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“What do you think? Do you like the chairs, too?”
    Georgia nodded, bemused. They were gorgeous, matching the desks perfectly with high backs and ornately carved armrests.
    “Yes.” Tristan smiled. “We will take those, too.” He instantly began looking again. “I’m not done.”
    “Yes, sir,” the salesman said, practically rubbing his hands together. Georgia knew he was mentally calculating his commission. She would be.
    “Peaches,” Tristan called, moving on to another display, “look at this one.”
    Georgia followed, knowing she probably looked like a bewildered child tagging along after him. Or a pathetically lovelorn employee.
    “Isn’t this fabulous?” He smiled at her, and for a moment she forgot her confusion and could think about nothing but how beautiful his smile was. Was it really possible for a man to be that beautiful?
    She had seen dozens of male models in the HOT! offices, and none of them were as stunning as Tristan. Maybe she was being overdramatic—she did have a bit of a flare for that—but his looks seemed almost otherworldly. Looks like his just didn’t happen in nature.
    “Do you think I should get this one?”
    Georgia’s dreamy appreciation disappeared, her confusion returning.
    It took her a moment to comprehend what he asking her. She stared at the desk in question. This one was bigger than the last two, and truly medieval.
    “It’s lovely—”
    Tristan started to raise his hand to beckon the salesperson again, but she caught his wrist before he could call the man over.
    “It’s lovely,” she repeated, determined to get her thought out this time. “But why are you buying all of this furniture? It isn’t your style.”
    Tristan’s gaze moved over her; then he tilted his head, looking so damned adorable it had to be criminal. “What is my style, Peaches?”
    Georgia pulled in a breath, bracing herself for more of his flirting, his torturous flirting. Okay, she could admit he did seem to be flirting with her, and maybe all of it wasn’t her imagination. Maybe it was such a part of his nature, he couldn’t help himself. She still couldn’t take it as genuine attraction to her. He just couldn’t help himself.
    Still her body hummed at his attention.
    Again, leave it to her to like the disingenuous flirtations of her boss. Talk about a crush that was doomed on every level. A therapist would have a field day with that one.
    Because you never received affection from your father, you are desperate for any male attention you can get . Or something to that effect, even though she and her dad had a wonderful relationship. Given that it had been just her father, her grandmother, and herself when she was growing up, she’d say she was probably closer to her father than most daughters. So she couldn’t blame that relationship.
    Georgia was more inclined to think she was just a masochist.
    Time to stop the fantasies, and remember that someone like Tristan McIntyre would never be interested in a quirky, chubby chick. He went for the size-two beauty queens. Georgia amused him, only because she reacted to his attention. If she didn’t, he’d get bored and leave her alone.
    So remember, she told herself, his flirting is insulting, not flattering. Remember that, Georgia Louise Sullivan.
    There was absolutely no reason for her heart to be thumping painfully against her ribcage. Except for disgust.
    Yeah, that’s what she was feeling. Disgust.
    “What’s my style?” he asked again, and Georgia realized she hadn’t answered him.
    “Your style is expensive,” she said, managing to sound calm and businesslike. “It’s sleek and contemporary. Clean lines and exclusive designs.”
    “Well, these pieces are definitely expensive,” he pointed out. Then his gaze dropped to his wrist. Her fingers still clung to the cuff of his shirtsleeve.
    She instantly released him, and he smiled knowingly.
    “Very true,” she said, surprised she sounded so unaffected, even though her fingers