Bidding on Her Boss. Rachel Bailey

* *

      Two days later, Dylan pulled into the parking lot of the Santa Monica store. He hadn’t done an all-day inspection for a while. It used to be part of his management style—show up in the morning unannounced, hang around in the background and help out where he could. Nothing beat it for getting a good feel for how a store was working and what needed improvement.

      He’d been meaning to start doing a couple of these a month, so his office staff hadn’t thought there was anything strange when he’d told them to clear his schedule for today. Of course, they weren’t to know what he was trying to deny to himself—that he hadn’t stopped thinking about one of the Santa Monica store’s employees since the moment he’d dropped her home that first night.

      Under different circumstances, there was no question he’d ask her out. That kiss had been beyond amazing and had been on an automatic replay loop in his mind ever since, but he’d also enjoyed her company. He never knew what she was going to say or do next, and that made her fun to be around.

      He sighed and stepped from his car. No use wasting energy wanting what he couldn’t have. She worked for him. End of story.

      But that didn’t stop him from wondering how this particular store was doing. Despite rejecting Faith’s arrangement himself, he’d been left wondering if her manager was doing all she could for the advancement of her staff if Faith had put in twenty applications to the catalog of standard arrangements and not one had made it through to the head office.

      Sure, he’d rejected the one he’d seen last night, but given Faith’s enthusiasm and skill, a good, supportive manager should have found a way to guide her toward a more appropriate arrangement by now. Perhaps even submitted one or two just to encourage her. Yes, it was definitely time he had a closer look at how this store—and the other stores—were doing.

      As he stepped through the front door and removed his aviator sunglasses, the manager, Mary O’Donnell, looked up and waved enthusiastically.

      “Mr. Hawke!” she called, her voice obsequious. “So good to see you. Here, Faith, take over this arrangement. I need to talk to Mr. Hawke.”

      At the mention of his name, Faith froze, then looked up like a deer caught in headlights. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and he was assailed by memories of her mouth. Of how incredible it had felt under his. Of how it had opened to allow his tongue entry. Before he could forget all the reasons not to kiss her again, he determinedly drew his gaze to Mary O’Donnell.

      “No need,” he said. “I’m here for the day. Don’t stop what you’re doing—I just want to get a feel for the store.”

      “You haven’t done an all-day inspection for quite a while.” Mary shot a suspicious glance around the room. “Is there a problem?”

      “Just continuing a procedure that worked well for us in the past. I’ve let it slip a bit as we’ve grown, but I’ll be working my way around to all the stores in the coming months.”

      “And we’re first?” she asked, pride beaming from her features.

      “Yes, you are.” He’d let her think it was a compliment. Plus, it was a much more professional reason than the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about one of her employees.

      “Well, in that case, let me introduce you to the team.” She grabbed a middle-aged blonde woman by the wrist and dragged her over. “This is Courtney. She’s our senior florist. If you want any bouquets made to take home at the end of the day, Courtney’s your woman.”

      “Good to meet you, Courtney,” he said, shaking her hand.

      Courtney smiled openly. “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Hawke. Though, if you don’t mind, I need to finish this order before the courier arrives in a few minutes?”

      “Of course,” he said and watched her go back to work on one of the long benches. She seemed efficient and nice enough, and the arrangement she was working on was good.

      “And this is our other florist, Faith Crawford,” the manager said, pointing in Faith’s direction. He watched the reactions of the other two women closely, checking to see if they knew Faith was the person who’d won the bid at the auction, but neither gave anything away. Interesting. Faith obviously hadn’t told them, and the company grapevine hadn’t caught up with the news yet. Most of the staff from the head office had been at the auction the other night, but even if they’d managed to get a good look at Faith in the dim light, it seemed none had recognized her.

      He glanced over at her now. She had a bright yellow Hawke’s Blooms apron covering the halter top he could see peeking out from underneath. Her curly red hair was caught up in a clip on the top of her head. She looked up and he paused, waiting to see her reaction. Her eyes flicked to her manager, then back to him. He wasn’t comfortable with an outright lie to his employees—it was probable that the information would circulate around the company at some point, and he didn’t want to be caught in a lie—but that didn’t mean he had to share all the details of their short history.

      “Ms. Crawford and I have met before,” he said as a compromise.

      The manager’s eyes darted between them, looking for snippets of information, so he cut her off at the pass. “Do you have an apprentice in this store?”

      “Oh, yes. Sharon. But she’s not in until lunchtime on Mondays.”

      He nodded and took off his sport coat. Instead of his usual work attire of a business suit, today he’d worn a polo shirt and casual trousers—closer to the clothes the staff in-store wore. “Before she gets here, I’ll do the sweeping and answering the phone. Wherever you need an extra pair of hands.”

      Unbidden, his gaze tracked to where Faith worked at her bench, and he found that she’d looked up at him at the same time. Wherever you need an extra pair of hands... He could still feel his hands in her hair, cupping her cheek, under her chin.

      A pink flush crept up Faith’s neck to her cheeks, and he knew she was remembering the same thing. He cleared his throat and looked away.

      If he was going to make it through the day without letting everyone know he’d kissed his employee, he would have to do better at keeping his thoughts firmly under control.

      * * *

      It had been two hours since Dylan had appeared in the doorway, looking as if he’d just stepped off a photo shoot for a story entitled “What the Suave CEOs Are Wearing This Season.” She’d spent those two hours trying to pretend he wasn’t in the room, just so she could get her work done.

      But every time he swept up the clippings from where she was working, or he handed her a slip of paper with an order that had come in over the phone, she lost the battle and was plunged back into those moments when they’d been in this very spot, at night, alone.

      And occasionally, when their eyes met, she thought she saw the same memory lurking in his.

      But she couldn’t let herself be sidetracked. She needed to impress the businessman, Mr. Hawke, not the red-blooded Dylan who’d kissed her senseless. Men came and went, but this particular man could help her career. It was Mr. Hawke she needed to impress with what she could do.

      They’d had a steady stream of orders in person, over the phone and on their website, and she was glad. It gave her an excuse not to talk to Dylan—no, Mr. Hawke—just yet. He’d sat with Courtney earlier and had a cup of coffee, asking her about her job and ideas for the store, and said he’d be doing the same with all the staff members.

      The bell above the door dinged, and she looked up, smiling to see one of her favorite customers.

      “Hi, Tom,” she said, heading for the fridge. “How was your weekend?”

      “Not long enough,” he said ruefully. “Yours?”

      Her eyes flicked to Dylan, who was thumbing through their order book, his dark reddish-brown hair rumpled, his sport coat gone and his tie loosened. His hand hesitated and his