Free This Changes Everything by Gretchen Galway Page A

How about we switch places, Sly?”
    “No, no. Don’t do that,” Poppy said. “Then you’ll end up with nobody to talk to.”
    “Maybe that’s the idea,” Bob said, lifting the booklet again. “We’re not all extroverts like you, dear.”
    “And few are as reclusive as you, honey,” Poppy said.
    This comment gave Sly an opening, and he wasn’t one to miss an opportunity. “Have you ever met Mark Johnson, Poppy?”
    She threw her head back and laughed. The famous silver hair barely changed shape, even with the shift in gravity. “Speaking of recluses, you mean?”
    Sly grinned. “Exactly.”
    “I haven’t had the pleasure,” Poppy said. “You’re an old friend of his, aren’t you?”
    “I am. In fact…” Sly launched into a brief history of his work at WellyNelly, his relationship with Mark, and the start-up he’d just left. Cleo seemed to relax, sinking back into her chair with a smile as he talked with Poppy. In his element, he was able to shove aside thoughts of curves in emerald-green satin and lose himself in the conversation.
    At least for a while. Salads appeared before them, other people at the table caught Poppy’s attention, and Sly let the business conversation fade away. He’d gotten her personal email and the impression she was interested in something new, especially with Mark.
    While Poppy was looking the other way, Cleo leaned against him. “You’re good,” she whispered in his ear.
    Inhaling her perfume, heat rushed through him, obliterating the calm he’d regained while talking shop for a few minutes.
    This attraction wasn’t going to go away. He was going to have to deal with it.
    He looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of what he himself was feeling. “You have no idea,” he said in a low voice.
    ♢ ♡ ♤
    The live auction would’ve been a lot more fun to watch if Cleo had been able to pay the smallest bit of attention to any of it. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, and the various educational foundations raked in a fortune thanks to the professional auctioneer who lathered up the privileged crowd and inspired higher bids for each item, praising their generosity, their social consciousness, and their obscene wealth (that last one was a running joke that always got a laugh.)
    Cleo was glad when the meal was over. Sly’s romantic playacting—whispering in her ear, touching her hand, holding her gaze—had lathered her up in an entirely different way.
    But finally she could relax. Sly reignited his professional rapport with Poppy over the cheesecake, and when loud dance music started playing, the four of them escaped to the lobby. Sly and Poppy walked shoulder to shoulder, talking business, while Poppy’s grumpy husband and Sly’s fake girlfriend trailed in their wake.
    His grumpy fake girlfriend.
    “Nice guy,” Bob said to her. “Your boyfriend.”
    “He is a nice guy,” Cleo said.
    “You can tell a lot about a person by who their friends are. Or girlfriends.”
    Afraid shy Bob was about to get too personal, she glanced over his shoulder for the exit.
    “You’re a nice woman,” Bob went on, confirming her fears. “That tells me Sly is a nice guy. He could be with somebody like that lady over there.” Bob nodded at a woman in a sleeveless black dress that ended just low enough to cover the bottom curve of her ass.
    Cleo couldn’t resist. She smirked. “He likes that type too.”
    “Of course he does. But he’s here with you, isn’t he?” Bob seemed to realize he’d used up his daily allotment of words, because he shook his head, pressed his lips together, and walked faster, patting her on the shoulder as he left her behind.
    Poppy took her husband’s arm, waved a business card at Sly, and walked out a side door. Cleo saw Bob cop a feel just as they were turning the corner.
    “Nice guy,” Sly said, unwittingly echoing Bob’s words.
    The thought of going up to their room for the night filled her with dread.
    OK, not nearly enough