PUTTING DOWN HER MUG, ÍSA plucked out the note tucked into the soil. It proved to be a small envelope. The envelope was homemade… Very badly homemade.

It was like he’d never been near a Crafty Corners store in his life.

Lips curving, she tore open the well-glued and duct-taped miniature envelope to withdraw a piece of notepaper that had been folded multiple times. Inside, she found a message written in neat writing with generous loops. It said: I have spike-resistant gloves. Just FYI.

Ísa couldn’t help her smile.

Even though Sailor Bishop was a big, sexy distraction from her goals, a charming man who was threatening to derail all her carefully laid plans.

And why exactly was she even thinking about this?

She had work to do, blackmail to pay, playful men with blue eyes to forget.

---

SAILOR WASN’T SURPRISED NOT TO hear from his redhead. Whose name, he’d discovered, was Ísalind Rain. Unique and exotic and as pretty as her. Well, Ísalind could be stubborn all she liked. Sailor could out-stubborn a goat.

And he was still in stage one.

“You’re not getting away this time,” he murmured as he hefted a bag of soil… and thought about lifting Ísa up to his mouth for a kiss so deep it was sex. She was gloriously, lusciously naked in his fantasy—the end goal of Operation Catch the Redhead.

He was adding fine details to the fantasy when his phone chimed with an incoming message. It turned out to be from Jacqueline’s assistant—she was confirming the meeting he had later today with one of Jacqueline’s people. It was, he saw, to be their VP.

The name beside the title made him blink… and then begin to cheerfully whistle. His day had just gotten monumentally better.

---

ÍSA MANAGED TO FORGET ABOUT the cactus for the next few hours; okay, she was lying through her teeth—she never forgot it, but she managed to ignore it for long enough to get the work done. It was two hours after lunch when her cell phone chimed with a rock ’n’ roll ringtone from the eighties.

“Catiebug,” Ísa said with a smile. “What are you up to today?”

“We ran out of money,” her thirteen-year-old sister muttered. “Dad got hold of my bank passbook. It’s like he’s one of those money-sniffing dogs they have at the airport.”

That, Ísa thought, was giving those hardworking dogs a bad name. “He cleaned you out?”

“Yeah. The electricity company just called to say they’ll be cutting us off if we don’t pay the bill in the next week.”

Ísa wanted to drive down to Hamilton and punch Clive in the face. How could he do that to his own daughter? And how could Jacqueline allow it to happen? She should’ve fought for custody of Catie—Clive was a lovely father at times and a clearly incompetent idiot the rest of it. But Jacqueline’s choice was hardly surprising; she hadn’t even fought for custody of Ísa, her first born with the “killer” instincts.

“It’s all right, Catie,” Ísa said through her fury. “How much do you need to pay off the current bills?” She wrote down the number on a piece of notepaper.

It wasn’t too bad.

The real damage was to Catie’s account. “Did he take the money I gave you to use for movies, manicures, and mayhem over the summer?” No teenage girl should have to be stuck at home during her summer vacation; Ísa had made sure Catie understood she could and should spend the gift money for fun.

“Yes,” Catie admitted. “I don’t know why the bank let him have it. You’re meant to be the only person other than me who can sign for the money.”

“I’ll talk to the bank myself.” Ísa had already specifically discussed the financial setup with the bank, but Clive was Catie’s legal guardian. He had the papers to prove it, and he took full advantage of those papers. “For now I’m going to transfer the money you need, fun money included, into Martha’s account.” The former nurse was Catie’s live-in helper and utterly trustworthy. “Take the cash she gives you and hide it in your underwear drawer.” Even Clive wouldn’t stoop to searching his teenage daughter’s underwear drawer.

“I know you don’t have that much money, Ísa,” Catie began.

“I’m a millionaire,” Ísa pointed out dryly, her fingers playing with the tops of the fuzzy round cactus Sailor had brought her. “It’s fine, Catiebug. I’ll take the money from the shared-income account.” Ísa never touched that money for herself as a matter of principle—she wasn’t going to use Jacqueline’s money when she didn’t want to work in Jacqueline’s company, but she had no qualms about accessing it for Catie.

Catie began to cry down the line, the break sudden, as if she’d been holding the tears within until something snapped. “I’m so sorry, Ísa. I let you down.”

Heart twisting at hearing her usually sparky little sister be so down, Ísa spoke in a firm tone. “You have nothing to apologize for. And if it makes you feel better, we all have our moments of weakness—look at me, I’m currently sitting in the vice president’s office waiting for the Dragon to come in and breathe fire at my face.”

Wet laughter. “So, are you enjoying being a highflier?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Her dry tone made her sister laugh again, and this time it was less wet and more Catie.

“You stay strong, okay?” Ísa said. “And you go to the physical therapy sessions for your balance. If anything else happens, don’t try to hide it from me. I’ll always have your back.” As she’d dreamed of someone having hers when she’d been Catie’s age.

Catie blew a breath down the line. “That was me blowing you a kiss, Issie. You’re my favorite person in all the world. Don’t tell Harlow though—he gets kind of jealous sometimes I think. And squish him for me. He’s so excited about this internship.”

Smiling, Ísa put down the phone after saying bye to Catie. Only to look up and find her brother hovering in the doorway. “Harlow!” She got up at once and went around to hug her tall and lanky brother. “How’s your first day going?”

“Awesome!” His excited eyes were dark and sharply slanted behind his wire-rimmed spectacles, his black hair slick straight and cut with ruthless neatness. Catie always moaned about how Harlow got the razor-blade cheekbones when he didn’t even care about them and she got soft, rounded features that weren’t yet adult.

