head toward Doran. “GQ model with an Irish accent. Hell fire. Jump on that, girl.”
Kenyatta’s cheeks burned. “Listen, I work in the same department. It would be—improper.”
“It would be improper not to,” Chloe replied.
Cree looked at Chloe and the two fist-bumped before dissolving into a pool of laughter.
“Fine. Can you knock it off?”
Kenyatta sipped more of her appletini and tried to not feel offended. They didn’t get it. Chloe worked with a bunch of stuffy lawyers and old men. What did she know about Irish temptation? None. Zippo.
“No,” they said in unison, but tried to stifle their laughter.
“I don’t see the humor in this. Just because you’re not tempted every day by someone as handsome as Doran doesn’t mean this is easy. Or that I should be.”
Chloe’s eyebrows rose. “You think I’m not tempted daily by gorgeous men?”
Kenyatta hitched her chin up and crossed her arms. “Not like I am.”
Cree shrugged. “I’m not getting into this one. I have the most beautiful man in all of Greensboro, so…”
“Did someone mention me?” Stephen Silver’s voice ripped through Cree’s rampant giggling. No doubt about it, Stephen Silver was a force. He walked, and people parted. Power did that. When he reached Cree, he swept her into his arms and hugged her tightly.
“Having a good time, Kenyatta?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Silver.”
“Don’t be so formal,” Stephen said, laughing. “We’re going to be family in a few months, so no need for the formality.”
“Okay.” Kenyatta watched him shake his head and laugh.
Cree said, “It will take her a while to get comfortable, Stephen.”
He smiled, but it was all for his fiancée. “Come, there are some businessmen from Ireland I want you to meet.”
Cree nodded, but turned back to Kenyatta and mouthed, “Go. Get. Him.”
Kenyatta shook her head. “No. I’d have to face him in the morning.”
Chloe turned to her with big eyes framed by false lashes and elegant make-up.
“Look, I know work place hook-ups aren’t the best way to find a serious commitment. This is a party—St. Patrick’s Day. So, just go hang out with him tonight. See if they’re any luck of the Irish on tap for you tonight. That man right there, Kenyatta, is a golden opportunity.”
“But…”
“No buts. Go scoop him up before the other twenty or so unattached women at this party devour him.”
With that said the saucy lawyer, tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and headed for the elegant mahogany bar where a bunch of thirsty partiers already vied for the bartenders’ attention. St. Patrick’s Day had somehow given everyone permission to overindulge.
Kenyatta didn’t want to drink too much. Alcohol never had a real appeal to her.
Doran Richards did.
And he wouldn’t cause a headache in the morning.
She hoped.
Chapter Two
Doran sipped his beer, winced at its bitterness, and tried to look relaxed. With the raucous partying going on around him, he could barely hear himself think. Not that he needed to actually hear himself think. His eyes worked fine despite the din. Across the room stood his entire world—Kenyatta Kramer. Seductively dressed in a hunter-green outfit that hugged every curve as tightly as he longed to. Kenyatta’s body trembled with laughter. The familiar sound rang out clear and musical, even though he couldn’t hear it from his current position. Standing beside the punch bowl with Cree Caruthers and another woman he did not know, Kenyatta listened intently, her head tilted to the side. The tips of her bobbed, ebony hair were dyed green for St. Patrick’s Day.
He doubted that she saw him through the throng of CAKE employees and Silver’s business associates. But in case she did, he had put on his best outfit—dark blue jeans, crisp white button-down shirt, and black, Italian leather shoes. Around his neck hung his golden four-leaf clover charm. His mother had given it to him, and he wore it all
Kenyatta’s cheeks burned. “Listen, I work in the same department. It would be—improper.”
“It would be improper not to,” Chloe replied.
Cree looked at Chloe and the two fist-bumped before dissolving into a pool of laughter.
“Fine. Can you knock it off?”
Kenyatta sipped more of her appletini and tried to not feel offended. They didn’t get it. Chloe worked with a bunch of stuffy lawyers and old men. What did she know about Irish temptation? None. Zippo.
“No,” they said in unison, but tried to stifle their laughter.
“I don’t see the humor in this. Just because you’re not tempted every day by someone as handsome as Doran doesn’t mean this is easy. Or that I should be.”
Chloe’s eyebrows rose. “You think I’m not tempted daily by gorgeous men?”
Kenyatta hitched her chin up and crossed her arms. “Not like I am.”
Cree shrugged. “I’m not getting into this one. I have the most beautiful man in all of Greensboro, so…”
“Did someone mention me?” Stephen Silver’s voice ripped through Cree’s rampant giggling. No doubt about it, Stephen Silver was a force. He walked, and people parted. Power did that. When he reached Cree, he swept her into his arms and hugged her tightly.
“Having a good time, Kenyatta?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Silver.”
“Don’t be so formal,” Stephen said, laughing. “We’re going to be family in a few months, so no need for the formality.”
“Okay.” Kenyatta watched him shake his head and laugh.
Cree said, “It will take her a while to get comfortable, Stephen.”
He smiled, but it was all for his fiancée. “Come, there are some businessmen from Ireland I want you to meet.”
Cree nodded, but turned back to Kenyatta and mouthed, “Go. Get. Him.”
Kenyatta shook her head. “No. I’d have to face him in the morning.”
Chloe turned to her with big eyes framed by false lashes and elegant make-up.
“Look, I know work place hook-ups aren’t the best way to find a serious commitment. This is a party—St. Patrick’s Day. So, just go hang out with him tonight. See if they’re any luck of the Irish on tap for you tonight. That man right there, Kenyatta, is a golden opportunity.”
“But…”
“No buts. Go scoop him up before the other twenty or so unattached women at this party devour him.”
With that said the saucy lawyer, tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and headed for the elegant mahogany bar where a bunch of thirsty partiers already vied for the bartenders’ attention. St. Patrick’s Day had somehow given everyone permission to overindulge.
Kenyatta didn’t want to drink too much. Alcohol never had a real appeal to her.
Doran Richards did.
And he wouldn’t cause a headache in the morning.
She hoped.
Chapter Two
Doran sipped his beer, winced at its bitterness, and tried to look relaxed. With the raucous partying going on around him, he could barely hear himself think. Not that he needed to actually hear himself think. His eyes worked fine despite the din. Across the room stood his entire world—Kenyatta Kramer. Seductively dressed in a hunter-green outfit that hugged every curve as tightly as he longed to. Kenyatta’s body trembled with laughter. The familiar sound rang out clear and musical, even though he couldn’t hear it from his current position. Standing beside the punch bowl with Cree Caruthers and another woman he did not know, Kenyatta listened intently, her head tilted to the side. The tips of her bobbed, ebony hair were dyed green for St. Patrick’s Day.
He doubted that she saw him through the throng of CAKE employees and Silver’s business associates. But in case she did, he had put on his best outfit—dark blue jeans, crisp white button-down shirt, and black, Italian leather shoes. Around his neck hung his golden four-leaf clover charm. His mother had given it to him, and he wore it all
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