I need to have my head examined. Asher Thompson is hard as a rock and I'm moments away from giving him the ride of his life and what do I do? I glance at my phone. In my defense, when my phone dings, I look at it.

I've already decided to ignore it, for obvious reasons, before I see the name.

Fiona Havenscroft.

Shock has me freezing as I stare at the screen. There are few names in my contact list that could cause a bodily reaction. Hers is one of them. As the owner and manager of Haven, one of the most exclusive boutique hotels in New York City, she could make or break an event organizer’s career with a snap of her fingers. I'm reaching for my phone and answering before I even think about where I am, what I'm about to do and who I'm with.

“Fiona?”

Asher squints up at me.

Oh crap, Asher.

“Paige, thank God. I need you. How soon can you be here?”

I blink down at Asher. There? As in New York?

“I'm in New Hampshire. What's going on?”

“A complete fucking nightmare is what’s going on. Bentley eloped with a fucking sheik and quit without notice. We’re fully booked with events and no one has a fucking clue what they're doing. I thought his assistant Marge could handle things until I replaced him but she’s an idiot. You owe me one and I'm calling that debt in. I need you here yesterday.”

I shake my head, replaying her words, words that quite possibly could have saved my business if they had only come months sooner.

“Is everything okay?” Asher asks and my eyes which had gone unfocused, snap to his.

I nod and his grip loosens on my hips. This is crazy. I am crazy. Why did I answer my phone? She was telling the truth when she said I owed her. Fiona is the reason I left New York broke instead of thousands of dollars in debt.

The last event I planned before my business went completely belly up was held at Haven. The deposit was paid but I couldn’t pay the remainder. This wasn’t a small event and given the amount I owed her, she could have easily sued me. Instead, Fiona cut me a break and told me I could owe her one. Seems like it's time for me to pay up.

“I'll make it worth your while if you can be here in the next twenty-four hours.”

Damn, she really must be desperate if she's going to actually pay me.

My stomach flips and I ask, “How much are we talking?”

She doesn't make me wait for her answer. “One hundred thousand.”

That might sound like a lot of money but it wasn’t unheard of for a single event at Haven to cost five times that. With multiple spaces in the hotel to book for events, it was common knowledge Bentley made six figures weekly.

“For how long?” I blurt.

“Three weeks.”

Three weeks for a hundred grand?

“If I leave now I can be there tonight,” I reply.

“I'll comp you a room while you're here. The front desk has your name.”

There's a click as she ends the call without waiting for me to reply.

The front desk has your name. I guess she was certain I wasn't going to turn down her offer. But, Fiona isn't used to hearing the word no.

She came to New York to be a fashion model. Once she saw how much money and power could be had by managing an elite hotel, she changed her focus. Now, in her forties and still just as stunningly beautiful, she doesn't have to worry about lost income if or when her looks ever fade.

She is easily one of the most powerful women in New York. Haven isn't the only property she owns, just the only one she personally manages.

She also owns two exclusive restaurants, a day spa overlooking the Hudson, and three other boutique hotels in the city.

In a daze, I slide off Asher, my mind a million, or more accurately, two hundred and fifty miles away. In my wildest dreams even I couldn't have imagined a comeback like this. There isn't an event organizer in the city who wouldn't sell off family members for a chance to work at Haven.

I grab my things, leaving my towel since Asher is still half on it.

Asher.

Shit.

My gaze moves to him. He's sitting, his arms behind him, bracing him.

“You can be where tonight?” he asks.

His eyes no longer hold the heat that scorched me from the inside out, his expression now guarded and weary.

Bunching my things under one arm, I drop to my knees beside him. “Someone I worked for in New York is calling in a favor. She’s not the type of person who asks for help so the fact that she did means things are a mess.”

Coming closer, he cups my face. “I'll help you pack.”

He’ll help me pack?

We were minutes away from having sex and he can flip back to normal like nothing?

“You're not upset?” I ask.

His thumb caresses the apple of my cheek. “I’ll only be upset if you don't come back.”

Just like that I'm ready to go again. “Maybe if we go fast--”

A slow sexy smile spreads across his face. A smile so hot it feels like someone reached inside me and zapped my ovaries.

“Paige, we aren't going to rush this.”

