Naruto's POV

The Master Undone

Chapter 1.

"Another scotch and soda, Mr. Uzumaki?"

On any other day I'd stop at one drink-but not today. I hand the flight attendant my empty glass. "Leave out the soda this time."

"You got it," the woman says, smiling brightly. "Scotch straight up, on its way."

Her overly cheery tone hits a raw nerve, reminding me of just how fake much of the past two years of my life has been. But then, I let it become that way. I chose to ignore things I shouldn't have, and someone I cared deeply for paid the price.

As if that isn't enough, I'm rushing to see my mother through her unexpected cancer diagnosis and emergency surgery. There's nothing fake about that. It's as goddamn real as it gets.

Loosening my tie, I sink down into the deep first-class seat, attempting to get comfortable despite feeling shredded. I'm hoping a little more alcohol will give me some much-needed sleep between San Francisco and New York, and maybe slow down the demolition process going on in my mind.

Yeah. That would be good. Anything to stop my mind from running wild. I'm supposed to be able to control my thoughts. I'm a Master. A title that defines who I am and how I stay grounded. My thumb is always on the pulse of everything that happens around me-or so I thought. For the first time since college, I'm not sure if that's true. I'm not sure it was ever true, and I don't know where that leaves me. I don't know who that makes me.

"Scotch straight up."

Inhaling a heavy breath, I turn back to the attendant and accept the drink. "Thank you." My gaze touches her badge and I add, "Ms. Phillips."

"Call me Emily," she encourages, and her tone is far warmer as she asks, "Is there anything else I can get you?" There's no mistaking her flirty, lingering emphasis and I study her, taking in her attractive features in a completely removed fashion. She is pretty, a brunette, which I favor, and well-endowed in all the right places, but she is not what I need. And I do need. Sex is my drug, not booze, but it's no escape right now. Not when I don't have control. Never without control.

I down my scotch and hand my glass to Ms. Phillips.

She arches a delicate brow. "Another?"

"No. Not this time. I know my limits." And I value my minimal control too damn much to give any more of it away to a bottle of scotch.

Ms. Phillips's lips curve seductively. "I bet you do," she purrs. "I'll be around if you need me." She walks away.

Turning back to the window, I assure myself that I do know my limits. What got me in trouble was forgetting my rules, getting too close to my sub when I knew she wanted more than I had to offer. Silently, I curse. I can't bring myself to think of the woman I've lost as just that-just a sub-but I struggle with the emotions her name stirs inside me. And I have to stop struggling. I have to get control of myself.

Hinata. There it is. Her name. And with it, her eternal absence that I can never mend. The news of what became of her is still too raw, only forty-eight hours old. I'm struggling to deal with how my mistake led her into the path of another jealous woman with a horrific outcome. This is twice in my life I've let someone get close to me, only to see that person hurt. I'll never let that happen again.

Never.

Once my flight lands in New York, I'm anxious to get to the hospital. I quickly make my way to the baggage claim and locate my carousel. With some fast footwork I'm at the front of the crowd and I've just snatched my single piece of luggage, besides the one hung over my shoulder, when I hear, "Mr. Uzumaki?"

That voice. It-it can't be. "Hinata?" I whisper. Getting ready to see her again, hoping I am right. But when I turn, I turn to find pretty blonde standing before me, her long silky hair draping the shoulders of her pale pink, primly cut suit jacket. I arch a brow at her. She is exactly like her. No, no. These forty-eight hours are finally taking a toll on me. "And you would be?"

"You are the Naruto Uzumaki, correct?"

"I'm Naruto Uzumaki," I confirm, wondering where this is headed.

"I thought so. I recognize you from your picture at Riptide." Her perfect pale cheeks flush. "Oh. S-sorry. I should introduce myself." She offers me her hand. "Shion Miroku, the new head of sales for Riptide, and thrilled to be working at one of the most prestigious auction houses in the world."

I don't reach for her hand. But my need to avoid touching her isn't control. It's weakness-and I hate weakness. I close my hand over hers. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Miroku." My palm warms, and I know want to be warmed by this woman, or by any woman I haven't chosen as a submissive.

Her lashes lower, and I know she's hiding her reaction to the touch. Despite myself, I am intrigued. Even more so when, almost instantly, she smoothly recovers and her lashes lift, her eyes directly meeting mine. Any sign of whatever she'd felt is gone.

