Just for Fun by Erin Nicholas Page A

told him.
    “Hey,” Sam protested.
    Ben went on, “Spend time talking to her. Hang out with her. Do things you like to do. Other than sex,” he said as the other guys started to make comments. “You’ll quickly see it’s about the things instead of her .”
    “That’s not bad,” Kevin said. “Maybe you need to get her out of the suite and away from the minibar and Jacuzzi. Take her out of the hotel, hang out and do something you normally do and see if you still like her or if she just looks good because she’s on fifteen hundred thread count sheets.”
    He wasn’t going to mention that he hadn’t had her on the sheets yet.
    Do something he would normally do. Not a bad idea. As much as he liked smoked salmon and sending his suits out to be tailored, his real world was more fish sticks and worn denim.
    “Hey, what was Gere’s character’s name in Pretty Woman ?” he asked.
    “Zack,” Ben said.
    “No way, that was in An Officer and a Gentleman ,” Sam said.
    “How do you even know that?” Mac asked.
    “Me?” Sam asked. “Torres was the one that threw it out first.”
    Dooley hung up on the argument, grinning in spite of himself. It would take them a few minutes to realize he was no longer on the phone. It would be faster to Google the answer anyway. Or not. It didn’t matter. That movie wasn’t going to apply much longer. It wasn’t like Richard Gere gave up his millions to become a pimp and hang out with Julia and the other hookers. Julia— Vivian —was the one who changed her life to be with him.
    Dooley wasn’t changing anything.
    Except his clothes.
    Dammit.
    He wasn’t sure if he was more upset that he was still the woman—the hooker —in the scenario or that it appeared he knew the damned movie as well as his friends did. His whipped married friends who had an excuse.
    As he was pulling his jeans on, Richard Gere’s character’s name came to him too.
    Edward.
    Dammit.

Chapter Four
    Jonathan Britton was sixty-four years old and had been king of the Britton empire since his father had died forty years before. It had been a major corporation when he took it over, but he’d doubled its size and tripled its worth in his time, and he showed no signs of slowing down.
    He was active, vibrant and looked ten years younger than he was. He had a son and two grandsons in line to take over, but it would be at least another ten years until he was ready to step down.
    “Morgan.” Jonathan greeted her enthusiastically with a kiss to each cheek.
    “Mr. Britton.” She took the seat he indicted beside him. “It’s good to see you.”
    “I’m looking forward to this,” he said. “But call me Jonathan.”
    She smiled, hoping her nerves didn’t show and trying not to dwell on the fact that this man held her life—or her career, at least—in his hands. “All right, Jonathan.”
    She ordered a white wine from the waitress and she and Jonathan chatted about her trip to Chicago and the jet until their glasses were set down in front of them.
    “How’s the room?” Jonathan asked.
    “Gorgeous, of course,” Morgan said with a smile. “Very comfortable.”
    “You have the same beds in Omaha, yes?” he asked, sipping his scotch.
    “Yes. But I’ve never spent the night in one,” she reminded him.
    “Oh, that won’t do.” He shook his head. “You should spend at least a week in the rooms. A few days in each type, from the traditional to the suites.”
    “Maybe I will.” He had a point, she supposed. Looking at the rooms, knowing the hotel layout and décor as well as she knew her own house wasn’t the same thing as spending the night in the rooms, experiencing the sounds, even the service.
    “Please do. Then I want you to personally call me and tell me how it was.”
    Morgan smiled. “I will. As soon as possible.”
    “Good evening, all.”
    She pivoted in her chair at the sound of the new voice. Todd was here.
    “Todd.” Jonathan stood and took his hand.
    “How are you,