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  All of the above?

  A girl can dream. But that doesn’t mean she should.

  Focus, Quinn.

  “But not an eggnog lover?” I ask, getting back on track.

  He leans a little closer, his big body occupying so much space. I’m not a small woman—I snagged the same tall genes that Josh did. But even at five nine, I feel like a pip-squeak next to the sequoia of Vaughn. I bet he’s six foot five. Six foot delicious five. My stomach swoops as I watch him, how at ease he seems to feel in his body, the laid-back way he talks.

  “Maybe I could grow to love eggnog, but I don’t understand it.”

  “What’s not to understand? It’s creamy, a little spicy, a little sweet.”

  His lips hook into a grin. “Sure. True. But why do we need it? It just seems like the bastard stepchild of delicious holiday drinks.”

  “I noticed you didn’t say the redheaded stepchild.”

  His gaze roams over my hair. “Now why on earth would I say that?”

  “Is that because of the present company?” I flick some red strands over my shoulder.

  “One, I would never say that. Two, I don’t think I would ever compare you to eggnog.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I say, laughing. “I guess that’s a nightmare I never realized I had—being compared to eggnog.” I take a beat, and the self-preservation part of me tells me sternly that I shouldn’t be chatting like this, punctuating everything with a wink and a nod. I know I shouldn’t flirt, and God knows I shouldn’t take the next step.

  But since I met him an hour ago, my heart has been tripping the light fantastic inside of me. I love a good old-fashioned conversation. And fine, maybe it is sprinkled with sugary flirtation. “What kind of drink would you compare me to, then?”

  He takes his time studying me, and his gaze makes my skin sizzle. So much for my vow to stay unaffected.

  Vaughn hums as he considers. “Vodka. Tequila. Whiskey. Something that has a little kick. What do you think?”

  A wave of desire rolls down my spine.

  His hot gaze is doing things to me I didn’t expect. Things I don’t walk away from, even though I should. Instead of being professional, instead of keeping conversation to the party I’ve been hired to plan, I let it stray onto the what-kind-of-drink-am-I path. “I think I’m a tequila kind of woman.”

  “And that’s the kind of drink you order a second round of,” he says in a raspy, sexy tone.

  My throat goes dry.

  My libido speeds into overdrive.

  And all my good sense slinks away.

  I don’t know where the hell it went, or if I want to find it.

  And when my brother returns at last, I don’t know if I want to throw my arms around him and thank him or kick him out the door.

  But that’s not a choice I can make, since he redirects the conversation to the reason we’re here tonight—the holiday fete.

  We’re all business for the rest of the meal, Vaughn and I trading ideas, tossing out suggestions, and even arguing over the best Christmas songs, the ideal cocktails, and the most fantastic party games, until Josh smiles like a cat who snacked on a plate full of canaries.

  My brother catches Vaughn’s glance. “Turns out I need to take off for a week to deal with Enrique and some of the Los Angeles clients. What would you say to working with Quinn on the party details? You’re much better at it than anyone else.”

  But he doesn’t even need to butter him up, it seems. Vaughn catches my gaze, grins, then says, “Sure. I’d be happy to.”

  “Quinn, is that cool with you?” Josh asks. Is he secretly trying to set me up with Vaughn?

  But I dismiss that thought. My brother is not the matchmaker type. He is definitely the party-hating type, and the busy type, so I know his question is legit.

  And so is the answer I’m going to give.

  Though I’m dating my job exclusively, I jump at the chance to spend time with this man—jump on it like it’s a winning lottery ticket. “Want to start this weekend?”

  Vaughn says yes, and we exchange phone numbers.

  Oh, yes. Spending time with this wildly attractive man is a brilliant idea when I’ve sworn off romance.

  4

  Quinn

  As I turn over the card I’ve drawn in Pandemic, Amy and I groan in unison.

  “Are you kidding me?” I say. “New York has another infection?”

  “Board game epidemics are no laughing matter,” my younger sister says soberly, and we set to work on finding a cure.

  It’s Friday night, and while we save the human race from deadly diseases at our favorite board game café, I ask what she’s up to this weekend.

  “I only have about six hundred manuscripts to read,” she says with a too-bright smile.

  “Only six hundred? That’s less than last weekend, then.” Amy’s a junior editor at a publishing house and is working hard to move up the ladder.

  “Look at you—always seeing the bright side.”

  “Also, if you have so many pages to edit, why are you hanging out with me on a Friday night?”

  “Because Peyton and Lola are busy,” she says matter-of-factly.

  I huff indignantly and raise my game piece as if I’m going to bonk her with it. “And I love you too. Thanks for letting me know you’d rather be with your besties than me.”

  “Just kidding. You were my third choice,” she says. “After my dog. But he had a hot date with a lady dog down the hall. I swear, he’s such a dog-whore.”

  I roll my eyes. “At least I’m not your fourth choice after washing your socks.”

  “I laundered them last night. And I have the entire day tomorrow and Sunday to discover the next great novel. So that means I get to hang out with you in between socks and the slush pile.”