Impressed by her rapid recovery and quick control, I'm surprised by how reluctantly I release her hand. I'm rarely reluctant about anything. "Since when is it the duty of the sales manager to pick up someone up at the airport?"

Her brows dip and she gives a delicate snort. "It's not like you're just anyone. I mean, you're your mother's son."

I inwardly cringe at the sore spot she's hit. I love my mother, but there's a reason why I opened my gallery across the country. "She ordered you to pick me up, huh?"

Her lips curve. "Your mother's as feisty as ever from her hospital bed."

"I'm not surprised," I manage tightly. Just thinking of my mother in a hospital bed creates a dull throb in my gut. "She's impossible to say no to, even for me."

"I thought for sure her pride and joy would be the one person who could."

Fighting a wave of something dark I'd rather not name, I struggle to maintain my normal steely composure. "My mother is the only person I can't say no to."

She gives me an odd, quizzical look. "The only person?"

"Yes, Ms. Miroku. The only person."

She frowns. "I'm sorry," she says, and then waves me toward the door. "My car's parked in a fifteen-minute spot. We'd better run before I get towed." She turns and starts walking, expecting me to follow.

I stare after her. She's sorry? What the hell does that even mean, and why do I have this intense need to race after her and ask, when I never run after anyone?

I catch up to Ms. Miroku at the sliding doors, where a cold gust of October air blasts us.

She shivers and hugs herself. "I-I guess I shouldn't have left my coat in the car." She flicks me an amused look. "And I guess you're too macho to need one?" She doesn't wait for my reply, waving me forward yet again and declaring, "I'm freezing. Come on!" She takes off, running across the walkway to the parking garage.

For a moment I just stand there, watching this curvy, petite Barbie doll race away from me again. An irritated sound escapes my lips and I scrub my hand over my twelve-hour stubble before caving to the inevitable beginning of my pursuit. Chasing her. Again. I'm chasing this woman I barely know yet in some weird way feels like I already know her, who is supposed to be my employee. Who looks like her. This is ridiculous.

I cross the roadway and fall into step with her. "I'm right there," she says the instant she sees me, pointing at a black Mercedes.

Interesting. I assume the car means she's done well at Riptide, though I'm not sure how she'd have had time to see the benefits. I don't remember her at all from my most recent visit last month. Either way, her success is exactly what I want. It feeds more success, and the last thing I need right now, with my mother incapacitated, is a sales manager who doesn't know how to close a deal.

Ms. Miroku heads to the driver's door and I follow, holding out my hand. "I'll drive."

She gives me a look like I'm insane. "You want to drive my car?"

"Yes."

She frowns. "No."

Surprised, I reply. "I'm driving, Ms. Miroku." My tone is nonnegotiable, and I'm damned good at nonnegotiable.

But she isn't rattled. Her brows dip and she actually begins to negotiate with me. "If I agree to this, then you have to agree to stop calling me 'Ms. Miroku.'" She makes quotation marks with her fingers. "That's what people call my grandmother."

I almost laugh. This woman is a piece of work. "You really don't care that I'm temporarily your boss, do you?"

"Being my boss doesn't allow you to drive my car, and I would think you'd want to call me by my name that makes me feel relaxed. I'm in sales. Feeling all edgy and nervous gives me performance anxiety."

My lips quirk at her logic and boldness. "And my calling you Ms. Miroku makes you edgy and nervous?"

She studies me a moment and there's this odd look on her face, like she's somehow reading something I haven't said. "I feel nothing you can't solve by calling me Shion." She pauses and adds, "Naruto." The obvious challenge loses steam as she visibly shivers and makes a frustrated sound. "Fine. You drive." She clicks the locks open, then dares to grab my hand and presses the keys into my palm. "I'm too cold to stand out here and debate name usage."

She starts to pull away, and my instinct to automatically take control kicks in. I grab her hand, and her lips part in surprise, her gaze colliding with mine. Heat flares instantly between us, defying my certainty that this woman is absolutely not for me, twisting my guts in knots at the poor timing of such an attraction. There's a hint of some unidentifiable emotion in her gray like lavender eyes that I try to read-but she cuts her gaze away, clearly attempting to block my efforts.

