She put her hand on his chest to stop him. “Easy there, cowboy. This is a place of busin—” she paused, pushing her palm against what was undeniably a very firm pectoral muscle. “Seriously, why are you so built for a lawyer?”

“I work out with Vaughn at the FBI gym,” he said with a casual shrug. “The pool there is good for my shoulder.”

“What’s wrong with your shoulder?” she asked.

For some reason, Cade seemed surprised by her question. “Just an old college injury.”

Before she could ask anything further, the phone on Brooke’s desk began to ring. “I probably should get that,” she said.

Cade remained standing right where he was. “You haven’t said yes to dinner yet.”

True. But she hadn’t said no, either.

Yes, fine. Cade had grown on her a little. He was smart and funny, and he’d gone above and beyond with the Eric Hieber matter. But even if, for argument’s sake, she was tempted to go out with Cade, she’d heard enough about Ford’s endless string of hookups to know there were certain rules to the casual-dating dance. Like maybe she was supposed to suggest drinks instead, but then again they’d already had dinner on Friday. But, maybe it didn’t count as an actual dinner if it had started off as a business meet—

Brooke’s phone rang a second time. Too much to think through, too little time. “I really should take that. How about if I get back to you about dinner?”

Cade looked her over, the long, slow look of a man not accustomed to waiting for something he wanted. “All right. The offer stays open for twenty-four hours.”

“What happens after twenty-four hours?”

“My fragile ego will be irrevocably wounded.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. “I doubt that’s even remotely possible.”

“Maybe not. But it doesn’t matter.” He stepped closer and, with one hand, brushed Brooke’s hair aside. He lowered his head and whispered in her ear. “You’re going to say yes.”

His eyes held hers as he pulled back. “Have a good afternoon, Ms. Parker.”

* * *

THE REST OF the afternoon flew by with a steady stream of conference calls and e-mails. It was after six o’clock when Brooke finally came up for air again, having a few free minutes to scarf down an energy bar before jumping on yet another call. This time, she would be speaking with a partner in the Los Angeles office of the firm they used for employment matters, to discuss some modifications they needed to make, per California law, to the contracts they had with two current managers they planned to move over to the Staples Center. Probably not the most fun way to spend a Friday evening, but Brooke planned to make up for it tomorrow at the Cubs/Sox game.

Sterling’s offices were quiet, everyone else having gone home for the weekend. She liked the office when it was calm like this—it gave her an opportunity to think without the usual interruptions.

And right now . . . she was thinking about Cade.

You’re going to say yes.

The man was too confident. Part of her found this irritating, but another part of her found it admittedly intriguing. In her daily life, as general counsel for Sterling, she was often the one making the decisions. So it was refreshing to be around someone who challenged her the way Cade did.

But.

Before she even considered accepting his invitation, she needed to figure out the ground rules. She hadn’t done the casual-dating thing since college, and from what she’d gathered, it was a whole different world out there now that she was in her thirties.

With that in mind, she quickly dialed up Ford, the expert, thinking he was just the person she needed to talk to. Unfortunately, he didn’t answer his cell phone. Brooke left him a message, then sat at her desk, staring distractedly at her computer. Her gaze sharpened, coming into focus as she realized what she had before her, literally at her fingertips.

The power of the Internet.

Quickly, she checked the clock on her desk and saw that she had ten minutes until her conference call. Plenty of time to do a little “research.” She swung around in the desk chair and pulled her trusty iPad out of her briefcase—no way was she doing this on her work computer—then fired up the browser and quickly Googled “rules of casual dating.”

3,730,000 results in 1.8 seconds.

Bingo.

She scrolled through the links until she found one that sounded like it got right to the point, from a popular women’s magazine. “Ten Rules of Casual Sex.” Brooke tapped on the link and began reading.

1. Be candid about your intentions from the start. Make sure he knows you aren’t looking for a serious relationship.

Fair enough, she agreed. Be honest. No problem.

2. Never go into a casual relationship with expectations. Remember that both of you are free to walk out at any time.

3. Keep it simple and stress-free. And have fun!

Brooke rolled her eyes, beginning to think that this was really basic stuff, when the remaining rules caught her eye.

4. In a casual relationship, all arrangements should be made only via text message. And the dirtier the message, the better!

5. Be sure to alternate text messages with him so that mutual interest is continually reestablished.

6. No personal gifts except for sex toys and massage oils.

7. A minimum of eighty percent of your time together should be spent naked or partially naked.

8. Don’t call him just to say hi.

9. Never take a bath together.

10. Under no circumstances should you continue to hook up if one of you—and only one of you—wants something more.

Brooke scrolled through the rules, not sure if she should laugh or be very, very afraid. Eighty percent of her time in a casual relationship should be spent naked? Did that include sleeping? Showering? But no baths, no sir-ee, because those were distinctly off-limits.

This had to be a joke. No personal gifts except for sex toys? Sure, because nothing said “I like but don’t love you” like a “just because” vibrator.

Ridiculous. She’d save her questions for Ford—frankly, this advice seemed a little shady.

Brooke’s phone started ringing. Time for her conference call.

