Damon opened the double doors to his deluxe suite to find Brenna on the other side. She didn’t look like she had last night—but she was still damn cute in a tight little T-shirt that hugged her breasts well enough that he could see her nipples poking through. Of course, that made him wonder about her bra. Exactly what kind of bra did Brenna Cayton wear? Given that every time he saw her she looked entirely different, it was an impossible call, which made the question even more intriguing.

“Hey,” she said, casting a small smile—and looking sheepish. He had no idea why. Just because there had been some chemistry flowing between them last night? It was undeniable, but neither had acted on it, so he didn’t see it as a big deal.

“Hey,” he said easily. “Come on in.”

As she stepped into the tiled foyer, her eyes widened, taking in the place. “Oh my God.”

“What?” he asked, laughing lightly.

She turned to look at him, a wisp of auburn hair falling free from her ponytail to frame her face. “I thought my room was great, but yours is…freaking fabulous.”

She was right, but he’d stayed here so often that he sometimes forgot the sixteen-hundred-square-foot suite, featuring a dining table and a huge living area in addition to a bedroom and deluxe bath, wasn’t your average hotel room. “Believe it or not, I need the space. If we find any acts we want to court or sign, I need a good place to talk business with them. And besides, before today is over, we’re going to have contracts spread all over the living room.” He’d brought along a file containing every contract variance he could think of to show her.

“Still…wow,” she said, and he couldn’t help enjoying her innocent exuberance. That bit of innocence had leaked out a little last night, too, when they’d talked about Vegas, and sex, even if she’d tried to hide it behind professional coolness. Maybe that was what he’d liked about her so much last evening—that she could be so professional and at the same time truly genuine.

“There’s a room service menu on the table.” He pointed to the dining area. “Let me know what you want and I’ll place an order. Then we’ll get to work.”

“Sounds fun,” she said, her expression filled with nothing but sincerity.

“Contracts—fun?” Arching one brow, he shook his head. “Not exactly. This is the tedious, boring part. But I promise it’s the worst aspect of the job. That’s why I figured we should get it out of the way, so everything else will seem better by comparison.”

She gave her head a playful tilt, shoving that stray lock of hair behind one ear. “I’ll have you know I’ve already read most of the contracts—just for fun, when I processed them—so this won’t all be completely new to me. Although I don’t know what it all means, I’m actually interested in this part, which means…if the rest is even better, I’m in great shape.”

Damon’s jaw dropped. “You read contracts for fun?”

She nodded enthusiastically—and looked cute as hell.

“No wonder Jenkins promoted you.”

He kind of wanted to kiss her. Like he had last night, standing outside her door, looking into her pretty green eyes, feeling the heat moving between them. Without meaning to, he let his gaze drop to her breasts again, to the delectable sight of her nipples jutting against that pink fabric, and his dick went half hard.

But then he pointed back to the menu. “Pick something for breakfast,” he said again to break the tension that had just grown so quick and invisible between them. Because fucking someone you worked with closely was never a good idea. That had been the only thing to keep him from inviting her back to his room last night, and it was a good enough reason this morning, too. Damn, when had Brenna the office girl turned into Brenna the hot chick? How the hell had he missed it?

He gave his head a slight shake, trying to clear the lust out, and turned away from her to grab some files.

The truth was, he wasn’t well-practiced at pushing down his desires. He was single, he liked to have fun, and he’d never seen any reason not to indulge in good, hot sex when he found the opportunity—which, in his world, was often. What he never understood was why such news made the damn papers. When had he become a celebrity? Why did anyone give a shit who he slept or partied with?

Whatever the reason, though, it seemed his social life did qualify as entertainment for the masses these days, as well as good fodder for the rumor mill, and he knew his image needed an overhaul. He didn’t care what people thought of him, but he sensed Jenkins feared he was starting to give the label a bad reputation, and if there was one thing he didn’t want to risk, it was his job.

And fucking the girl he was training probably wouldn’t do a lot to convince anyone he was a decent guy who didn’t demand sex of female performers before signing them.

Not that Brenna would fuck and tell. He knew that instinctively. It went back to what he’d felt from her last night—a professional maturity mixed with an underlying…realness that was almost sweet.

But he still couldn’t do it. And spending this week with her without doing it would be good practice.

“Know what you want yet?” he asked, turning back to face her.

“Blueberry pancakes,” she said.

And their eyes met. And he experienced it again, that urge to move closer, lean into her, press his mouth to hers, press his hardening cock to the crux of her thighs. He still couldn’t believe this was the same girl who’d been sitting outside Jenkins’ office the last few years. “Sounds good,” he said, trying to keep his voice from coming out raspy. “Think I’ll have the same thing.”

He strode to the phone, thinking what he really wanted to have right now wasn’t on the room service menu.