning she woke to find herself in his hotel room bed, her clothes scattered on the floor.

Two weeks later, back in her Manhattan office, she received his recently-completed manuscript in the mail per their agreement. She began reading it at once. Two chapters in, she had no doubt she held a best-seller in her hands. Less than two weeks later she was meeting with him in his hometown of Houston to sign the necessary papers. And with that, their business relationship began, ending any possibility of a romantic one. It was her number one rule to keep the two totally separate.

Although she would have been pleased to carry on a long-distance romantic relationship with the Texan, having him as a client took top priority, a decision that proved to be a wise one. Eighteen months later, his legal thriller was number one on Publishers' Weekly bestseller list, followed shortly by The New York Times.

As his taxi disappeared in the sea of traffic, she sighed. It was no wonder her love life was pretty much non-existent. The only men she ever seemed to come in contact with were professionally related in some way, whether clients or colleagues.

Almost the only men…

And with that jolting reminder, she headed back toward the office, but with plans of one slight diversion along the way.