When she’d hired Reilly Muldoon, she’d told him she wanted him to be an active voice in the company. She should have clarified how active that voice could be.
“Uh-huh. And this Carter—someone you aren’t interested in at all, despite the fact that your face lit up just talking about him—you’re really not interested in him?”
Her face had lit up? Jeez. She really needed more food in the morning.
“Not one bit.”
Reilly wagged a finger at her. “I know interest, and honey, you have it all over your face. I say you should call him. Make the first move. Go after what you want.”
“Reilly…” She gave up the admonishment and rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And in my opinion—”
She put up a hand to stop him. “Which I didn’t ask for.”
As usual, Reilly went on, ignoring her. “If this guy had any brains at all and an ounce of testosterone, he’ll be knocking on your door with wine, roses and a smile.”
“He’s a playboy, Reilly. A six-foot-tall, walking nightmare.”
“So you noticed his height?” Reilly asked, grinning. “Anything else?”
“No, nothing. Now leave me alone.”
“You never know.” Reilly tick-tocked his finger at her. “This playboy might just be the one.”
“The one for what?”
“The one to win your heart.” He clutched his own chest and let out a dramatic sigh.
That would never happen. Daphne had made sure that particular piece of her anatomy wasn’t up for grabs.
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