"Don't wreck my car," she warns, looking at me again.

"I won't wreck your car," I assure her and pause for effect, as she had before adding, "Shion."

She smiles and my gaze is drawn to her mouth. Her lips are full, sensual. Kissable. They're as interesting as she is, though I have no business finding anyone interesting anytime in the near future.

"Thank you," she replies, mimicking my pause before again saying, "Naruto."

She tugs on her hand and I let it go. With a dash, she goes around the trunk to the other side of the car.

I shake my head and, as impossible as it seems, I smile. My mood is remarkably lighter as I place my bags in the backseat and then slide into the car myself. She's a refreshing glass of water when I'm drowning in hell, and damn it, she smells goo, too. A scent I can't forget, roses. It makes me think of Hinata all over again.

"I guess you're a control freak like your mother?" Shion observes as I start the ignition.

I shake my head at her boldness again and glance at her. "Do you filter what you say at all?"

"Filtering makes other people filter, and then you never get to know them. I prefer to know who I'm dealing with."

"As do I," I agree. "I just approach things with a bit more subtlety."

"Ohhh," she laughs. "Is that it? I lack subtlety?"

I put the car in gear and back up before flicking her a look. "You're direct."

"I guess you could say I like directness probably as much as you like control."

"In ten minutes you think you have me figured out?" I challenge.

"In ten minutes you think you have me figured out?" She counters.

I pull into the payment line and cut her a sideways glance. "Who said I was trying?"

"Right." Her lips twitch. "Of course you aren't."

"Spare me the effort, will ya?" I say. "Tell me about yourself."

She shrugs. "Like what?"

"Where's your family? Do you have siblings?"

"My family. My-um, mother is dead yeah, and my father, well he has his own business which means he has to travel, a lot. I hardly ever see him." She looks out the window, avoiding looking at me.

"Which is what?"

"The owner of a cable company."

I barely contain my surprise. "Really?"

"That's right."

I'm instantly concerned. No wonder she's fearless. She doesn't have to work to make a sale. Her family is why she has a Mercedes.

Has my mother's Illness caused her to make rash staffing decisions? I discard that idea. She just found out about her cancer a few days ago. I hope. Has she known longer and not told me? Is the cancer worse than she's let on?

"... and I really like it," Shion says. "What about you?"

I shake off my thoughts. "Sorry. You like what?"

"I've lived here a couple of months. I love it here in New York. How about you?"

"I grew up here," I reply absently. "Why exactly are you working with us and not with your father?"

"I'm not much of a technology person, and I don't want to ride my father's coattails. I need my own life and my own achievements. And I need to do something I love. I love art and Riptide. And I love your mother. If ever there was a woman who can rule in a male-dominated world, it's her."

There was a quality sure to impress my mother. A woman set to make the world hers, not his, whoever he might be. Exactly what I don't like, and everything she does like. "How long have you been at Riptide?"

"Three weeks."

Which explains why I didn't meet her on my last trip. "Tell me about those three weeks."

We spend the rest of the drive talking about Riptide and her impressive coordination of the upcoming auction. I absorb myself in what she's saying, and by the time we pull into the hospital garage, Shion has successfully distracted me from thinking about the dreaded moment when I see my mother and face the reality I've never wanted to face: she's not indestructible. It hits me now like a block of ice, and I feel frozen to the soul.

I turn off the car and the lights slowly dim. Darkness settles around us, but I don't move. Silence fills the car before Shion softly says, "She'll be okay," and her palm lightly settles on my shoulder, a warmth spreading through my body that I cannot fight, any more than I can bring myself to remove her hand. I let her touch me. I never let anyone touch me. Not even her.

I grunt. "Right. Because she won't have it any other way." I mean it to come out a joke, but it comes out as grim as I feel. I open the door, not sure why I've let this woman I barely know see emotions I try to never feel, let alone allow anyone to experience with me.

Almost instantly she's by my side, with an over-sized purse half her size on her shoulder. I guess her to be all of five feet two, minus the four-inch heels she manages with practiced ease. "What hotel are you in?" she asks, smartly dropping the topic of my mother.

"The Omni off Madison."

"Good choice," she approves. "Close to Riptide and out of the Times Square crush."

