“I didn’t know you had a personal life.” She holds up one hand at my exasperated glare. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Sorry.”

“No, you’re right. I don’t really.” I sigh heavily. “But damn it, why should I give up what little I have? It’s not fair. At the end of a long workday, I want to come home to my own space for some peace and quiet.”

Not to mention wine. And ice cream. And drowning out the silence with crappy TV so I can’t start thinking about how lonely I am.

“I couldn’t stand having that jerk in my face 24–7. I’d put up with him all day at work, and then I’d have to see his dirty socks everywhere.” Fuck no.

“Who says you have to share your space?”

I snort as I lift a forkful of papas bravas to my mouth. “A husband and wife who don’t live together? Yeah, that’d look just great for publicity.” One of many reasons why Dad would never let me hear the end of it.

Camryn shrugs, her palms turned up. “My point is, you don’t necessarily have to lose your whole life.”

“Just the parts with independence and privacy.”

“Come on, try to think about the situation like any other business move. This marriage is just a piece of paper. After you and Noah deal with the big picture, you can negotiate the details like adults and find something you can both live with. You two are on the same page here—making a huge personal sacrifice to save your company.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Noah seems way more into the idea than me. He was on board from the very beginning.”

I rub my hand where he kissed it, thinking about the husky way he murmured Mrs. Tate. His idea of matrimony clearly isn’t very holy.

Camryn raises one perfectly waxed eyebrow. “Oh? You think he likes the idea of sharing a bed with you?”

“I think he likes sharing a bed with anything that has a pulse.”

Although his playboy ways make it seem even odder that he’s so eager to tie himself down. Uh, that was a poor choice of words. But who’s to say he won’t just keep sleeping around?

Like Camryn said, this marriage is strictly business. A mere legal formality. And Noah would probably explode if he went more than a week without pussy.

I may be the boss’s daughter, but I still overhear my fair share of office gossip. Noah nailed all six interns last summer. He’s also slept with various secretaries over the years, and everyone just turned a blind eye. Boys will be boys . . .

Well, playtime is over. If he expects to turn this company around, we’ve got our work cut out for us.

“But how do you feel about all this? Noah Tate is pretty fucking hot.”

“Camryn . . .” I groan.

“What? I have working eyeballs. His hotness is an objective fact. Just like the pope being Catholic and carbs making you fat. He just is. Would it really be so bad to see him naked?” Her sly smile says she’s suggesting a lot more than just looking. “As long as we’re weighing the pros and cons here . . .”

I pause to consider the image, then grudgingly admit, “No.”

In fact, it would probably be pretty damn fantastic. I’ve already gotten a preview of his toned body, firm chest, and six-pack abs. Whenever our families summered together in the Hamptons, he took every opportunity to strut around shirtless. Hell, when I was nineteen, I came close to fucking him. But I was young and stupid and horny back then. Now I’m older, wiser . . . and still incredibly horny. Damn it.

It’s ridiculous how easily Noah grabs my attention. The smallest thing he does can leave me flustered. Like at the close of our business meeting yesterday. Just as a bare-bones courtesy, the most brusque good-bye possible, I stuck out my hand at him—only for Noah to bow slightly and raise it to his mouth for a lingering kiss.

“A pleasure doing business with you . . . Mrs. Tate,” he teased in a husky voice.

My mouth went dry and my stomach fluttered. Or maybe that flutter was somewhere a bit south of my stomach. I suddenly remembered exactly how many years, months, days, and hours it had been since I’d last gotten laid.

I tried to recover. Who the hell did he think he was? We were standing in a Madison Avenue skyscraper, not a sixteenth-century castle. This was wildly inappropriate workplace behavior. I could slap his tight ass with a harassment suit if I wanted. Instead, I just gave the cocky bastard a death glare and the iciest retort I could think of.

But it was too late. There was no denying my body’s reaction. The red-hot shiver that had run down my spine when his soft, full lips touched my knuckles, brushing my skin as he spoke.

Even now, I find myself replaying the image of Noah Tate gazing up at me with a sinful smirk, his dark eyes alight . . .

I shake away the steamy memory. So what if Noah knows how to flirt like the shameless manwhore he is? Schmoozing is all he’s good for. And handsome men are a dime a dozen, especially in New York. Hell, a fifty-dollar vibrator could do his job, and I wouldn’t have to listen to its bullshit. I didn’t bust my ass in business school just to become Noah’s little woman.

Then again, I also didn’t bust my ass in business school to watch my father’s company go down the drain, either.

My thoughts sober me, cooling my anger into melancholy. I spent my childhood in my father’s office, playing at his feet while he steered a financial ship of thousands. All children think of their parents as gods, and I was no exception. Even since I took my place at his right hand, with my own voice in the family business, I still respect him more than any other man.