  “I feel so wanted. So loved.”

  “And what are you up to after we save the world?”

  I have to rein in a secret smile when I say, “Just seeing Vaughn tomorrow night. We’re planning a holiday party.”

  Amy arches a brow, all the way over the top of her red glasses. “Josh’s business partner?”

  “Yes.” I keep my voice as even as I can, doing my best to strip out any shred of excitement or anticipation.

  “On a Saturday night?”

  “Yes. What’s wrong with a Saturday night?”

  She purses her lips then shrugs ever so innocently. “Gee. I don’t know. Except it’s a date night.”

  “We’re simply checking out locations.”

  “Sounds like a date to me.”

  “It’s not a date,” I insist. She has it all wrong. She’s just Amy being Amy—crafting a story when there’s nothing there. “We’re scoping out venues for a party. That is all. We arranged it as a work thing.”

  She wiggles her fingers. “Give me your phone.”

  I scoff. “So you can text him and ask if he thinks it’s a date when I told you it’s not?”

  “Who? Me? Never.”

  “I know you, Amy. You’re a little stinker.”

  She lifts her chin defiantly. “At least I didn’t open my presents before Christmas.”

  I drop my jaw. “You knew about that?”

  She stares me down pointedly. “We all did.”

  I square my shoulders and draw another card in the game. “I just like to be prepared.”

  “In that case, you should find out if he thinks it’s a date.”

  I stare sharply at my sister. “I’m not asking him if he thinks it’s a date when I know it’s not a date. I know it, and he knows it, and you should know it too.”

  “You know Josh would never care that you were into his business partner,” Amy adds, like she’s laying a trail of breadcrumbs, yummy ones that lead to Vaughn.

  My lips are ruler-straight when I answer her. “I know. He’s not like that, and besides, we Summers women make our own choices about who we date. But for the ten-millionth time, it is not a date.” I flap my hand at the board. “Now, let’s save th
e world.”

  But still, her words badger me later that night, reminding me of the value of certainty. It can’t hurt to reach out and confirm our plans. Our non-date plans.

  Our very work-centric plans.

  Later that evening I send the man a text, keeping my tone businesslike.

  Quinn: Hi there! Just wanted to let you know I’ve researched some venues for us to visit tomorrow evening.

  Vaughn: Excellent. You’re such a planner. :)

  Quinn: Ha! That’s my job! That’s literally what you hired me to do.

  Vaughn: What? We hired you? Now you’re trying to surprise me.

  Quinn: Oh, ha ha ha. Way to take advantage of my weakness.

  Vaughn: Nah. I bet your prepper nature is your strength. And I’m down with all of this. Tomorrow night sounds good.

  Quinn: Thank you. I didn’t make appointments because I think it’ll be good for us to see what the places are like au naturel.

  Vaughn: Isn’t that the best way to check things out? ;)

  My eyes pop.

  Did he really just write that?

  I rub my eyes and read it again.

  Yes. Yes, he did.

  He’s a little flirty, possibly dirty, and I need to slam on the brakes.

  So I do my best with a professional reply.

  Quinn: Great. So we’ll check out the three places I’m emailing you now. I’ll meet you at the first one, and then we’ll be all set.

  There. I’ve established the plan. Set the boundaries. The man who tantalizes me won’t be able to tempt me tomorrow.

  Vaughn: Or we could throw the playbook out the window and wander into random establishments.

  Quinn: I know what you’re doing, and you’re very naughty.

  Vaughn: Yes, I’m the naughtiest. Forgive me for trying to shock your plan-loving heart.

  Quinn: I’ll forgive you. For now.

  I may have set the boundaries, but I still want to break them. Vaughn and I had instant chemistry the other night, the kind of delicious connection that doesn’t come around often.

  But that’s the problem. Connections lead to intimacy, and intimacy leads to heartbreak.

  I shut my eyes and let my mind return to my last boyfriend. Clarke and I were together for a year, and just as I was about to move in with him, he announced—at my birthday dinner, no less—that he’d had a revelation.

  He was in love with his ex-wife and had decided to try again with her.

  Surprise!

  Unhappy birthday to me.

  I’d been shocked and broken. All my plans capsized.

  So I poured my heart into my business because my business couldn’t leave me for someone else.

  No one will blindside me again.

  I can’t handle that kind of hurt, so I’ll avoid the possibility entirely.

  That’s what I remind myself when I shove all my sister’s loony ideas out of my head.

  The next night I wade through my closet, considering the best outfit to wear for the meeting.

  My favorite jeans and that cute green top?

  Or maybe the red skirt that fits just so?

  I tap my chin, noodling on the options.

  Ooh, those black boots are great for chilly weather.

  I try them with the jeans, with the skirt, then with a dress, and decide on the skirt and the boots.

  As I shower, I review the venues one more time, picturing each place, preparing to shift into full-on party planner mode.

  Still, even party planners could use a shave . . .

  5

  Vaughn

  I haven’t broken my guidelines.

  I haven’t even bent them.

