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“No, it’s not that at all.” I gasp for breath, and eventually I’m able to calm down enough to get the rest out. “Everleigh told me she thinks I should move out, and I was wondering where the hell I was going to go. And then you fall onto my lap like a freaking dream, Cash Maddox.”

“That’s husband to you, wife.”

I blush. Like a full-on body blush when he calls me that, his voice all raspy and low. I feel the heat creeping up my spine and into my neck, and I feel sweaty and hot all over.

Okay, so much for the no feelings thing. I’m so screwed.

I need to vow to myself that feelings won’t be involved. I need to be careful here.

“Why did she tell you to move out?” he asks.

“She said she’s having a hard time separating being my boss from big sister, and it might be better for our relationship. And I don’t disagree. I love her, but a little distance wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“Do you like working with her?” He takes a bite.

I nod. “It’s okay. It’s a job. I guess I’m still figuring out exactly what it is I want to do.”

“Just not fashion merchandising,” he says with a smirk.

“I’m surprised you remember that.”

“I remember everything when the subject is interesting.” He lifts a brow.

I narrow my eyes at him playfully. “Did you just call me interesting?”

His lips lift. “What if I did?”

“Then I’d take it as a compliment. You’re pretty interesting yourself over there, Mr. Hockey Boy.”

“Mr. Hockey Boy?” he repeats.

“It’s better than motherpucker, right?”

He laughs, and it’s a hearty sound that I want to hear more of. “Yes, definitely.”

“What about this tequila thing? Are you really starting a tequila brand, or were you just fishing for a way to see me again?”

He stares at me for a long beat, eyes narrowed as he studies me, and then he pretends to reel a fishing line and then toss it into the water—namely, right toward me.

“Well, it worked,” I admit. “So are we dropping the tequila thing?”

“Fuck no, we’re not dropping it. I’m your first client, Ivy. This is your chance to prove what you can do, to prove what you’re made of, to prove you can handle shit. Plus, it’s real low risk since I don’t have the first idea what I’m doing with it, and, selfishly, it gives me the chance to work with you and see you in your little outfits you wear to work. Like that blue dress the first day I came in?” He pretends to fan himself. “Hot as fuck.”

There goes that full-body blush again. Jeez, this guy.

“You can see me in those all day every day once we’re living together,” I remind him. “It doesn’t mean we have to work together.”

“No, but I stand by wanting to give you the experience. And, hell, a tequila brand could be fun, right?”

I nod. “Definitely. And as an aside, I think I should move my stuff into one of your guest rooms. Don’t you? I mean, at least until we get to know each other better?”

“Challenge accepted,” he says firmly.

“I didn’t issue a challenge,” I protest.

“Oh, I definitely heard one in there. You just challenged me to get you to want to move from the guest room to my bed. I don’t think it’ll take me more than an hour, two at the most.”

“Awfully confident over there,” I murmur.