She astounds me. Not only do I not ask for people's approval, they usually don't offer it voluntarily. But for reasons I don't understand, and I don't tell her so. I just don't seem to have it in me to care who's on top right now.

When I enter the hospital room, I find my mother sitting up in the bed with her back to me, arguing with my father. "You give his arm too much credit. He needs the cool calm that Naruto had on the mound to be a real player."

The reference to a past I don't want to remember, or announce to Shion, makes me quickly change the topic. "Are you telling Dad how to run his ball team again, Mom?"

My mother turns around, her long red hair moving with the sleek shine she meticulously creates each morning, her blue eyes lighting on me. "Naruto!" She holds her arms open and I go to her, sitting on the bed to wrap her in a hug. Over her shoulder, my gaze meets my father's worried one. His blonde hair is rumpled and strain is etched in his features, the lines framing his blue eyes deeper than they were a month ago. He's shaken, which shakes me, but I don't show it. They need me to be the rock I've always been.

My mother pulls back to inspect me, as she always does. She looks good, still ten years younger than her fifty-five years, and as strikingly beautiful as ever. How can she have cancer? How can she be in this bed?

"And for your information, son," she scold, "I'm looking out for your father. I want him to get the seven division championships in a row he hopes for, and he won't get it with his present pitcher." She turns to my father. "Minato, I insist you show Naruto the practice tapes. He'll see what I mean."

"You know I'd like it if Naruto watched the playbacks, Kushina," my father agrees. And I feel him watching me, even though I don't look at him. "He just doesn't enjoy watching them with me."

"I love baseball," Shion chimes in, walking to a chair to sit down, and saving me from a topic I don't want to address. "One of my friends played in college and I never missed a game." She glances at my father. "I've wanted to go to one of your games even since Kushina told me you coached."

"You can join me in the box seats when the season starts," my mother tells Shion. "I planned on offering anyway."

Shion's face lights up with excitement. "I'd love that."

My mother smiles and turns her attention to me, rumpling my hair with her fingers. "You look a mess. Your tie is half off and you have bags under your eyes."

My smile is genuine, if strained by worry. "Leave it to you, Mother, to tell me exactly how it is. It's been a long day, but worth it to get here to see you." That ache in my gut throbs, and I again think how crazy it is how she looks this good when she has stage 3 breast cancer. I soften my voice. "How are you?"

I watch emotions shift on her face. Uncertainty. Worry. Fear. And finally, "I'm pissed." Her voice cracks. "I don't have time for cancer, and..." She abruptly looks around me at Shion. "Did you bring those reports I wanted?"

"No," I say firmly. "You're not working the night before you have a double-"

"Don't say it," she hisses. "Don't say it. I can't... just don't." She turns to my father. "Minato, I need some water, please."

My father quickly hands her the cup and I sit there, frozen in place from seeing my strong, unbreakable mother struggling for composure.

"I forgot the reports in my trunk," Shion says, popping to her feet. "My trunk sticks. Naruto, can you please come help me?"

My mother spits her water out and almost choke on a sudden burst of laughter. "Naruto?" she inquires, glancing at me. "You let her call you Naruto?" Her gaze flicks to Shion. "I knew I like this girl. She knows how to put a man in his place. No 'Mr. Uzumaki' for her."

My eyes meet Shion's, and when I expect her to gloat, she gives me an apologetic look. "Would you help me? Please?"

I giver her a nod. I need a minute to get a grip on what I'm feeling, anyway. Something I never feel or need-but I do now.

Following her into the hall, I pull the door to the room shut.

The instant I turn to face her, she confronts me in a soft whisper. "I thought you couldn't say no to your mother. Why would you start tonight, when she asked for the reports?"

I'm taken aback and irritated. "You barely know any of us. Don't try to tell me how to handle my mother."

Her lips tighten and her eyes meet mine, and suddenly her expression changes, as if something in mine has softened her. Which is impossible. I'm unreadable. She surprises me by taking my hand in hers. I surprise myself by letting her.

"You're trying to protect her," she says. "I get that, but she's having a double mastectomy, Naruto. She wouldn't even let you say the words. She needs to work to keep from thinking about it."

I stare down into her pale lavender eyes, and I don't know what's happening to me. I don't have control. She has control. Worse, she's right about my mother.