Seeing that there was a three-page article following “Ten Rules of Casual Sex”—oh, now she had to read the rest, just for kicks—she decided to e-mail the link to her personal account, thinking she’d finish the article with a nice glass of wine when she got home. Not wanting to keep the guys in L.A. waiting, and a pro at multitasking, she answered the phone with an efficient “Brooke Parker,” and—

Shit!—accidentally tapped the button to “like” the article on Facebook instead of sharing the link via e-mail.

Oh, no, no, no.

This was not good.

“Uh . . . hi. Hang on for a moment, guys,” she stammered. So much for being a pro at multitasking.

A box popped up with her Facebook picture, prompting her to add a comment to the link for the “Ten Rules of Casual Sex.”

She instantly hit “cancel.”

And just like that, the whole thing went away.

Whew.

Now that had been a near disaster. No more multitasking at work, she vowed. Like texting while driving, trying to do a conference call while researching the rules of casual sex could only lead to big-time trouble.

With a deep, calming breath, Brooke went back to her conference call, where the L.A. guys were waiting. The call lasted just under a half hour, ending with a promise from the other lawyers to get her the revised employment agreements by Monday afternoon.

Afterward, she wrapped up a few loose ends, and then packed up her briefcase. Before shutting down her computer, she checked her work e-mail and saw, with relief, that no emergencies had popped up in the last half hour.

She was good to go.

It was a gorgeous evening, perfect for the five-block walk to her high-rise. She strolled along Michigan Avenue, thinking about her elevator ride with Cade the other night—and more important, that kiss at her front door.

Perhaps, per the rules, she should add in an eighty percent naked clause to his dinner offer. She smiled, thinking that certainly would make for an interesting evening.

As Brooke entered her building, she nodded hello to the lobby security guard before stepping into the elevator with five other people. Seeing that they had three stops to make before her floor, she pulled out her cell phone to check her e-mail.

She had fifty-two new messages to her personal e-mail account.

That was odd. Especially since every message was a notification that someone had posted a comment on her Facebook wall.

Quickly, Brooke began clicking through the messages. All from men.

I’M GAME IF YOU ARE, BABE!

LIKE! LIKE! LIKE!

TEN RULES EVERY WOMAN SHOULD LIVE BY!

PICK ME!!!!!!!!

Brooke’s stomach hit the floor of the elevator.

Oh. My. God. She clicked over to her Facebook profile and saw the link right there in black-and-white on her wall, generously shared with all five hundred and twenty-nine of her closest “friends.”

She’d favorited the damn “Ten Rules of Casual Sex.”

Thirteen

FORD HAD ACTUAL tears in his eyes.

He was laughing so hard, he could barely get the words out. “‘Brooke Parker shared a link. Ten Rules of Casual Sex,’” he said, repeating the update that he had received on his Facebook home page last night, along with her five hundred and twenty-eight other “friends.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s soooo funny.”

“I should thank you for the advice,” he said. “Because all along I’d only been spending seventy percent of my time naked when hooking up. Sounds like I need to start bare-assing it more often around the ladies.”

Brooke gestured with a French fry. “Just so I know, how long can I expect the comedy routine to go on?” They were halfway through their lunch already and there’d been no sign that things were letting up anytime soon.

“Oh, you’ll be hearing about this until we’re old and gray.” Ford went right back to it. “Brooke Parker wants everyone to know that you should never take a bath with a man unless you’re ready to take his last name. Showers only, girls!”

“That’s clever. Take a bath, take his name. I like how you strung that all together.” Brooke spread more mustard on her club sandwich. “You know, I didn’t actually write the stupid rules.”

“No, you just recommended them to everyone and their mother.”

Yes, she was painfully aware of that. “I told you already, I hit ‘cancel.’”

“All that means is that you posted the link without leaving a comment,” he informed her, most belatedly. “But you still needed to go in and delete it if you wanted to remove it from your wall.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tech Support. I realize that now.” Last night, as soon as she’d gotten out of the elevator, she’d taken down the article. Unfortunately, that hadn’t been soon enough, and her Facebook account had been hopping all night and morning. “Do you realize that I’ve gotten two hundred and thirty-seven friend requests since last night? All from men.” Because the lascivious schmoes on her page had naturally “liked” her status, which meant that all of their other lascivious schmoe friends could see her original link and wanted in on the action. “I’ve been asked out on more dates in the last eighteen hours than I have in the last eighteen years.”

“I can’t fathom why.”

She threw Ford a look when he started laughing again. “It really isn’t funny.”

“It really is.” He smiled at her glare. “If I break out a few bare-chested pictures of Ryan Gosling on my phone, will that help take the sting off?”

Brooke thought that over. “It might.”

“That was supposed to be sarcastic.” Ford picked up his cheeseburger. “Why were you reading about the rules of casual sex, anyway?”

“I’d planned to ask you for some advice, but when you didn’t pick up your cell I decided to kill some time on the Internet before a conference call.”

“Advice on what?” Ford gave her a sly look, putting it together. “Wait a second . . . Brooke Parker, are you having sex with somebody?”