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“Yup…unless something blows up with the client. You know how that is.”

Don’t I ever. His clients are as demanding as Rhys. “Want me to pick you up?”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be on a red-eye.”

“I don’t mind. I can’t wait to see you.”

He laughs. “Okay.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more, babe. Look, I gotta go. Got an early meeting tomorrow.”

I make kissing noises as we hang up, then drop the phone into my purse.

“How cozy,” comes a near-sneering voice that could’ve been used to say, “Rat droppings.”

Grouchy Bossman alert.

Rhys thrusts a hot black coffee into my face. “Here.”

I accept it and open my mouth to express gratitude—

“Since you were too busy smacking your lips at your boyfriend to do your job and get coffee for us.”

Thank youdies in my throat as my eyes drop to another cup in his hand. I take a sip—it’s strong, with a hint of sweetness from a packet of Splenda, just the way I like it. The man can be surprisingly considerate. It’s just that he rarely bothers—and his thoughtfulness generally comes with some sort of expectation that I put in more hours or something.

He’d be ten billion times more attractive if he kept his grouchiness to himself and just let his presence dominate the space. After all, the man stands tall, confidence radiating like the ever-burning sun, irresistible and awe-inspiring.

And beyond is his stunning beauty. I’d never met a man who could be described as beautiful until him. His near-black hair is always impeccably slicked back, his complexion perfectly tanned, although it’s a mystery when he finds the time to sun, given his work schedule. His indigo-blue eyes are sharp and piercing behind gold-rimmed glasses perched on his straight nose. The glasses should make him look a little nerdy, but the effect is more along the lines of a cool genius. The only issue is that sometimes his overly calm composure makes me want to ruffle his feathers, just to see if it’s possible. Also to break the weird tension that’s coiled in my belly on a few occasions when I’ve caught him studying me with an intensity that makes my legs unsteady.

His shoulders are way too wide, his hips too trim. There’s got to be a six-pack underneath his bespoke suit and coat.

But he isn’t my type. His appearance is top-notch, but everything else? Hell no. He’s the type of guy you have a hot fling with, then forget about the next day because a relationship with him is bound to hit a dead end. The man is a grouch who only cares about work—and making more money than the GDP of a small country. Anything else? Not on his radar.

However, he must be good atcertain activities, since countless hot women are romantically linked to him, even though he doesn’t seem to spend more than he absolutely must on them. I’ve never had to buy flowers or gifts for anyone, and he’s too busy to do it himself. He doesn’t remember or celebrate any special occasions, except for his brothers’ birthdays.

Damn. Now that I think about it, he’s getting laid without spending any money or time. What kind of magic dick does he have? If I’m ever single again—doubtful—andaccept a job offer elsewhere, I might consider riding that ride just to see if he’s as good as my imagination makes him out to be.

“Sorry”—not!—“if my personal life grosses you out, but I wouldn’t have had to do that if you hadn’t dragged me here on four hours’ notice.” I shoot him a saccharine smile after taking another sip of the coffee. “My boyfriend isn’t super clingy, but he does need at least a little connection with his girlfriend.”

“That’s a nice way of saying he doesn’t care that much about the relationship.”

His pointed remark makes me bristle. Projecting much? Jeffrey isn’t some cold-hearted moneymaking machine like him. “AndIneed time withhim, even if it’s just on the phone.”

Rhys scoffs. “Stop complaining. Just think of the bonus you’ll be getting.”

That shuts me up. Financial independence is one of my three life goals. After witnessing Mom’s struggle after divorcing my shithead of a father, I vowed I’d never, ever put myself in the same situation. Mom started a flower shop and worked hardto support me after the divorce. The bastard would come by every so often with his sidepiece-turned-wife and son to flaunt his financial success just because he could. He even dropped by on Mother’s Day once to buy an ostentatious bouquet for that home-wrecking bitch.

“If you’d just been more understanding of a mistake every man makes, you wouldn’t be where you are,” he sneered like he was some hot shit. Mom didn’t get anything during the divorce because he struck it rich afterward.

Thank God Mom’s flower shop did well enough that she didn’t need his money. “A woman’s gotta work hard, have her own money,” she told me many times. And that’s proven true over and over again. Like with Ailee, who just found out that her “fiancé” is actually already married…and expecting!

“Well, lucky for you, we’re heading home in a couple of hours, and you won’t be subjected to any more kissy noises,” I say. “So no need to complain about how cozy things are between me and Jeffrey.”

Rhys makes a thoughtful noise, takes a big swig of his iced coffee, then chews the ice with more vigor than necessary. “Actually, there’s been a change of plans. We’re heading to Tokyo.”

I nearly spit out my brew.“What?”