Landon was so dead.

Nate Harper did his best to ignore the gawking pedestrians that lined the slushy sidewalks. Not that he blamed them; he’d have stared hard enough if it had been some other poor sap waddling through the business district like an oversized goose in a snorkel mask, flippers, and a full business suit, struggling to hold up the giant pool tube strapped around his middle.

So incredibly dead.

Any other day, he could imagine himself laughing when the scene was over, giving Landon bonus points for creativity, even texting a picture to Grayson to make him smile. But his jerk of a roommate had kicked the embarrassment factor up to eleven by choosing the biggest day of his professional career to call their “friendly” deal. At least the ridiculous flippers hadn’t dumped him in the slush—yet—but he’d seriously overestimated how fast he’d be able to walk in them, and his chances of getting into the Forsythe building without anyone but the receptionist noticing were quickly dwindling to nothing.

If he missed this appointment, Landon was worse than dead.

Sucking in a breath that tasted like foggy plastic, Nate forged ahead, keeping his eyes on the gleaming glass doors of the Forsythe building that finally loomed into view around the corner. He hiked the pool tube higher and shot a quick glance at his watch, panic surging in his chest as the numbers registered.

This wasn’t funny anymore. Not the least little bit.

Bouncing and flopping his way through the jostling crowd, he finally reached the steps, only to discover that the architect hadn’t designed them to accommodate a man in flippers. Inexcusable, really—if you were building a dolphin tank.

Nate turned sideways and shuffled up the steps, then folded his body like an acrobat to fit the tube into the revolving door. The pressure shot him out like a cannon on the other end, the flippers finally losing traction and landing him on his rear a good three feet down the polished marble floor.

Rising awkwardly to his feet with the hindrance of the flippers, Nate raised his head to find every eye in the spacious lobby trained on him, some of their owners still paused in the act of whatever they’d been doing when he burst onto the scene. With a fervent prayer that Oliver Rawson was not among them, he made a beeline for the men’s room and divested himself of the swim gear with record speed, slipping on the shoes he’d carried in a drawstring backpack and allowing himself one quick swipe at his hair and a violent shake of his jacket that he could only hope smoothed a few of the wrinkles. Then he squared his shoulders and reentered the lobby, approaching the blond woman waiting at the desk as though he were any normal businessman, not the source of the strangest aberration in the entire history of the Forsythe building.

“Nathan Harper. I have an appointment with Mr. Rawson.”

“Indeed you do.” Nate turned with a start to see a gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair and a silver-pinstriped suit, who most certainly had been standing just there when he’d made his grand entrance, motioning toward a plush conference room on the other end of the lobby. 

His shoes should have been comfortably familiar after the unwieldy flippers, but every step felt weighted with lead as Nate followed the older man into the room and took the indicated seat at the table. Oliver Rawson sat in the chair across from him and rested his arms on the polished surface, tilting his head just slightly in a manner that Nate took as his cue to proceed. Sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to force the rest of the morning from his mind, he plunged into the pitch he had so carefully prepared.

“Mr. Rawson, I believe my company’s services would be of great benefit to Forsythe, Rawson, and Caldwell in this new venture you intend to explore. While it’s true that we don’t have the experience of some in the space, you’ll find that our innovative approach and cutting-edge methods mean that we view problems from a fresh perspective and can often exploit angles that are overlooked by the more established players. And with our reduced overhead…”

Mr. Rawson allowed him to make it to the middle of his second paragraph before he lifted a hand.

“Very well, Mr. Harper; you’ve proved that you can keep your cool under pressure. I’ve read your pitch and seen your portfolio; it’s why you’re sitting here today. However, I don’t think we’ll make any real headway until we address the elephant—or was it a giant duck?—in the room.”

Nate swallowed hard as the heat began to creep up his neck.

“Yes, sir. That was—extremely unprofessional. I beg your pardon.”

“Part of your company’s ‘innovative approach’?”

“No, sir.” Panic welled as Nate realized for the first time just what this ridiculous stunt could mean to the reputation of his company and the prospects of the rest of his team. He fought the urge to squeeze the bridge of his nose, balling his hands into fists instead. “That had nothing to do with the company or this interview.” Nothing except that Landon had purposely timed it for maximum embarrassment, with no concern for what would happen to anyone else if their little start-up went down in flames. “It was a—a personal matter. A very badly advised deal I made with a friend.”

“A bet?”

