A Mistletoe Kiss with the Boss by Susan Meier Page B

talk herself out of it, she couldn’t let herself believe it was okay that he didn’t kiss her.
    She had wanted him to kiss her.
    Very much.
    She told herself that was trouble, reminded herself of his story of Nina and how her now favorite genius had probably made a rule to protect himself, and even suggested to herself that no matter how they manipulated this agreement of theirs, they were using each other.
    But she still wanted him to kiss her.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    â€œD EAN TOLD ME you need a cocktail dress and that I’m to take you to lunch.”
    Eyes squinting, Kristen eyed the time on her cell phone and saw it was already ten o’clock.
    She sat up. “Yes. I’m sorry, Stella. I got up late or I’d be dressed by now.”
    â€œNo sweat. I’m in the lobby when you’re ready.”
    â€œThanks.”
    Kristen got out of bed, showered and put on the red sweater and jeans again. Then she called the front desk and made arrangements to have her black pants, white shirt and underwear cleaned that day. Housekeeping promised her clothes would be back in her room by that evening and she thanked them. Now there’d be no arguments about how she “needed” more jeans and a new sweater. She would fly home in the clothes she’d been wearing in Paris.
    She met Stella in the lobby. They took Dean’s limo to the boutique and found Jennifer waiting, ready with three red cocktail dresses. She tried on all three and chose a simple red lace sheathe.
    Stella said, “Now we just need new jeans and sweater.”
    Proud of herself, Kristen smirked and said, “For what?”
    â€œDean said something about you needing clothes to go home in.”
    â€œThe clothes I wore over from Paris are being cleaned by the hotel.” She smiled. “I’m fine.”
    Stella gaped at her. “Are you nuts? The man is willing to buy you an eight-hundred-dollar sweater. Take it.”
    â€œI don’t need it.”
    Stella sighed and looked at the ceiling as if seeking guidance from above.
    Kristen firmly said, “I don’t need it and I don’t want it. End of discussion.”
    Shaking her head, Stella said, “Whatever.”
    They had Jennifer send the red dress to her hotel and left the boutique for a restaurant.
    The snow from the day before had been shoveled away, but steam rose from the grates in the sidewalk, mixing with the frigid air and swirling toward street vendors who stood huddled by food carts.
    â€œWhere do you want to eat?”
    She pointed at one of the carts. “A hot dog would be fine.”
    â€œNo. Dean said to get you a proper meal.”
    Kristen laughed. “He’s probably the bossiest guy I’ve ever met.”
    Stella snorted. “You don’t know the half of it.” She pointed at the door of an Italian restaurant. “Do you like Italian?”
    â€œEverybody likes Italian.”
    â€œGreat.” They took the three steps down into the lower-level restaurant and found there was no wait.
    Seated at the round table, holding her menu, Stella said, “So you’re okay with another date?”
    â€œAre you asking for Dean or are you curious?”
    Stella leaned forward. “Dean sounded as if he believed you were perfectly happy with tonight’s dinner. That’s what makes me curious.”
    â€œThe dinner is actually for me. Mrs. Flannigan wants to talk about my charity.”
    Stella peered over her menu. “Well, good, then. Dean’s a difficult man even for pretend dates. I’m glad to see you’re getting something out of this deal.”
    â€œYou mean aside from a gown, two dresses, a sweater, jeans, boots, a black coat and two pairs of black heels.” She paused, then cursed. “Damn it! He still hasn’t taken back that bracelet.”
    Stella laughed. “Lighten up. To Dean that’s not even pocket change.”
    The waiter, a short Italian man who must