I trust this woman more than I trust myself right now. And that scares me in a way I haven't been scared in a very long time.

At nine o'clock, a hint from my father to leave them alone sends me on my way, and I head to the lobby. To my surprise I find Shion, who I thought had left a good hour earlier, sitting in a waiting room chair with her laptop open. She doesn't notice me and I find myself watching her work. I'm drawn to this woman, who's the complete opposite of my type, for reasons I don't understand.

Maybe it's simply that she's different yet familiar, and familiar feels wrong right now.

Her brow knits adorably as she keys some kind of date into whatever program she has open, long strands of her blonde hair draping her shoulders and cheeks. My groin tightens with an image of that hair draped over my stomach and hips. and guilt twists inside me.

It's too soon. I only just discovered that Hinata's absence hadn't meant she was traveling the world with the rich business man she'd met. It meant she was gone forever.

And I remind myself that Hinata was the one person who saw beneath my mask. She knew what I've always known: that sex is a tool for me. It's how I survive, how I block things out. How I blocked her out. I was always honest with her. I never promised her love. But, damn it to hell, I selfishly convinced her to try to live without it. Maybe with her, I came as close to love as I'm capable of ever coming. I did need her, when I've never needed anyone before.

And right now, I need to get out of my own head. I refocus on Shion. "I thought I sent you home long ago."

Her head lifts and she shuts her laptop. "I have your bags. I wasn't about to make your day worse by not having them." She shoves her notebook into her oversized purse that clearly doubles as a briefcase. I watch her delicate little hands, wondering why I don't mind when she touches me. And why I want her to touch me now.

She hikes her bag on her shoulder, thrusting her chest out in the process, and my gaze drops to the high neckline of her dress, the material hugging her in all the right places as she walks toward me.

She stops in front of me. "How's your mother?"

"Putting on a show of bravery she doesn't feel."

With a grim nod, she agrees. "Yeah. I kind of got that, too."

For a few moments I just stare down at her, puzzled by this woman in too many ways to count. "You seem rather fond of my family, for someone who's only known them for three weeks."

"Actually," she corrects. "I met your mother at a Riptide auction I attended about a year ago. I'd been working at a gallery and traveled here to Riptide. It was until a month ago that I bumped into her in the streets and well, we sort of became friends." She smiles with a memory, and it's genuine in a way so few are. "When the sales manager's job came open, your mother all but tied me to the desk and insisted I take it."

I could think of a lot of places to ties this woman up, and none of them are to a desk, though that holds interesting potential. "I'm surprised it took her a year to hire you."

"Oh, I'm as stubborn as she is, and I thought we'd have issues working together. But it turns out we're a great team."

"Seems that way," I agree, having seen how fond my mother is of her. I motion to the exit. "Ready?"

She nods. "If you're ready, I'm ready."

My lips twitch. "That's the most agreeable you've been since I met you."

She grins. "Don't get used to it."

I pull the Mercedes up in the front of my hotel, and I have no desire to be alone with my thoughts. "Come in," I tell Shion. "I'll buy you dinner."

"That's not necessary."

"I don't remember saying, or thinking, it was," I reply. When her eyes meet mine, for some reason I know that she feels like an obligation and it bothers her. Why would she assume such a thing? Who has made her feel that way? Nudging her, I add, "I'm not looking forward to staring at a hotel room wall for the next few hours. Spare me that, will ya?"

The valets open her door and mine. "You told your mother you're tired," she reminds me, then laughs. "And she seems to think you looked that way, too."

My brows lift. "That may be true. But it still doesn't mean I can sleep." It's an admission I normally wouldn't make. I seem to be doing a lot of things with this woman I wouldn't normally do, and I'm not sure if that's because of her or me.

She considers me a moment, then smiles. "Well, I am kind of hungry."

"Good," I say, more pleased than I should be by the prospect of a simple dinner as we exit the car. But I really don't want to be alone with my thoughts, and my normal outlets to escape are back in San Francisco, in the club I own.

We head inside the typical high-end hotel of marble and glass, and I pause in the entryway to give the doorman a hefty tip. "Make sure my bag is in my room when I get there later tonight." He quickly nods, eager to oblige, and I turn to Shion. "Let me check in so I don't have to deal with it later."

