They all wore shirts and ties, and often jackets, to the office. But Dax had been adamantly not a “tie guy”, until he’d discovered all of the dumb and ugly ties he could buy. Like the rubber ducky tie, the emoji tie, the bacon tie—yes, it looked like a slice of bacon hanging down the front of his shirt—and the Clue tie with all of the weapons from the board game Clue. And now he had a gummy bear tie. Gummy bears were Dax’s favorite thing in life. Even higher on his list than girls who called themselves Mistletoe and got busy with him on Christmas.

“I don’t know if I should give you your gift today,” Grant said to Cam, pushing a box across the table anyway.

Cam reached for it. “Why’s that?”

“You’ll see.”

Cam tore the paper back from the box. And groaned. It was a bottle of whiskey. His favorite kind. The really good expensive stuff. The stuff he’d been tipping back in his father’s den after nearly running Whitney over.

“Sorry.” Grant didn’t really look sorry. He looked amused.

“Hair of the dog,” Dax said. “Take a swig. You’ll feel a thousand times better.”

“Do not do that!” Piper called from her desk that sat just outside of the conference room.

“Oh yeah, he’s doin’ it!” Dax called back. “And if you could run and get some raw eggs and hot sauce for the hangover cure, that would be great.” He grinned.

“No way!” she called back, in spite of the fact she was talking to her five bosses. “We all know who would be cleaning it up when he hurls!”

“Can everyone stop shouting?” Cam asked, looking seriously miserable.

“What did you get for Grant?” Dax asked Cam.

“Oh. Shit. It’s out by Piper’s desk.”

“Hey, Piper!” Dax yelled.

“Jesus,” Cam groaned. “Seriously, man. I will flush your gummy bears down the toilet if you keep doing that.”

Dax just chuckled. Cam could probably flush the ones Dax had on his desk in his office, but Aiden was sure Dax had pounds of them stored elsewhere. He claimed they helped with his creativity. As did the ping pong table he utilized regularly.

“Here. Good lord.” Piper pushed a huge cardboard box into the room, but the ease with which she moved it indicated it was fairly light.

Grant looked at it as if it was full of snakes. “What the hell?” he asked Cam.

But Cam wasn’t in the mood to joke around. He just gestured toward it vaguely with his hand. “Open it.”

Grant stood and rounded the table, still looking like he was walking toward the guillotine.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Dax bounded to his feet and crossed to the box. He ripped the top open and peered inside. Then he started laughing. “Awesome,” he told Cam over his shoulder. “Nice job.”

“Oh God,” Grant muttered.

Dax reached into the box and pulled out Grant’s gift. It was a giant bean bag chair. It was a rich, soft brown leather and was far too big to be a child’s chair, but it was definitely a beanbag chair.

Aiden chuckled.

Dax had only bean bag chairs in his office. He claimed, predictably, that they helped with his creative process too. Because his creative process was so important to the company, they let him get away with that shit. But they knew it was at least half made-up. Dax was the class clown, the life of the party. He felt it was his personal duty to make sure everyone enjoyed their work and that Fluke was a fun place to be.

Grant, on the other hand, refused to attend meetings in Dax’s office because of the bean bag chairs. And the gummy bears. And the bright yellow walls. He said the whole room gave him a headache and that grown men shouldn’t sit in chairs that were multicolored. Leather—brown or black—was the only acceptable upholstery for “serious chairs”.

So Cam had gotten him a “serious” beanbag chair.

“I’m not sitting in that,” Grant said.

“You have to,” Dax told him. “It would be rude not to. How would that make Cam feel?”

Grant cast a look at Cam. Who was looking a little green around the edges actually. “You’re an ass,” Grant told him.

Cam nodded. “I’m aware.”

For a moment, Aiden thought about giving Cam more shit about being so hung-up on Whitney.

But, for the first time, he thought maybe he completely understood.

Zoe had gotten to him. He hated knowing she was upset with him. More, the idea that he might not have another chance with her made his stomach twist.

And he hadn’t really had her. Not the way Cam had had Whitney. Aiden was certain he’d never get over Zoe. Even now. What if he had taken her virginity? How could he have gone on as if nothing had changed? Once they were together, there would be no going back to how things had always been.

He’d never thought of her as a romantic interest or even a sexual interest until two summers ago. But since then, he’d been doing his damnedest to ignore the fact that the girl he’d always thought of as a little sister was suddenly the only woman he wanted.

Now, there was no avoiding it. He’d seen her in pink lingerie. She’d kissed him. She’d confessed she was still a virgin and had told him that she wanted him to be her first.

He wasn’t going to get over that.

He was going home to Appleby—somehow—and he was going to convince her—somehow—that he wanted more than one night with her.

He wanted forever.

But when he got there, he knew he definitely had some sweet-talking to do.