I coax my first smile from her and feel like thumping my chest. Although I have a desk full of work to get back to, the idea of sitting across from Olivia and hearing her tell me about this supposed trial period sounds like a lot more fun. Time to push a little harder.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, you know.”

“We’ve had a lot going on. I think we could use a cocktail,” she says, amazing me that she actually agreed.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby in fifteen?” I know she’ll never agree to leave without wrapping up the last of her e-mails.

“Sure.”

Then I watch her ass as she saunters away toward her office.

• • •

Once we’re seated at the elegant Stanton Room, a swanky bar across the street from our office building, Olivia and I place our order with the waitress—a vodka martini, extra dirty for her, and a Scotch on the rocks for me.

“Extra dirty, huh?” I wink at her.

“Surprised?” There’s a hint of a smile on her lips.

“That the straitlaced Olivia Cane likes it extra dirty? Why, yes, I am.”

“Don’t overthink it, Noah. I’d hate to see you burst a brain cell.”

I scowl at her. If there’s one thing Olivia and I do well, it’s banter. And though she’d like to believe otherwise, sexual tension runs rampant just below the surface.

I lean in toward her, my elbows on the table. “So, how will all this work, exactly? Me and you? I just like to be clear on expectations so I can exceed them.”

Her gaze is cool. Not icy, at least, but still a long way from where I want her. “Well, I haven’t put a lot of thought into it yet, but you’ll have to win me over. Show me that this crazy thing could actually work.”

If there’s one thing I know about Olivia, it’s that she refuses to fail. Something tells me that with everything that’s on the line, Olivia needs to know I won’t fuck up and embarrass her as a husband. We have to work together, live together, and actually pull off this whole coupledom in a big way.

“So you said you want to date? I don’t date, Snowflake.”

“Winning over doesn’t necessarily mean dating.”

She takes a sip from her martini glass and sets it down with an inquisitive look on her delicate features. She may look like your average, sweet girl next door, but at her core, Olivia is a ballbuster. A total triple threat. Sexy, intelligent, and talented. Which is perfect, seeing as those are the qualities I always dreamed my future wife would possess. Well, those, along with a tight—

Olivia clears her throat, interrupting my train of thought. Fuck.

“Winning over means that we can be in the same room together without ripping each other’s throats out.”

I nod. “Okay, we’ll be civilized about it.”

“Fine,” she says. “And we should figure out what the hell we have in common.”

I think we already know what we have in common—and to my understanding, it’s a long list. But I’ll go by whatever definition she wants. I’ll win no matter what it is.

“Seeing as we have to put on a show, I agree. I should know a bit about my future fiancée,” I say. “For instance, your favorite sexual position . . .”

She coughs and sputters, choking on the olive in her drink. For a minute there, I think I’m going to have to perform the Heimlich maneuver, until she swallows the damn thing and glares at me.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she croaks out, her voice still hoarse.

I chuckle. “Settle down. I just want to know how to please my future wife, is all.”

“You can please me by buckling down and getting to work at the office instead of taking those three-martini lunches you favor.”

“Darling?” I blink at her. Since I’ve been told by more than one ex-girlfriend that my eyelashes are enviable, I’m hoping it has the exaggerated effect I’m going for. “We were supposed to be discussing what we have in common.”

“Right. Well . . .” She begins listing items on her fingers. “Summering in the Hamptons. Working at Tate & Cane, obviously. Our families are friends.”

“We both lost our mothers,” I point out.

Her gaze drops to the table in front of her, but I don’t feel bad. It’s just a fact of life, one we’ve discussed before, and I’d rather skip the superficial bullshit and get down to a real level.

“Yes. What else?” She drums her fingers on the table.

“I, for one, like anal. You?”

Damn it. Again with the choking. I stand and pat my future fiancée’s back until her airway clears.

“Another drink?” I ask, noticing that hers is now empty.

She looks flustered that she downed it so quickly, but signals to the waitress for another round.

“I know what I’m getting myself into, Noah. Besides, my focus is going to be on saving this company, not pretending to be the happy little wife to my fake husband.”

“Correction.” I lean closer. “Soon to be real husband. I’ll win you over, Snowflake. This will happen.”

Chapter Four

Olivia

Win me over, Noah says. Real husband.

There’s nothing real about this. He can call this trial period “dating” if he wants, but all I’m after is reassurance that we’ll mesh as co-CEOs. No need to confuse the issue with love or sex, no matter how dangerously attractive he is. I just have questions that need answers.