“So,” Ísa said to the sibling she’d first met when she was twenty-three and Harlow was twelve, “what do they have you doing?”

“Mailroom.” A roll of his eyes. “Apparently, it’s where all the interns start. So here’s your mail—Ginny said I could do a personal delivery this time.”

Accepting it with a laugh, Ísa kissed him on the cheek—though he looked around to make sure no one was watching before he’d bent down so she could reach. Then she waved him off to continue his rounds and went through the business mail. Nothing much.

A notation popped up on her phone calendar as she was scanning an invitation to an open house at another company: Meeting at Fast Organic #1. It was for a meeting set thirty minutes into the future, giving her just enough time to get to the location.

Grabbing her satchel, she put her laptop and a notepad into it before walking out. “Ginny, do you know what this meeting at Fast Organic is about?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. It’s with someone your mother hired to do… I think it was interior decorating? Annalisa handled it to help me out.” Ginny bit down on her lower lip. “I’m so sorry, I was so flustered when Jacqueline promoted me to assistant to the vice president, and then she was throwing all this information at me—”

“That’s fine,” Ísa said, knowing exactly how overwhelming Jacqueline could be. “I’ve been through all the files—I can handle this.” No doubt her mother had hired an individual who was in tune with the needs of the restaurant. If not, Ísa had a very good grasp of the intended look and could nudge the designer in the correct direction. “What else is on my calendar today?”

Ginny took a quick look. “I’ve got a note here that you teach night classes on Tuesdays, so I’ve made sure not to schedule anything after three thirty for you.”

“Excellent.” Ísa glanced at her watch. “I won’t return to the office after the meeting—but if anything comes up, you have my number.”

“Okay, boss,” Ginny said brightly. “You make a really great vice president!” the brunette called out a minute later as Ísa headed down the corridor.

Ísa just waved behind her. It didn’t matter if she was good at it; she didn’t love it in the least. Not like she loved the poetry of William Butler Yeats and Percy Bysshe Shelley and Elizabeth Barrett Browning as well as the works of innovative modern poets like Nikita Gill. Not like she loved sharing the joy of those works with young minds. For her, the VP position was just a job. A job she’d been blackmailed into taking.

“Only for the summer.” Leaving the colorful environs of Crafty Corners on that quiet reminder to herself, she got into her car.

She was mentally reviewing the concept plans for the Fast Organic stores when she turned in to the parking lot of the first location. Her eyes widened, her mouth going dry as her heart pulsated with a hard beat.

“Oh, Ginny.” She groaned as she brought the car to a stop next to Sailor’s truck. “It wasn’t interior decorating but exterior decorating.”

And there he was, crouching in one corner of the parking lot as he measured something. His thighs were strong and thick and really impossible to avoid staring at, given how he was crouching down. She could also see part of the tattoo composed of intricate shapes and lines on his left thigh, and it made her want to run her fingers over it… Maybe her lips too, if she were being honest.

No, Ísa, she told herself sternly. There are many, many reasons why he is very, very wrong for you.

Even if she was willing to be stupid and forget all those other reasons, Sailor Bishop struck her as a charmer—and Ísa had seen firsthand what happened to women who fell for charmers. It never ended well for the woman.

Not even Jacqueline had managed to hold on to her favorite charmer—Ísa’s father.

There was a reason Jacqueline was now in a happy marriage with a professor twelve years her senior who couldn’t charm to save his life. He and Jacqueline had a quiet joy between them that Ísa coveted.

Meanwhile, Stefán kept on charming women and racking up the young brides.

There was a lesson there in glaring neon.

But…, the devil in her whispered, not for the first time, while you’re waiting to find your forever, how about some naughty times in the back of Sailor Bishop’s truck?

Telling Devil Ísa to shut up and that the debate was over, Ísa got out and crossed the parking lot to Sailor, her satchel banging against her hip. He looked up with a smile at her approach.

Blue heat in those eyes, open male admiration.

“So,” she said, “you’re going to be our landscaper, are you?” She folded her arms and tried desperately to think of something nasty to say that would make him stop trying to charm her—because Ísa wasn’t so sure about her own self-control where this man was concerned. “What a big surprise.”

Dark clouds swept across his expression. “I don’t need to sleep with anyone to get work contracts, spitfire.” A slow grin. “Though I am flattered that you think I can use my body to climb my way to the top.”

Cheeks threatening to go hot, Ísa said, “Let’s get this over with. What’s your plan?” Jacqueline had given her the basic outline, but that was it.

“All the plans are in the truck,” he said, nudging his head that way as he rose to his feet. “Did you get the gift I left for you with the front desk?”

Ísa was about to answer when her eyes fell to his knuckles. They were red and scraped. As if he’d punched someone in the jaw. “You hit Cody,” she said, the words coming out a stunned whisper.

Even though she’d suspected, she hadn’t really believed it.

A shrug of those big shoulders. “Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because it needed to be done.” His hand cupping her jaw, the pad of his thumb brushing across her lips—and his eyes steely in a way that kept startling her. “I should’ve done it that night, but I never went back into the warehouse after I ran out behind you.”

As if that was enough. As if men went around punching other men all the time for the simple reason that they’d once badly hurt a woman.

He stepped closer, the heat of his body a rough caress and his smile like sunlight on her skin. “You planning to kiss my knuckles better?”

That scary, beautiful charm again.

Like melted chocolate and sin and all things just a little bit bad.