"Of course," she agrees, and she motions to a couple of chairs. "I'll be right here."

A few minutes later, I'm done registering and I find Shion with her head buried in her laptop again, so absorbed in her work that she has no idea I've stopped in front of her.

"Ms. Miroku," I say.

Her gaze lifts and snaps to mine. "Shion, or I'm not having dinner with you."

Mu lips quirk, and I'm remarkably amused by her spunk. "What are you working on?"

"I'm this close," she says, holding her fingers up barely parted, "to snagging a couple of super-rare Beatles items for the next Riptide auction. I'm exchanging emails with the guy we'd be buying from."

"Beatles, huh?"

"Yes," she says, shutting her laptop and shoving it into her purse. "It might not be art, but these items will bring big money."

"You won't see me complaining about money," I assure her. "Shall we go eat?"

She pushes to her feet but I don't step back to give her space. We're toe to toe, and I can't seem to find a reason, aside from her being off-limits, to find this a problem. I'm in no hurry to move, either. Instead, I inhale that rose scent of hers. It is addictive. Damn, I like that smell.

"I'm ready," she says, prodding me to move. "Starving, actually."

Yes-starving. I'm starving. For her. So much that I have to force myself to finally step back and give her room to walk. "Never let it be said I kept a starving woman waiting." I usually do keep my women starving and waiting, just not for food. I'm not so sure this one would allow that, though, which should be a complete turn-off. It isn't. Its more of a challenge.

"You like word games," Shion observes.

I tilt my head slightly. "What did I say to merit that observation?"

"It's what you didn't say," she replies, "and yet it's in the air. That unspoken meaning to a lot of what you say and do."

"You are direct, aren't you?"

"We've already established that. And that I'm hungry, so feed me. How about it?"

My lips twitch. "How about it, indeed." I motion her onward and this time we fall into step together. This dinner is absolutely going to be the much-needed distraction from the hell going on in my head-exactly what I'd hoped for.

A few minutes later, I'm seated across from Shion inside the hotel-sponsored Fireside restaurant at a corner table. Seated behind the rectangular bar with snowball-shaped glowing lights dangling above it, we're secluded from the rest of the patrons, just as I'd hoped. I want this woman to myself, if only for an hour.

"Have you eaten here?" she asks, setting her phone on the table and her purse in the extra chair next to her. "The food is good."

"I have," I tell her. "And yes, it is. How do you feel about wine?"

"I love it, but I'm a lightweight so it's not a good idea."

"Maybe it will loosen you up and you'll tell me all about yourself."

She snorts and somehow it's delicate and feminine, even sexy, when normally I would find it unrefined. "Do I really seem like I need loosening up? Because that's a first. I'm me, no matter what, and I male no apologies for that. And what specifically want to know that I haven't already told you?"

Everything, I think, but the waiter stops beside me before I can offer her my edited version of that answer. I glance at the wine menu and then at her. "Red wine okay?"

"I prefer white, but I have to drive, so I'd better pass."

Ignoring her objection, I order a merlot I'm particularly fond of and send the waiter on his way. "I'll get you a car to take you home and pick you up in the morning."

She holds up her well-manicured hands. "You don't have to-"

"I don't do anything because I have to, Shion."

"Shion," she repeats. "Why do I feel it's such an accomplishment for you to use my first name?"

"I don't know? Why?"

Her brow furrows. "You really do like word games, don't you?"

"Do I?"

She holds up a finger. "See. Answering a question with a question. Word games." Her phone rings and she snatches it up and her eyes brighten. "It's my Beatles man. Calling rather than emailing has to mean good news."

I listen to the smooth, charming way she greets her customer and the impressive way she navigated her side of the exchange. She's a master of conversation, but I knew that already. I'm not beyond seeing how she's worked her magic on me.

The waiter return with our wine and pours some into my glass for me to test the vintage when Shion covers the phone and whispers, "He won't ship the items. He says we have to pick them up."

I sample the wine and give the waiter the go-ahead to fill both of our glasses. "Tell him we'll insure them."

"He axed that idea before I even got it out. He says it isn't good enough." She crinkles her nose. "He's a little eccentric."

Eccentric artist and collectors are my life. "Where's he located?"

"Los Angeles."

