three.

I was going to let it go. Her go. I allowed myself that one night to fantasize about my fresh out of college publicist, then I was going to keep things completely professional. As they should be.

I lasted an hour.

All through our meeting two days after her date, I didn't think about her in any of the ways I wanted to. I listened to her tell me about the social media pages she had made for me and I agreed to do an episode of SNL that I was actually excited for.

Bella was remarkably well versed for her age. I was her first client but I could tell she had the stamina for the job. She didn't take any of my shit, and she knew what she was doing. An impressive combination.

I had never met a publicist I liked. They all seemed to enjoy playing a dirty game of trying to one-up everyone in the industry for their client's gain. Which I knew was how things worked, but it had always rubbed me the wrong way.

Then Alice invited her to stay for our bar-b-que. And my traitorous fucking mind was ecstatic at the time with her.

Because for as confident as Bella was in her career, all of that confidence went out the door at dinner when work was done. She constantly looked confused or out of place. Like she didn't know what to do with her hands. Didn't know the right thing to say or where to look.

She was fascinating.

And her hair had a hint of golden streaks when the sun hit it just right. And it took her all of five minutes before her cheeks were a beautiful shade of red from the sun.

But then she sat beside me at the grill, swirling the straw in a soda my father had given her after she refused a cocktail. She had happily accepted the soda, saying she wasn't staying long and needed to drive herself home.

Even with that fresh reminder of her age in my mind, even with all of my promises to myself to leave her alone and keep things professional and that the woman had been very upfront about actively disliking me, it was nearly an hour to the minute that she walked through the door that I broke.

"I'll make you a deal," I blurted out before I could think better of it. I leaned across the stone counter, mostly so I could count the freckles across her nose.

Twelve.

Bella's head cocked to the side. "A deal?"

I nodded. I needed more. Answers to questions that would maybe—hopefully—quench that curiosity that had her constantly floating through my thoughts. "If you answer three questions, I'll take a picture of myself grilling and use whatever cheesy caption you want and put it on Instagram."

Her mouth fell open. Comically falling to the floor in an adorably earnest reaction. "You'll take a selfie?"

I groaned. A fitting punishment for my lack of self control. "Christ, don't put it like that. But, yes. If you answer three questions."

Bella rolled her lips together, eyeing me skeptically.

She was a very private person, despite having asked me point blank how many women I had fucked in the last seven years the second time we met. I only knew the bare minimum; her college background, family history, and that was it. Based on her reaction at that second meeting, I knew her family was a touchy subject. And I had a hundred questions about that alone, but I didn't want to upset her.

I wanted to know her. "Yourself."

"Oh," she sighed. Tense and leaning away from me. "You didn't learn enough about me during your research?"

I shook my head. "I only got the basics. I like details."

Like the freckles on your nose and the scar on your collarbone and —

I groaned to myself.

She still hesitated. Looked so uncomfortable suddenly I almost took my offer back. It was like a shadow suddenly covered her eyes, the chocolate dulling until all of the playful brightness from a moment earlier was gone. "What are your questions?"

I opened the lid of the grill, making sure I wasn't burning anything and giving myself a moment to breathe. And maybe talk myself out of it.

She was twenty-two. Might not even be single. Surely not interested in a married man with two kids twelve years older than her.

But when she was around… life was easy. Simple. Happy. For the first time in years, I felt something flutter to life in my chest whenever she was around. It had me leaning back over the counter toward her with an inner grin.

"What made you go into public relations?"

Relief covered her face. "I like thinking ahead and trying to figure out how people are going to react to something. And I like solving other people's problems."

I nodded. Not the typical answer from most publicists I had met over the years. Most were power hungry assholes.

I would know. Because people also think I am a power hungry asshole.

"What do you do in your free time? Any hobbies?"

Bella shrugged. "I don't have much free time. I get up, go to the gym, then work."

The gym was expected. But it was obviously more than a hobby for her. She was a tiny thing, but she had a good amount of strength behind her. She wasn't at the gym simply to stay skinny—she was there to work up a sweat.

"The gym can be a hobby," I said quietly. Attempting to bypass the images of a sweaty Bella and move on to my final question.

"It's more of an…anger management technique for me," she admitted bluntly.

I had seen hints of that anger. Saw her storm out of my house after I mentioned her family and knew whenever she was questioned by the writers or other staff she could snap.

People questioning her seemed to be a trigger, or maybe it led her to believe they thought her incompetent and that was the issue. But I still wanted more. "What has you so angry?"

"Pass."

I frowned. "You don't get a pass."

The sudden desperation in those espresso eyes had my chest aching. "I think I should. Just one."

I gave in immediately, and asked the one question I didn't really want to know the answer to. "Okay. How was your date?"

I watched her closely. For a blush or a smile or a flutter of her eyelashes as she remembered her romantic evening. The surprised brows and instant relief at the question were a surprise.

"It was okay, I guess."

The most vague answer she could have given. "You guess?"

Bella shrugged. Looking completely indifferent as she thought about her date. "I'm not great at the whole dating thing."

I opened my mouth to tell her I could show her. Teach her how she was supposed to be treated. With plenty of examples.

Then the timer on the grill went off.