“Of sorts. I don’t gamble, but—yes, the effect was the same. You’re familiar with the Sally Kuyper Bikeathon?”

“Of course. The firm sponsors it every year.”

“Yes, sir.” How could he have forgotten that? “Well, I challenged my roommate to a contest for who could raise the most money this year. Thought I had a good chance until the day of the ride, when I found out he used to race BMX in high school.” Of course Landon had purposely withheld that information. But Nate had contented himself with the thought that all the money had gone to a good cause. At least until today.

“And the loser had to…” Oliver Rawson’s expression was completely unreadable. Nate forced himself to keep his shoulders straight as he offered a stiff attempt at a smile.

“Wear a costume of the other’s choosing at a place and time of the other’s choosing, with no backing out for any reason.” Come to think of it, maybe Landon had been merciful, after a fashion. Just the thought of sitting in this meeting still wearing the mask and flippers, not to mention the plastic tube, was enough to make him break out in hives.

“Whose idea was this?”

“Mine, sir. Both the contest and the penalty, unfortunately.”

“I believe that’s called being hoist by your own petard.” The faintest glint of amusement seemed to light Mr. Rawson’s face for just an instant. “Well, Mr. Harper, what would the conditions have been for your poor friend, had he not had the good fortune to race BMX in high school?”

Nate bit his lips together and blinked hard as he focused his eyes out the window, trying not to dwell on the picture of Grayson’s wasted little face.

“I have a—a cousin in the cancer ward. That’s why I do the bikeathon every year. It sounds ridiculous, but—well, my roommate could double for Superman—at least in the latest movies—and Gray’s got a serious superhero obsession. It would make the kid’s whole life, but Landon can’t stand the resemblance and won’t do it without some kind of a major shove. This was the closest I’ve come—so far.”

“Do I judge that you don’t intend to let it go, then?”

Forgetting himself for an instant, Nate snorted.

“After today? He’s going down so hard…” He caught himself and snapped back to the present as Mr. Rawson rose from the table.

“I believe I’ve seen everything I need to, Mr. Harper. I won’t waste any more of your time.”

He should have known better than to come. He should have just kept walking in those ridiculous flippers, waddled right past the door without looking back. It would have been better than embarrassing his whole company this way.

“Can you have a contract on my desk next week?”

The words cut jarringly into the apology Nate was composing for the amazing team that had taken a chance on him, the team he had just let down in the worst way imaginable.

“Sir?”

“We’d like to get this venture off the ground as quickly as possible, and of course our legal team will need some time to look things over. How quickly can you get us a contract?”

“I—” Sylvia could have the contract written up tomorrow, but the words clogged in his throat. “Do you mean—” He had to pull himself together. Act like a professional. Not botch this any more than he already had. But what on earth? “We can—you’ll have it by next week, yes, sir.” 

“Good.” Oliver Rawson crossed to the door and put his hand on the knob, then glanced over at Nate. This time there was no mistaking the twinkle in his eye. “Any questions for me, Mr. Harper?”

“We didn’t even discuss—the project.”

“As I said, I’ve seen your ideas. I don’t deny that they’re impressive, or that they have a certain spark that sets them apart from most of the other applicants. But what I wanted out of today was a sense of your character—to know that your values fit the standard Forsythe, Rawson, and Caldwell has always striven to uphold.”

“But shouldn’t you ask me—those questions?”

“I don’t see why. From what I’ve learned here, you’re a man who takes pride in his work, stands true to his word, and doesn’t retreat in the face of a serious setback. You’re creative, tenacious, loyal, and honest, not to mention civic-minded, all without taking yourself too seriously. And may I assume that you’ve learned your lesson about open-ended agreements?”

“Absolutely.” Nate tried not to choke on the lump in his throat, and the smile in Mr. Rawson’s eyes tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Then I don’t see anything more to ask, do you? Have the contract on my desk next week.”

Oliver Rawson strode out the door, leaving Nate standing speechless in the empty conference room. Was it somehow remotely possible that God had just used the greatest embarrassment of his life to land him the deal of his dreams? Swallowing hard, Nate straightened his tie and retraced his steps to where he’d left the bits of his costume. Odd that no one had stolen them—if it were a public pool.

Stuffing the mask and flippers into the backpack as best he could, Nate slung it over his shoulders and picked up the tube. As he strode back through the lobby, snickers wafted his way from the reception desk, and when he glanced back, the blonde quickly hid her face behind a folder.

Landon was still so dead.