Annie was again absorbed in my story, her eyes large and interested. “What did you get?”

“All kinds of things. I swear to God, I felt like Willy fucking Wonka when I got home, loaded down with bags full of treats. And the look on Lucy’s face when she saw all the chocolate—I’ll never forget it. Although, the problem was, when you’re used to so little, your stomach doesn’t really know how to deal with indulgence. We both ended up lying on the living room floor with stomachaches, and we hadn’t even eaten that much.” I chuckled.

Annie was nodding like she agreed, a smile on her face. “That’s so true! I remember this one time a family brought me to dinner at this really fancy restaurant and told me I could order whatever I wanted on the menu. I planned on eating every last crumb of all four courses, but by the time I’d gotten halfway through the second, I was way too full for anything else. I went home all disappointed in myself.”

I looked at her curiously. “A family? You mean, your family?”

It took her a moment to answer, and she wouldn’t make eye contact when she did. “Oh, uh…it was just a, uh, a friend’s family.” For some reason, I had a hard time believing that answer, and I couldn’t pinpoint why. She turned to the side and pulled a credit card out of her pocket, avoiding my gaze.

First, there was definitely something off with her explanation; I would have to press her on this issue later. And second, she had her shit in bucketfuls if she thought I was letting her pay.

“The meal’s on the house. Tom lets me eat here for free,” I lied.

Her brows shot right up into her forehead. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow, I’m actually jealous.” She put her card away, and then it seemed our little heart-to-heart was over because she was all business again. “Okay, well, I need to be getting back to the office now. Please check your email when you get home, and Gerta will be in touch with more information over the next few days.”

She stood, and so did I, blocking her path out of the restaurant. “Why Gerta?” I asked, voice low. “Why not you?”

“I’m…it’s just that I don’t usually work directly with clients, Mr. Fitzp—”

I put my finger on her lips before she could finish the sentence, and she went utterly still. “What will it take to get you to call me Ronan all the time, huh?”

She inhaled deeply and then took a step back so that I was no longer touching her. She leaned forward as I retreated but then caught herself.

“I can’t call you Ronan all the time. It would be unprofessional.”

“But you want to. You’d like very much to call me Ronan all the time.”

Her large eyes settled on my lips and then dropped to my neck. “We have a business relationship. What I want is immaterial.”

“Not to me. I’d like to give you everything you want.”

Annie’s gaze jumped to mine, and she blurted her next question like she hadn’t really meant to ask it. “Why?”

“You’re very real, Annie. I like that you’re without pretense. I like that you’re both smart and sexy as hell without a lot of fuss. I like who you are.”

“You don’t know that. I could be terribly fussy. You don’t know me.”

I felt my mouth hook to the side. “Then tell me.”

There seemed to be a conflict in her eyes, and I knew she was struggling to remain reserved. I could have killed to know what she was thinking.

At last, she glanced away. “As I said, Mr. Fitzpatrick, Gerta will be in touch.” Her voice was low, soft, and trembled a little. With that, she quickly sidestepped past me and shot out of the restaurant.

I stood there, indecisive, considering whether or not I should go after her. I didn’t want to be pushy, though, so I slumped back down into my seat. I decided that I should wait for her to make the next move. I had kissed her. She knew I wanted her now, so the ball was well and truly in her court. The problem with this plan was that Annie was so skittish, I could be waiting a hundred years for her to make a move.

What I needed to do was figure out a way to entice her without pushing. Pulling out my phone, I found a new email from my sister, Lucy, telling me about her day. There was another from Gerta with all the Twitter info, but I thought that could wait until tomorrow.

When I got home, I worked out for a while and then ate dinner. I was lonely, and my fingers itched with the urge to call up Annie. It would have been pointless, though, because Gerta was always the one to answer, and Annie was always conveniently busy. That evening my phone pinged with an email alert, and I almost didn’t even bother to check. Being as bored and lonely as I was, though, I found myself having a look eventually.

What I found surprised the shit out of me. The Socialmedialite had decided to reply to my last message, and it was nothing like what I expected.

March 13

Ronan,

Can I call you Ronan? Ronan, you need an intervention. Sorry in advance that this email is so long.

I'm going to be blunt: you need to chill out, Ronan. Relax. You are seriously overreacting. Take a step back, and really, really think about what's actually going on here. Since you like numbered lists, I will use that format.

1. Being featured on my blog—especially how I featured you on my blog—is not a bad thing. It's a good thing. You could have used it to send me an email to highlight a charity near and dear to your heart; instead, you sent me hate mail. :-\