  The dinner with Quinn the other night was merely a momentary flirtation, a few accidentally naughty comments.

  Well, maybe not entirely accidental.

  But there were only a couple.

  Hell, if I was that tempted to fall off the wagon, I’d simply remove the opportunity. I’d can our venue recon plan and schedule a simple phone call instead.

  But I can handle being near her, even without Josh as a safety net. Even without the hard deadline of jetting out of Manhattan at the start of the new year to expand our firm and open the Miami offices of Premiere.

  And if I waver, there’s the still-fresh memory of Lexi reminding me why I laid down the law in the first place. My ex was dangerous and delicious, a combination that was my downfall with her. She convinced me to jump ship from the first agency I worked at to a company headed by Dick Blaine.

  When I wanted to walk away after Dick asked me to do something unethical—make sure every single client had a fall guy, a friend who could take the rap if an athlete was driving drunk or screwing prostitutes—Lexi said I should stay. And that we should get married.

  That was when the light bulb went on—she’d hitched her star to mine, figuring I was on the path to making more dough with Dick.

  It’s easy to dislike Lexi in hindsight. But then I’d have to dislike myself because I was in love with her.

  Or so I thought.

  Hard to say now if it was love, or if I was simply a fool. All I know is I don’t want to get hoodwinked again.

  That’s why romance is off the menu.

  When it’s time to see Quinn on Saturday, I say my ex’s name like a talisman as I button my shirt, roll up my cuffs, and check out my reflection. “Don’t forget Lexi,” I tell the guy in the mirror. “And whatever else, don’t forget this isn’t a date.”

  I meet Quinn on a block in Gramercy Park, telling myself I’m not thinking about her pink lips, or her green eyes, or the cute little red skirt and black boots she’s wearing.

  Nope. We’re total professionals as we embark on our quest to check out venues for the party.

  The first is a trendy lounge with a fireplace and fantastic cocktails. It’s a decent choice with a fun vibe. “This is a good one. I can see us having a party here.”

  “Exactly! It’s a great size for the guest list, and it has a cozy holiday feel to it at the same time,” she says, sinking onto a couch and stroking her chin. “I see Yule logs, fruitcake, and eggnog.”

  I flop down next to her, narrowing my eyes. “Nope. I imagine a cranberry old-fashioned, a candy cane cocktail, and peppermint martinis.”

  “Just teasing. I would never put eggnog on the menu with you.” She lowers her voice. “Eggnog hater.”

  “Hey now,” I say, indignant. “I just want to give the underserved cocktails their time in the limelight.”

  She lifts one brow. “Question though. What exactly is a candy cane cocktail?”

  I laugh, shrugging because I have no clue. “Just made that up. But we should invent one and serve it. Everyone will speak for years about the delicious drinks we mixed up.”

  She nods, her brow knit like she’s figuring me out. “I get you. You’re looking to shake things up. I’ve got your number, Vaughn.”

  Does she ever. “Yes, you absolutely have my number,” I say, my voice going low and a little raspy.

  She tilts her head to meet my gaze, and our faces are inches apart. “Yeah?”

  “You do.”

  The question and the answer hang in the air like smoke.

  We’re both quiet for a few seconds, maybe more. The space between us feels charged, electric, full of things unsaid. I wait for her to respond, but I’m not even sure what I want her to say or do.

  Except I am.

  I want her to tell me that she feels this too.

  And though I should look away, should break the connection, I don’t. I like looking at her far too much.

  She clears her throat, runs her hands down her thighs, then glances toward the bar before turning back. “So, we keep this place on the short list. And we add candy cane cocktails.”

  “Definitely,” I say, but maybe I read the whole night wrong.

  Maybe she has my number, but I don’t have hers.

  6

  Vaughn

  We leave the lounge, and I vow to s
hake off the date vibe.

  This is not a date.

  It’s exactly what it’s supposed to be—a business meeting on a Saturday night, because Saturday night is when you scout party locations.

  Besides, Quinn seems focused on keeping everything professional.

  As we walk to the next spot, she asks, “What do you like most about your client list?”

  This is good—concentrate on the work connection. Plus, I like her question. “For starters, they’re top talent. I absolutely love working with overachievers.”

  “Definitely. Because then they inspire you too.”

  I smile, loving that she gets it. “Yes. When they’re committed to giving all on the field, it drives me to do even better for them.”

  “And you’ve always been driven,” she says, lifting a finger to make a point as we reach the crosswalk. “Well, I presume so. You don’t get to the Super Bowl without being driven.”

  I gesture to her. “Or become one of New York’s best event planners.”

  She stops in her tracks, grabs my elbow, and cracks up. “Oh my God, you’re hilarious.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Did you really just compare what I do to what you do? You’re a sweetheart, but you don’t have to say that.”

  I shoot her a confused look. “I meant it as a compliment. A legit compliment.”

  “Oh, sure. I’m the Tom Brady of party planners,” she says with a straight face.

  “Quinn, don’t sell yourself short. I looked you up after we met, and you have insane online reviews.”