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I had cockily thought that I could easily have a night or two of fun with her and then walk away, head clearer and body a little less tense.
                  But now I felt even more in need. I was hooked. I was hooked on Clara Daniels and goddammit, I liked it.
                  And when one night together turned into several nights together, then two weeks, I began to really question myself.
                  I knew I was being irresponsible. Regardless of how self-sufficient DXC Global was, I knew it still needed its President to be available for work. I still had my phone and kept in contact with Mrs. Drune regularly. But with each call, I could hear the sniffing in her voice as she quietly judged her errant employer.
                  But I wasn’t ready to go back. Every time I held Clara, I felt like a whole new man. There was something in her that brought out a side of me that I had never known existed.
                  And holy hell, was she some kind of woman.
                  Not only sweet but talented as hell. Her work was beautiful. She had shown me the photographs she had taken of her pieces.
                  “I made this set so that you don’t really have to buy all of the pieces to make it look good. Just having the table and a bench can work. Or a couple chairs. Which ever the customer prefers,” she said, pointing to the photo of a sleekly crafted dining table with a long bleached wood bench and matching chairs.
                  The photo was taken beautifully as well. I knew she had set this up in Mackleson’s back room but you’d never have guessed looking at it. With a subtle gray backdrop and diffused lighting, it looked like the photo had been taken at a reputable New York studio.
                  “Where’d you learn photography?” I asked, wondering where this woman’s talents ended.
                  Clara wrinkled her nose at me, making me laugh. “I don’t really know photography. I just learned enough from the internet and books to make my pieces look good. I certainly wouldn’t call myself a professional photographer.”
                  Maybe she wouldn’t. But I damn well would.
                  “These are good,” I said, nodding in wholehearted approval. “These are really, really good.” I looked at another photo of an upholstered wingback with pincushion tucks. It was elegant yet modern. It was detailed but not stuffy. She really had an eye for walking that delicate balance between beautiful and overdone.
                  A soft glow of dusky pink warmed her cheeks. She looked up at me shyly. “You think so?”
                  I looked down at her, surprised. “You know it’s good,” I said slowly. “You have to know that these are worth a showroom in New York, right?”
                  Clara bit her lip, lowering her eyes, before shaking her head and smiling. “I know,” she said, without any hint of pride or boasting. “But…I dunno….It just feels different to hear you say you like them.”
                  Those hazel eyes flicked upwards at me again, making my chest tighten with an unfamiliar but not unpleasant feeling.
                  I wrapped my arm around her, bringing her close to me. She fit against me perfectly. I kissed her forehead before capturing her lips. I knew I was just getting in deeper with every kiss, every moment spent with her, but I didn’t care. She was a heady drug and fuck was I hooked.
                  But there was a small sinking feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. I tried to ignore it by burying myself deep inside Clara every night or holding her close every day.
                  I hid it by working with her in the hardware store, laughing as she berated a customer for working on a project without consulting her. Or by