My neck ached, and there was a very persistent, very annoying buzz coming about six inches from my left ear.

I groaned and rolled over, wondering when my bed had gotten so uncomfortable.

Groping for the phone, said source of annoying, persistent buzzing, I blindly swiped my finger across the screen. “Hello?”

“Are you okay?” Seraphina’s voice was concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “I was just tired so . . .” My words trailed off as my eyes adjusted to the dark room.

This could not be happening.

“I’m sorry!” Sera said. “It’s just that I got home and saw your lights were off. I didn’t realize you were sleeping. Go back to bed and call me later.”

She hung up before I could say anything in reply.

Which was a good thing, because the fact that I’d fallen asleep after puking my guts out in the company conference room on my first day of work was a fact that was not going to be spoken about until I died.

I banged the back of my head against the floor then whimpered when the sore spot connected with the hard surface.

“This literally cannot be happening,” I moaned, pushing to my feet. My shoes were lined up like a pair of perfect soldiers next to the trash can, both of which had been moved closer to the door.

I started for them and almost ate shit as a jacket I hadn’t felt draped around me, slipped to my feet.

It was a man’s jacket. Jordan’s. I knew that because it smelled like him. Not like that terrible deodorant, but like Jordan the man. Slightly spicy and with a hint of salt. There was nothing sour about it when I brought it to my nose and sniffed.

And now I was randomly sniffing objects that belonged to my baby daddy.

Psycho, much?

I gathered up my notebook, cell, and pen, all of which were piled nicely by where I’d been laying.

I felt a wave of embarrassment flow through me. Not only because Jordan had seen me puke again, but also because everything my father said was proving to be true.

The weaker sex. Unable to hack it in a corporate world. Pathetic.

If he could only see me now, I thought sarcastically.

There was no way I still had a job after this.

Bending over, I grabbed Jordan’s jacket and then walked to the door to snag my shoes.

I’d write my letter of resignation and email it to Heather.

I sighed. Not even one full day on the job before I’d screwed up. Classic.

Jacket draped over my arm, notebook, pen, cell, and shoes gathered in my hands, I struggled to open the door.

After a moment, it pushed inward a couple of inches.

My stomach dropped, all hope of slinking out unnoticed vanishing.

“Hey,” Jordan said.

I hooked an elbow in the door and opened it all the way. “Hey.” I couldn’t even meet his eyes, I was so embarrassed.

I slipped out into the hall and hurried to my office, flicking on the light as I did so.

Quickly, I dropped my things onto my desk, shoved my feet into my shoes, and picked up my jacket. I was just thrusting my arms into it when I heard Jordan’s voice.

“Are you okay?”

I dropped my head back. Why couldn’t the man let me wallow in peace? I was beyond embarrassed. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I wanted—

To be left alone.

Instead of saying any of those things, I forced a smile, finished buttoning my coat, and grabbed my purse. “I’m just peachy.”

“Abby . . .”

So what if my throat felt tight? So what if my eyes burned? I was just fine, dammit.

I sniffed, closed my eyes hard, and lost the battle with tears.

They poured down my cheeks in hot tracks and I quickly turned around, not wanting Jordan to see. Everything else was awful enough. This was just that extra cherry on the sundae he didn’t need to see.

Chin to my chest, my foot tapping on the floor in pretend irritation—because it was actually tapping in my-feet-really-fucking-hurt-and-it’s-still-not-as-painful-as-the-ache-in-my-heart—I said, “I’m totally fine. You just go ahead.”

Okay, that sounded watery. But, hell if it was all I had in me.

“Dammit!”

I jumped, whirling around.

Jordan was five feet away from me, his hands at his sides and clenched into fists. “I want to hold you but I can’t because I make you puke!”

I laughed.

Because of the absurdity of the situation. Because it was better than crying. Because I couldn’t do anything else.

I laughed until my stomach hurt and I slid to the ground. I laughed until Jordan started laughing too. And finally, I laughed until he sank to the floor across from me, safe-smelling distance away.

“If you just changed deodorants—”

His smile took my breath away.

Suddenly, I couldn’t look at him. My eyes drifted from the window to my desk, to my feet . . . back to Jordan.

“Hi,” he said softly.

“H-hi.” Oh, my God, I was such a dork. My voice was shaking and my fingers were trembling. I felt like we were on the precipice of something huge and I couldn’t decide if it was good or bad.

“Can we maybe try to start over?”

My thumbnail had a chip in the red polish adorning it. Actually, my pinky did too. I needed to redo all of them. Maybe in blue? No. That wasn’t really office-y. I could do silver sparkles. That would be pretty and just in time for Christmas. I—

“Abby?”

I straightened my shoulders, forced my gaze to his. “I’m not sure how to do this,” I admitted. “We haven’t exactly had the best start.”

“I know,” Jordan said, “and it’s my fault.”

“Not going to disagree with you there,” I muttered.

He laughed but then went sober. “Can I tell you something? I think it might help make sense of everything. Not that it’s an excuse, but just . . .”

I studied him as he trailed off. “Give some clarification?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“I—” He stopped. “It’s just that—” A shake of his head. “Damn, this was easier in my mind.”

