Wynn invited me over to her gallery on Wednesday afternoon, and I’m helping her set up her new artist’s exhibition. My job is the first thing she asks me about, and I’m nervously selecting what to say about it. “It’s consuming,” I settle on.

“He was asking me questions about you the other day,” she admits.

“What do you mean?” I stand in the middle of the gallery space, surrounded by one wall hung with canvases, the other empty.

“Just if you had a guy back home,” Wynn says as she lifts one of the works that will go up on the empty wall.

My eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. He’s not like that. I mean, he’s been playing the field for years.” She tsks and shakes her head. “I smell sex, Livvy. And lots of it.”

“No!” I cry. “I mean . . .” I can’t tell Wynn, even though I want to. “He was the first real friend I found in this city, and though it’s complicated now, I feel . . . a bit of a weak spot for him, in a way I can’t explain.”

“I’m thinking he has a weak spot for you,” Wynn says. She smiles at me tenderly, then hoists a small oil on canvas up on the wall. “Tahoe would go ballistic, Livvy.”

“I know! I know. Which is why I’m trying to keep it professional.”

“I’m not sure I’d want to be you right now. These boys can be so irresistible.”

I glance at Wynn helplessly, not knowing what to say.

“Get your fix from some other guy. Or get a toy,” Wynn says.

I’ve had time for neither. I’ve hardly found time for anything other than work. Even time to sleep. He’s been calling in the middle of the night.

“What do you think of HITT on the NASDAQ?”

“Huh?”

“What do you think of High Intelligence Tech Transformation?”

“It’s 3 a.m.”

“You know what they say when you wake up at 3 a.m. Someone’s watching you.”

“Very funny. Asshole. Now I’m scared.”

“Good. Open your computer, tell me what you think . . .”

“Why?”

“Because I told you I’d teach you—you don’t get to pick the times when you want to learn. Now I’m waiting, Livvy.”

Between the late-night phone calls, his current takeover and his increasing interest in Alcore, and Mr. Lincoln getting hit with a stomach bug, I’m consumed by his demands for the week and am amazed how he accomplishes all that he does.

I don’t even know how the guy fits partying into his schedule, he seems like he’s always in one place with a hand in another.

Callan is at a polo match on Friday afternoon when I need to deliver some printouts he requested to review over the weekend.

I arrive during the middle of the match and take a seat at one of the back tables, occupying myself by skimming over the papers to keep from drooling over my boss. He rides a black horse named Kaz, and when the match ends, I follow him to the stables. He hops off and leads his stallion into the stall, wearing riding boots and tight pants that put the sexy butts of baseball men to shame.

“I miss Sara,” I say as he pats his horse’s neck.

He unbuckles the saddle, admiring the animal’s movement. I’m from the South. I appreciate a guy who can take care of horses and ride them the way this guy does. He raises his brow. “Sara?”

I add, “My pinto mare.”

“This is Tinkerbell.” He signals to a lovely white mare in the stall next to Kaz’s.

“Can we ride them?”

We end up riding them in one of the pens, and I wear out poor Tinkerbell as Callan and Kaz chase us around. I remember riding Sara over the meadow in the back of my home, and how free I felt. That same freedom rushes in my veins as I thunder with the mare beneath me, Kaz’s hooves thundering behind me, and a guy I’m only too aware of chasing after me.

I feel oddly aroused and breathless by the time we dismount, feed the horses, and head to the Range Rover in the parking lot. He drives me home before he goes change for a business dinner.

I meet him at his house Saturday morning like he asked, and I expect to find some strumpet strutting half-naked around somewhere. I’m surprised that there isn’t. Only his naked body on the bed, covered by a sheet.

For a moment I stand by his bedroom door, not knowing what to do, but the AC is at full blast and for some reason I feel the urge to go and pull the sheet a little higher.

He rolls over, stirring awake. I slowly step back, flushing over being caught.

“I was supposed to make sure you got this today.” I set the folder on the nightstand.

He shifts up on one arm, his muscles flexing with the move, and he stares at me.

“And I actually also brought coffee,” I add, flushing harder.

He squints and takes the coffee cup. “Thanks.” His voice is gruff with sleep still. I wonder if he was with anyone after the business dinner and almost want to retch at the thought.

“Callan, you really need to give me more than this,” I say, thinking if I’m to be suffering through the wicked temptation of seeing him half naked, it should at least be worth it. “I want to be in on the action!”

He lifts his brows at my brazenness, then chuckles. “You wouldn’t know what to do with action if it stared you in the face.”

“Yes, I would.”

“So, I’m a struggling cellular phone company, my assets are my customer base, which is slowly trickling away and heading to the competition. What are you gonna do?”

“Well, that’s easy. I would come up with a new model phone they have no choice but to buy.”

“The banks don’t loan to you anymore, you’re up to your gills in debt.”

“Oh. Hmm . . . See, that’s why I want to learn! I want to learn from the best. Not only with hopeful eyes of making a company work, but with realistic ones that would help me spot a sick horse from a dead horse.”

He chuckles heartily—his laugh making me blush for some reason—and he drags a hand over his jaw then flings the sheets off him and stands to get dressed.

Giving me a very real, very jaw-dropping view of his ass.

He gives me a ride to the office, and I’m still reeling a little bit from the sight of his perfect bare butt.

“If I’m going to be spending this much time with you, you should at least give me some good, solid business tips. Real ones,” I complain, still brooding over his gorgeous, unattainable butt.

“All right then.” He eyes me, lifting a brow in challenge. “It starts with the way you dress. You can dress easy on any day but important days. You need to mean business, and you need to look the part.”

“A.k.a. the dress code? Help your staff get into the business mentality?”

“We’re not dicking around here. What we do is serious.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, because he sounds so passionate about it.

“Those who follow the crowd usually get lost in it.” He shoots me a meaningful look. “Don’t talk, act. Don’t say, show. Don’t promise, prove.” He slices an invisible path in the air with his hand. “Your actions and your words should always be in line.” He looks at me cuttingly. “Tell me I can’t, then watch me work ten times as hard to prove you wrong.”

It’s the unapologetic conviction in his words that get me hard. Like a punch in the balls, making me want to take action.

“When you’ve got your sights on something, don’t look at it independently. It’s not what the company is worth on its own, but what it’s worth to us at Carma. EXR as an online advertising company loses money, has no way to capitalize on its users, but if we took their user database and added it to our own paying customer base at Carma, and in turn offered our advertisers more reach as we expand their advertising using the EXR vendor sites, the company value grows exponentially for us.

“EXR doesn’t want to be bought out, but when you’re struggling, you usually have no choice. EXR traded a percentage of its stock with a smaller company in their efforts to stay afloat. Take over and you are closer to having a controlling interest of them both. As they see us approach, they’ll try to find another buyer, one who will accept their terms rather than ours. Our job is to not let that happen. Corner them, so to speak.”