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this age. I smile while placing my order, although it doesn’t at all reflect what I feel.
    I thought for sure I’d have a couple of babies with Ian by now, I think to myself sadly. I shake off the depressing thought and promise myself that I won't dwell on it anymore. As far as I’m concerned, I dodged a bullet.
    The waiter comes back with my glass of cabernet. He gives me a sexy grin as he sets it down. He’s a cute brunette and all, sexy even, but I’m just not feeling him. He’s not my type.
    My stomach twists with desire as I remember Mr. CEO again. There’s just something about him. His raw sex appeal and obvious power; the way he wears his suits--like he fucking owns his dominance. It’s funny, because in my life of business I’m surrounded by men in suits, but none of them look anywhere near as good as he does in them.
    I smile as I bring the glass to my lips.
    The bartender must think I’m smiling at him because he winks and says, “It’s on the house, sweetheart,” when I try to pass him a tip. He gives me a cocky smile as I watch him walk off to serve another patron. I get the feeling he’s going to come back over when he’s done and try to see if he’ll get something for his free drink.
    He’ll be sorely disappointed if he does. I’m not that cheap.
    I’m taking another sip of my cabernet when I suddenly feel a large hand on my waist. I nearly spit my wine out onto my blouse as thick fingers dig into my skin and I turn to push whoever it is away.
    “What in the-” I turn to see a man who's gotta be in his late thirties leering at me with his bloodshot eyes. His hair’s short, cut in military style and he has a serious case of dimples.
    “Hey, sugar. What are you drinking tonight?” asks the man, his breath carrying the strong smell of whiskey.
    My first reaction is to tell the man to get the hell away from me. But I glance around the bar and notice the upscale patrons and business people that are probably from the convention. I really don’t want to cause a scene and have it get back to my boss.
    “Just a glass of wine by myself tonight,” I say politely, putting emphasis on ‘by myself’.
    The drunk guy fails to get the message. He tugs on his plaid tie that’s already loose around his neck and wobbles as he takes the barstool next to me. Eventually, he manages to mount it and then he turns to me, practically staring at my breasts.
    Okay, now I’m seriously uncomfortable.
    “You’ve got a nice outfit on,” he says in a low, gravelly voice. He leans in close, invading my personal space, so close that the smell of his breath becomes overpowering. “I think it’d look better on the floor though.”
    Oh hell. I need to get out of here now.
    Just as I'm about to get up and leave Mr. Drunk to hump my empty barstool, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn and my breath catches in my throat at the sight before me. It’s Mr. CEO, walking through the bar like he owns the place, and his eyes are focused on me.

Chapter 7
Logan
    I ’ve held many business meetings at restaurants or bars just like this one. The back booth in the Madison Hotel bar is perfect for this meeting. I don’t usually like it, but it does have advantages. It makes it easier to slip out and leave the company with a round of drinks on me. But tonight I chose this bar hoping to see my Rose again. And she didn’t disappoint.
    I noticed her the second she walked in. There’s an air around her that commands my attention. Stevens was in the middle of a counterpoint on international resources when she walked through the open doors and walked to the same seat she was in before, directly across from the booth I chose.
    I’ve barely listened to a word from Trent or Stevens. The meeting’s done as far as I’m concerned. We’re not pushing it through until we meet agreeable terms. Stevens can insist that the cut in costs makes it worth it, but I know better. It’s best not to cut corners, especially when