The next day, Damon informed Brenna that he needed to make a few phone calls to some of the acts he managed at Blue Night, and he was going to put them on speaker phone so she could hear how he dealt with “the talent.”

Thus she listened as he assuaged the fears of an alternative band whose first CD wasn’t getting as much attention as they’d hoped. And as he explained to an R&B singer why the release of his next long-awaited CD was being pushed back another two months. And as Blue Night’s biggest star, British rocker Malcolm Barstow, bitched Damon out over everything from song selection on his upcoming CD to not liking the photographer who’d done the cover shoot.

Damon dealt with each person differently, she noticed, playing into his or her personality and particular issues, until each seemed adequately appeased—although with Barstow, “appeased” was probably too optimistic a term.

After pushing the disconnect button the final time, he looked up from the sofa where he lounged in his usual jeans and tee to face Brenna, who rested on a satin-upholstered chaise. “There you have it,” he said. “The dark side of A&R. Think you can handle it?”

Not on my best day, she was tempted to say.

She knew how to deal with Jenkins when he was overworked and stressed out. And she knew that when Kelly was having a rotten day, the best thing to do was just agree with everything she said and it would all work out in the end. She knew how to fix copy machines and finesse Microsoft Word and efficiently run a small office with one hand tied behind her back. Yet despite Jenkins’ and Damon’s belief in her, she had no idea how to take care of people who probably had good reasons to be upset about problems that likely couldn’t be solved.

And sure, she’d talked to most of these people on the phone before herself, but only to patch them through to Jenkins or assure them their check was in the mail—and this was different. Old Brenna was a hand-holder, but not to angry, hysterical rock stars.

“I’ll admit I’m intimidated by everything I just heard,” she replied, trying not to sound as freaked out as she was.

“And I’ll admit that I usually don’t have to make three phone calls like that in a row. But being on the road allows things to stack up a little, and part of why they were all so mad is because I didn’t get back to them five minutes after they called. Artists are temperamental—that’s a fact of this business. You just have to address their needs the best you can.”

She nodded and hoped she didn’t look too worried. As she’d acknowledged to herself when he’d been networking with club personnel, Damon was a natural people person—and she just wasn’t sure she could see herself being that skilled at initiating relationships, or dealing with ones that were difficult, as Damon had just done.

“You know what you need to cheer you up?” he asked.

Okay, so clearly her fears were still written all over her face. “What?”

“Some new panties.”

She cast a flirtatious smile, having grown much more comfortable with her current social life than her professional one. “That’s right—you owe me a pair, don’t you? Or two,” she added, thinking back to their encounter at Fetish.

“Lucky for you, the Fashion Show Mall is close enough to walk.”

“Lucky for me, I happen to be sleeping with a guy who actually knows things like this,” she replied on a laugh.

“Well, I hope this won’t shock you too much, little miss Brenna,” he said with a wink, “but it won’t be my first time in a lingerie store.”

She let out a mock gasp, splaying her hand across her chest.

“And not only that—I’m not the kind of guy who stands at the door with his arms crossed, looking at his feet. I’ll be helping you pick these panties out.”

She laughed softly. “I can’t wait to see your choices. And just so you know, I’m not into crotchless. I require both practicality and sexiness in my undies.”

In reply, he snapped his fingers and muttered, “Damn.”

Two hours later, they’d crossed Las Vegas Boulevard and made the short trek to the stylish, upscale mall. In addition to replacing the red thong they’d ruined last night, Damon had picked out a black thong, a leopard-print thong with a black lace inlay on front, and an embroidered demi-bra and panty set of lavender silk and lace.

They’d held hands, kissed as they’d walked and shopped, and kissed some more as they’d stopped to grab a couple of sandwiches in the food court for lunch. Then they made their way back to the Venetian, Damon toting the little pink shopping bag with a natural confidence that made Brenna see how truly masculine he was.

“Not all guys would be happy about carrying a pink bag,” she pointed out, impressed.

He simply replied, “I’m not all guys.”

You can say that again. He was easily the sexiest, most confident, most seductive man she’d ever met. And he’d been giving her kisses over top of panty displays and around turkey clubs and—oh God—it was getting really easy to start thinking of him like…a boyfriend.

Which was emotional suicide—she knew that still.

He’d told her this was a temporary thing.

And she was lying to him anyway, so it was good it was only a temporary thing.

So quit thinking of him like a boyfriend, like someone you’re getting attached to.

If only it were that easy.

The fact was—she’d never been that kind of woman, the kind like Kelly, who could get physical with someone without starting to care. And she’d deluded herself there for a few days, thinking that maybe new Brenna was that kind of woman. But now that new Brenna was the real her…well, she was getting attached to Damon. And she was going to be hurt and lonely and empty when this ended, no doubt about it.

The only answer for now was the same she’d relied upon all week.

Push it aside. Don’t think. Just feel.

He kissed her at the door to her room—since he had more phone calls to make and some e-mails to send, and she’d decided she could use a nap—and when his tongue twined around hers and made her body tingle from head to toe, just like everything she did with him, she definitely felt. She felt it all. The pleasure. The emotion. The need to be with him.

The sad truth was that she didn’t even really like parting ways with him for the afternoon. She’d grown so used to being with him almost around the clock these past few days, and that’s what had made her into the real new Brenna. Damon’s presence, his influence—the things he made her think, feel.

“Dress up tonight,” he said, still holding her hand.

“Dress up…how?”

He shrugged. “A sexy dress, if you have one.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Ah, her surprise. She’d almost forgotten. And she couldn’t imagine exactly where Damon planned to fuck her tonight that required her being dressed up, but she also couldn’t wait to find out.