My heart started beating faster. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was uncomfortable or because what he was about to share was something big. I just knew that he looked nervous and I felt for him. “I know the feeling.” He glanced up. “Of things making more sense in my mind than in real life.”

He tilted his head to the side, eyes piercing as they locked on mine. “I don’t know how I ever thought that you could be like them.”

I picked at the hem of my skirt. “Like who?”

He grimaced. “Like the women I grew up with. No,” he said when I frowned. “Like the girls my father slept with after my mother died.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize you’d lost—”

“It was a long time ago and it’s not important.”

“Well, it’s clearly important.” I crossed my arms. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

Jordan smiled again, this time not the take-my-breath-away version, but a sadder, smaller one. I didn’t like it.

“You’re right,” he said. “It is important. My mom was the glue that held my family together.”

“How many of you are there?”

“There were four of us. Now there are two.”

My brows drew down. I knew Jordan’s dad was still alive and Heather had called him brother. Maybe that was a nickname?

“I see you’re mentally calculating,” he said. “There were four of us before she died. My mom and dad, Zach—who was two years older—and me. After my mom . . .” His eyes dimmed, blue becoming icy cold with sadness. “Well, my dad’s drug of choice to forget was women. It got worse when Zach died five years ago.”

“How old were you when your mom . . . ?”

“Eleven.” He rolled his eyes. “Zach was sixteen. Both of us saw the never-ending parade of women—of girls, really, they were barely legal—coming through the house.”

My stomach twisted itself in knots, my heart absolutely ached for the little boys who’d lost their mother and then, for all intents and purposes, their father as well.

“I’m so sorry.”

Jordan shrugged. “It was what it was. I stopped blaming my father for it a long time ago. And I got some pretty cool half-siblings out of it.”

“How many?”

“Six. Well, seven, including Heather.” A pause. “You’re doing that mental calculating thing again.”

I froze. “What?”

“When you think really hard, these pull together.” He scooted a little closer, near enough to reach up and brush the skin between my eyebrows before dropping his arm and sliding back. “Okay?”

I sighed, still able to feel the brush of his fingers on my forehead. The skin was warm, marked by his touch. “Yes,” I said, breathless, and felt my cheeks heat.

“I like touching you.”

I ignored that, wanting to lighten the mood instead. I liked it when he was on the spot, not when his focus on me. “Lovely,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just thinking is going to give me wrinkles.”

“I can smell the smoke,” he said.

I snorted.

“Not to mention, it’s cute. You’re cute. Well, you’re beyond beautiful, but then you make a joke about yourself or start talking about marketing and design and my breath catches. You’re so much more than the outside.”

That was the dream, right?

For someone to see me as more than just the sum of my parts. For someone to see inside my heart and decide that I was worthy of being loved.

God, I was so fucked up.

Not a shocker, given my past. But instead of focusing on the uncomfortable feelings blooming inside my brain and body, I concentrated on Jordan.

Why was he doing this?

Did he really want to start over?

Realistically, I wasn’t sure I could. I’d seen so many versions of Jordan at this point that I wasn’t certain which was the real one. How could I reconcile the kind, thoughtful man in front of me with the jerk surrounded by suits in my apartment?

How could I trust that he wouldn’t change right back?

“You’re doing it again.”

I reached up, felt my wrinkled brows, and relaxed my forehead. “I don’t know if I can start over.”

He grimaced. “I understand. I’ll leave you alone.”

But despite our words, neither of us moved.

I stayed still, watching him watch me and decided that while I couldn’t be certain he wouldn’t revert back to asshole Jordan 2.0, I was also quite certain that I was willing to take the chance.

“Heather doesn’t look younger than you,” I said, and it was a question even if it wasn’t phrased as such.

“She isn’t.”

“Then—”

“She’s six years older.”

I frowned and felt it that time. Dammit, I did do that a lot.

“My father was with her mother before mine. We didn’t find out about each other until her mother died when she was eighteen.”

I whistled. “I bet that was dramatic.”

Jordan’s lips twitched. “Considering she crashed a dinner my father was throwing for his shareholders, yes. It was quite the moment. Though”—he shrugged—“she was the third half-sibling that I had found out about, so not much surprised me at that point.”

“Still must have been hard.”

“Everyone has their own challenges. My father’s is, apparently, wrapping his tool.”

“Gross,” I said, laughing.

“Yeah, tell me about it. My father’s youngest is four years old. The man is sixty.” He shuddered.

“I bet he gets a lot of grandpa comments.”

A smile. “Like you wouldn’t believe. But I think it’s well deserved. His last mistress—he doesn’t even bother getting married anymore—was younger than me.”

“Yikes.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” He sighed and pushed to his feet. “Well, that’s enough about me. It was a dick move to assume that you’d be like them. I’ve seen the custody, alimony, child support thing pan out a half dozen times now.” He raised one palm. “Not an excuse. There was no excuse for my behavior. Just an explanation.”

I nodded.

“I’ll wait for you in the hall. Walk you to your car, if that’s okay? I’d feel better knowing you were—”

“My parents are still married,” I blurted.

He stopped, hands at his sides, and stared at me.

“I haven’t seen my father since last Christmas.” I swallowed. “As for my mother, I haven’t seen her in fifteen years.”