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maybe.”
    A tiny smile crooked the corner of her mouth. “There you go. Dreaming again.”
    No way was he touching that comment. Ten-foot pole or twenty. “You date a lot. It’s not a big deal. If you slept around, I’d know it.”
    “What do you mean, you’d know it?”
    Here he needed to tread carefully. He might not be held to the same standards as a man of the cloth, but neither did he spill his guts lightly. “We run in the same circles, Chloe. And I own a bar. Trust me. I hear as many confessions as a priest. Your reputation is safe with me.”
    The second the words left his mouth, he knew he’d stepped into a big pile of dog doo. Chloe got a look in her eye that could only be called a wicked gleam.
    “I was hoping you would say that.”
    He stumbled over ten or twelve words before he finally shut his big mouth. This was what he got for trying to be a nice guy. At least he knew enough to stop with the shovel before he buried himself completely.
    “I have three functions coming up over the next couple of months,” Chloe was saying. “Official business functions. I can’t get out of any of them and I’ll be representing gIRL-gEAR while I’m there.”
    “So go already.” He knew where this was headed, knew he’d been smart to establish his just-say-no terms up front. Making like Chloe’s arm candy was not his idea of self-respect. “I’m sure you can find a date. Or better yet, avoid the reputation hassle and go alone.”
    She shook her head. “This girl does not fly solo.”
    “Why not?”
    “My reputation, duh.”
    Try as he might, Eric could not make sense of her logic. “I hope you’re kidding, because I think it’s your reputation that’s gotten you into this mess, am I right?”
    “You’re not a girl. I don’t expect you to understand. I can’t go alone. I have to have a date. And I wouldbe ever so appreciative if you could help me out here.”
    He ignored the eyelashes she batted. “And by help you out, you mean…”
    She nodded.
    He shook his head. “I don’t know, Chloe. I’m not sure I want to be one of your statistics.”
    “You wouldn’t be. This is strictly business. Totally up front. If I show up with the same date all three times, the industry gossips won’t have a tongue-wagging leg to stand on.”
    Threads of common sense were unraveling all over the floor. “Sure they will. It’ll just be a different leg. My leg. And I don’t really care to be the object of anyone’s wagging tongue.”
    Then again…
    “Don’t you get it?” She wrapped delicate fingers around his forearm. “That’s the point. Sydney can hardly object if the reason for the gossip is all good. You’d be putting a positive spin on my situation. Party girl interrupted.”
    “First you want an escort. Now you want a spin doctor. I know it’s hard to believe, but even I can’t be all things to all women.”
    The imprint of her touch remained on his arm long after he’d pushed away from his desk. He’d hoped he could walk away; why had he never learned how to walk away? But he didn’t get very far because Chloe was in his face, one hundred twenty pounds of enthusiasm.
    “Think about it, Eric. Three dates. That’s all it is.” She counted them off on her fingers—one, two, three. “Three nights spent in my company, schmoozing with the media. With designers. Supermodels.”
    She’d called him Eric. Not sugar. “Supermodels?”
    “I’d do the same for you.”
    Oh she would, would she? “Supermodels, huh? I tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”
    He had to give her credit; she didn’t turn him down immediately the way he had before hearing the dirty details of her idea. She had an open mind.
    A desperate open mind?
    Willing to go to any lengths to save her career?
    Hmm. He could see himself playing the devil to her Faust.
    “What? What’s the deal?”
    “You get your three dates.” He did the finger thing—one, two, three. “And I get my three—”
    “No.” She shook her