The work ethic I learned at my mother’s knee propelled me to finish a four-year finance degree in three. This summer was supposed to be my pre-graduation reward, doing nothing but catch up with all the fun my friends had while my nose was to the academic grindstone.
Instead, I’ve been guilted into helping out with the family’s cleaning business. At least there’s a consolation prize. My client is fabulously successful, insanely rich Chadwick St. Clair. We have sort of a history. As a pigtailed kid, I lived to torment him. When I grew old enough to notice his hard-as-steel body, warm eyes, and gentle voice that talked me through some hard times, I crushed on him. Hard.
My first glimpse of him in three years proves nothing has changed. He still makes my mouth water, my hands shake. But our history—and his reputation as a playboy with broken hearts from New Orleans to DC—isn’t the only thing standing between us. And a summer of breathless kisses and addictive encounters may not be enough to build a lasting love.