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same time she opened the door. Standing arms akimbo on the threshold, she shook her head. All the while her eyes moved about the contents of the room.
    “I did not get the weather report that a tornado had torn a path through Denver and stopped in this room. Really, Quinn.”
    “I was just getting dressed. Give me a sec, love,” he said.
    “Too late. The damage has been done.” She marched nonplussed, right up to him, color high on her incredible cheekbones, stared him straight in the eye and whispered, “A moment of your incredibly valuable time.”
    She turned and walked out the doorway. Quinn watched her exit, then rolled his eyes. Shite. He was about to have his arse handed to him. He followed to the doorway.
    Sherry held up her hand. “That’s good enough.” She spoke evenly between perfect white teeth. “Have you lost your bloody mind, Quinn? Since when is hitting on a client and then asking her to leave commonplace? I have a complaint on my desk and a threat to go to the press, and you being the owner only makes this all the juicier. Not acceptable. Ten minutes and I want to discuss our damage control plan. In my office. Owner or not, you hired me to do a job. Something’s got to give.”
    “Sherry, doll. Anywhere you’d like me, I’m more than amendable. All I’ve ever asked was a time and place,” he murmured, inhaling her strange fragrance.
    “Don’t.” She raised one finger. Index.
    He deserved another—one over.
    “I’m simply being agreeable.” Chuckling, he struggled to put aside the unsettling sensation. Was it embarrassment? The feeling so novel, he couldn’t place it. Preferring to laugh out loud as a cover, he refocused on lovely Sherry’s face. Her smooth skin turned a deeper shade of haughty rose that stole the breath from his body.
    “Last thing. Mr. Rothschild, since when did the Den become a hotel?”
    “Party ran over,” he muttered. She bent down and picked up a champagne flute from the carpet. When the hell had she grown so intoxicatingly beautiful? For the first time in his life, he regretted being naked in full regalia in front of a woman. Sherry provoked him to… he couldn’t put his finger on the word. Protect came to mind. Impossible. He must still be drunk. Sherry kicked-ass—everyone’s at the Den—and needed a protector like a hole in her incredibly lovely head. She set the glass on a table, arched a brow in his direction. “You’re early,” he said defensively.
    “That’s hardly a plausible reason why we’ve a roomful of sleeping clients.”
    Apparently he’d fallen asleep for a couple of hours and it had to be no later than seven. “What the devil are you doing here anyway?” He should have already texted one of the room attendants to come and help clean up this mess and wake the others.
    “I heard an earful about your evening,” Sherry snapped, hands bracketing her tiny waist.
    “Helluva night,” he said, peeling his attention from her shapely legs. He glanced over his shoulder, catching the scene on display within the mirror hanging on the wall of the room. A couple of ball players from Denver’s team were fully unclothed and in plain sight. He pulled the door closed behind him. “You should leave. We can talk downstairs.”
    “Don’t try. We both know precisely the state of that room and Jesus. Quinn, you’re wearing a freaking pillow. Meet me downstairs. Bring clothing. I mean come clothed.” She spun around and sauntered down the hall. The sway of her curved hips hypnotized him until the slam of the stairwell door hit center in his brain where a hangover was currently housed.
    She was killer with her skintight suits that framed her perfect arse and her refusal to smile. He doubted she’d give him the time of day had they not been required to pitch in and assist in the running of the Den in Shawn’s absence. What would happen when Shawn’s absence became permanent? He needed Sherry to manage this place so he could do his day job.