About two months ago, sales legend Rick Miller seduced sales recruit Leslie Stetler, sabotaged her sales kit, and left her to fail.

She didn’t.

Now he needs her to secure the business deal of a lifetime, and he’s pulling out all the stops to get her to cooperate.

She'd better not...

Because the real problem between Rick and Leslie is if they ever put aside their competitive drives they could kill one another...in bed.

Alfonso delivered our drinks, placing one of the delectable purplish margaritas in front of me, and a plain yellow-green one in front of Rick.

 “My apologies, señor, but the machine that makes those has broken.” Alfonso glanced at me and winked. “I have brought you this with compliments of the house.”

“That’s fair,” Rick said.

When Alfonso left, Rick reached over to swap my margarita for his.

“Touch that, and you’ll be wearing it home,” I said, leveling my best bitch-glare directly at him.

He pulled back his hand. “Sheesh, Stetler, lighten up.”

“You have my attention, Miller, not my forgiveness.”

It took him two entire margaritas to come clean with as many of the details as he would give me. He knew how to build recruiting staff, but no one could touch me on presentation talent. We needed one another to seal this deal. Not that either of us was necessarily good at teamwork or trust where the other was concerned.

“This is on me,” he announced when Alfonso appeared with the check. He waited until Alfonso was out of earshot before adding, “I’d offer to walk you to your car, but I’m afraid you’d mace me.”

I licked the last of the sugar off the glass rim and let him watch me do it. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m much more of a Taser kinda gal.”

He stood up and straightened his tie. Good thing I knew what an asshole he was. Otherwise, that little gesture might have given me a severe aftershock. The real problem between Miller and me was that if we ever put aside our competitive drive and personal quests for excellence—and all the B.S. that goes with them—we could probably literally screw one another to death.

“I’m hitting the men’s room before I hit the road,” he said and made his way toward the appropriately gendered baño.

Rick needed to get out of here. I wanted more of Alfonso, his magic margarita, and the chance to be someone’s good luck charm. I swam with sharks for a living. Sitting around sipping margaritas and wishing someone a little genuine good luck would be the closest thing to a vacation I got these days.

Rick came back and dropped a ten dollar bill on the far side of the table. “All right, Stetler. Let’s not drag this out. I want you on my team. I’ll pick you up Friday and take you to Santa Monica. We have to put together a killer proposal.”

“I thought you already had the assignment?”

“Sure, if I have a plan to deliver. This is too important to rely on politics, and I’m not losing out to some dick like Dawson or Hernandez just because they thought enough to wave a PowerPoint under the head honchos’ noses.”

“Fine. But I have a date Friday, so you can pick me up Saturday morning.”

He compressed his lips, prepping one hell of a protest, I felt certain. He could just shove it. I stood up and went toe-to-toe with him.

“Look,” I said, “we both know if you had plans to dip your wick Friday night, you wouldn’t be picking up my ass until Saturday. If I’m coming on board, we’re equal partners in this.”

“Equal partners?”

“Like it or leave it, Rick. I mean it. I’m not your newbie play toy”

“You need my invitation to have this chance, babe.”

“You need my expertise to cinch this deal, dude.”

We locked gazes, and neither of us blinked. He stood almost a foot taller than I did, and I didn’t care that holding a stare-down with him would give me a neck spasm. He’d taken advantage of me once. That’s all he’d get. Ever.

He grinned, then took a step back. “You’re something else, Stetler. Saturday morning it is.”