"If it's worth my time, I'll go pick the items myself."

"Perfect." Her attention goes back to her call. "How about I arrange the pickup and call you tomorrow?" She listens for a moment, and repeats what she said to me. "Yes. I'll talk to you then." Setting her phone back onto the table, she grins. "Done. We have a deal."

"I take it you feel the travel is worth my time?"

"I had the times valued by a Beatles expert. They're costing us a hundred thousand dollars." She lifts her wine and holds it out to me. "They're worth double."

"Impressive," I say, and touch my glass to hers. "Sounds like we need to feed his eccentric demands."

We both sip our wine.

"Hmm," she says. "This is excellent, but"-she sets her glass on the table-"I have to drive. I really can't drink."

"I've already told you I'd get you a car service."

"No, I-"

"I just bought the wine. I can't drink it alone."

"Yes, but Naruto-"

"You're staying," I insist, and I'm amazed by how much I like my name on her lips, when I'm used to Mr. Uzumaki or Master. I like it. I like it a hell of a lot.

She purses those too-tempting lips and then sighs. "Fine." She reaches for her glass. "But if you're hoping to find out some deep, dark secrets about me that somehow make me a bad employee, you won't. Not even with the grape in me." She takes a drink and casts me a coy look. "But I might try to find out about yours."

"You can try. Other certainly have."

"But you've never had me try."

"No," I agree. "I've never had you try." And since I'm adamant about my privacy, why do I want her to try?

The waiter returns in the midst of my contemplation and we order dinner. When we're alone again, Shion digs into the warm bread he's left us and I'm drawn to how uninhibited she is. Her lack of walls and barriers must be why I find myself so comfortable with her.

"A hamburger, Mr. Uzumaki?" she requires. "How very rustic of you."

"I can get my hands dirty when I want to."

Her eyes twinkle devilishly. "I think I might like to see that."

There's a challenge beneath her words. For me to show her? I'd like to show her, but I won't. I almost think she knows that, and is enjoying taunting me. "And I'd like you to tell me more about you."

"Translation," she replies, and flattens her hands on the table. "You want me to convince you that I can handle my job when you're back in San Francisco and your mom is recovering." She sits up straighter, as if preparing to give a speech, and delicately clears her throat. "Mr. Uzumaki. I'd like to submit to you my qualifications as sales manager for Riptide." She grins. "Beatles, baby. Doesn't that say it all?"

I tilt my head to study her. "Beatles, baby?"

"I guess that just broke all your rules times ten."

"Who says I have rules?"

She waves off my question. "Oh, please. You have so many rules, your rules have rules. Any woman who dared to date you would need an encyclopedia-sized book to keep up."

"Any woman who dared date me?"

"Yes. You're too good-looking and rich for anyone's good. But I'm sure there are plenty of women who dare. They probably stand in line for a chance to read your rule book."

From anyone else, being called good-looking and rich would be a compliment. I'm not sure with Shion. I'm not sure too much with this woman.

"But not you," I say, certain that's what she meant. No. She wouldn't line up for anyone. She wouldn't be that easy to conquer.

"I'm a control freak," she readily admits. "You're a control freak. We'd be like two bulls after the same red scarf."

She's right, and yet my blood pumps faster, just thinking about having her naked and willingly at my mercy. I can't help but think she's exactly what I need: a challenge. And how sweet her submission would be, because I'd really earned it.

But I won't go there. Not with someone I work with, and absolutely not in the deep, dark hell I'm in right now. I'll just think about it. Probably way too much.

Oh man, I don't know if I should be sad or mad of the fact that Naruto wants to have his way with Shion.

To clear thing a bit, the part where about Hinata and Kushina knowing each other was at an auction show at Riptide, they met but never exchanged names and Hinata never told her at what gallery she worked at.
Also, Hinata did some research on her father, so she knows he is the founder of the cable company. She hasn't reached out to him, out of fear.

I might be updating sooner because well, I won't be having much time in the future. I kept forgetting to tell you guys, about it... but.. I'm going to be a mama! So far I'm three months pregnant. And Excited! The sonogram says it's a boy, however my uncle (a doctor) says otherwise. I'm going to get my next sonogram next week and we'll see what gender my little peanut is.

Let me know your thoughts!

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Until next week!