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something as intimate as a wedding?
    â€œHow long would we be … away?”
    The question came out more as a squeak than a concise, professional query. She sounded like a scared little girl facing the big bad wolf. Oh, but Evan made such a yummy wolf.
    It was all she could do not to put her head on the table and bang a few times.
    â€œWe’d fly out Thursday evening. Rehearsal and dinner on Friday, wedding Saturday with reception to follow and since it will likely go well into the night, we’d return Sunday.”
    It would only require one missed day of work. No one but Brock would even need to know, and he certainly wouldn’t spill the beans.
    She didn’t know why she hadn’t immediately agreed. She couldn’t afford to say no. He had her over a barrel and he damn well knew it. Still, she hesitated—if for no other reason than to let him know he didn’t call all the shots.
    Okay, so maybe he did, but it didn’t hurt him to think otherwise. For two seconds.
    â€œAll right,” she said in as level a voice as she could manage.
    Did he expect her to attend the festivities? It certainly sounded as though he did by the way he outlined the events. She supposed it would be rude to tag along and lurk in the shadows waiting for her appointed time. Or maybe he envisioned having her follow him around everywhere so he could fit in snatches of conversation when possible.
    â€œI’d be happy to purchase any items you may need for the trip,” he said.
    Startled, she glanced up. “No, I mean … no. Of course not. I can manage just fine. You’ll need to tell me the appropriate dress code of course.”
    He managed a wry smile. “I’m sure anything to do with Bettina will be formal. Quite formal with lots of glitter and fanfare.”
    His gaze slid sensuously over her features and then lower until her neck heated with a blush.
    â€œI think anything you wear will be stunning. The dress you wore the other night was perfection on you.”
    The blush climbed higher and she prayed her cheeks didn’t look like twin torches.
    â€œI’m sure I can find something glitzy and glamorous,” she said lightly. “We girls do like the opportunity to play dress up.”
    Interest sparked in his eyes. “I can’t wait.”
    The waiter returned with the wine, and Celia latched gratefully onto the glass. Her hands shook. She was sure if she stood, she’d go down like a brick. She’d break an ankle trying to stay up on these ridiculous heels.
    Note to self: Don’t pack gorgeous, sexy shoes for the weekend. Around him, she’d be a disaster on stilts. He’d spend his entire time picking her up off the floor, that is if she didn’t end up in the hospital in traction.
    â€œI’ll call you later in the week with the flight arrangements. We’ll be taking my private jet.”
    She swallowed and nodded, then realizing he’d need her number—her cell number and not her office number—she reached down into her briefcase to retrieve a business card.
    She frowned, fumbled some more then pulled the bag into her lap. With a groan she realized her business-card holder must have fallen out. Impatiently she tore a piece of paper off a notepad and took out her pen.
    Dropping the bag again, she put the paper on the table and hastily scribbled her home and cell number then passed it across the table to Evan.
    He took it, studied it a moment then carefully folded it and tucked it away in the breast pocket of his jacket. The waiter approached with menus and Evan looked to her for her order.
    â€œJust the lunch salad,” she said. What she really wanted was a really greasy burger with onion rings, but she didn’t wantto appall Evan. Her brothers gave her all sorts of hell for her indelicate tastes, but then they were to blame for them.
    Evan ordered a steak, medium, and after the waiter was gone, Evan stared over at her, his