I nod. “Right.”

“Not our first time anyway,” he adds, making me shiver.

We gather up our things and walk hand in hand to my cabin.

“I'm a jerk for bailing on this place so soon,” I say when we reach it.

“This cabin isn't going anywhere.”

What he means is he isn't going anywhere either, or at least that's what I hope he means. He goes back to his place to shower while I do the same here. I can't help but kick myself for waiting, and curse the universe for Fiona’s bad timing. Asher could be banging the hell out of me right now if she hadn't called.

Is there a female equivalent to blue balls? Maybe woeful vagina, or dismal cooter? Either way, I have the worst case of blue lady balls ever.

I wonder what he's feeling like right now but, there's no way I'm asking.

There's a knock at my door, which makes me smile to myself. It's endearing how respectful he is. This is his place. Jeez, my mom would walk in on me sitting on the toilet even though she knew I was in there.

“Come in,” I reply.

His hair is wet, and combed back and I can't decide what I like more, his hair wet from the lake and going every which way, or his hair slicked back like now.

“What can I do?” he asks.

“Keep me company,” I reply.

And, he does just that. Not only that, he holds my hand while I call Dana and then Malcolm to let them both know what is going on. Dana took it better than I thought she would, Malcolm, not so much. He made no promises my job would still be here when I get back.

Thing is, if I succeed, I won't need to work for either of them. My paying for groceries for Asher as rent is a joke it's so low and, with what Fiona said she'd pay me, I could pay him in advance for life.

Then he makes good on what he said and helps me pack by standing next to my bag and catching the things I throw at him. He sucks at folding, but given the shape his room was in when we met, I already knew this. Still, he somewhat folds them before setting them into my bag.

When I toss underwear at him, he takes three times as long to fold and pack them.

“Enjoying yourself?” I joke.

He presses a pair of my panties to his chest and makes a point to methodically fold them.

“I take my work seriously.” He grins.

For some reason, I need to hold myself upright. Not at his words but at him, all of him and the realization of just how much I'm going to miss him. If I didn't owe Fiona as much as I do, I would wonder if going to New York was a giant mistake.

“Are you going to drive there?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I was going to take the train. I don't need a car in the city and don't want to figure out parking for it while I'm there.”

“I can drive you,” he offers.

I hold up my hand. “Absolutely not. It’s already going to suck to say goodbye to you. We are not going to drag it out on a five-hour drive. Besides, I like you too much to make you drive all that way.”

He cocks his head to the side and gives me a smile that makes me want to unpack my bag this second. “You like me?”

“Shut up Asher.”

At that, he grins.

I walk into the bathroom to grab the rest of what I'll need.

When I walk out, I pass him my toiletry bag. “Zip ‘er up, please.”

He does, then ignoring the fact it has wheels, picks it up by the handle and carries it not to my new to me truck, but to his Cherokee.

“I told you I'm taking the train,” I say, following him.

“And I'm taking you to the train station,” he replies.

Why do I want to cry? “Okay.”

Once we hit the road, he surprises me by reaching across the console to hold my hand. “You should call your mom.”

Of course he would think of that. “I’ll call her once I’m on the train.”

His thumb brushes across my skin. Quietly, I tilt my face towards my window, not wanting him to see me blush. We were about to have sex and I didn't blush, but him holding my hand is making me?

God, I have issues.

“Have you checked the train schedules?” he asks along the way.

“There's always a train to New York,” I reply without thinking.

I can't even remember how many times I've said those words, or thought them. It galvanized me to move there. It was as much truth as it was a mindset. If there's always a train headed to New York, there's always a reason to be on that train. To me, it said that was the place to be.

“There's always a train home too,” Asher replies.

I suck in a breath.

“Is this a mistake?” I turn to look at him, and add, “My going?”

“You said you owed this woman. Go, settle up and come back here without the weight of that debt on you.”

I squeeze his hand and look out the windshield. It's crazy how much things have changed. This is an opportunity I would have killed for months ago and now I'm dreading it.

The closest train station to us is an hour away, in Brunswick. “Are you going to go back to being a hermit when I'm gone?”

It's part joke and more curiosity that has me asking.

He hums, then says, “There has to be a reason more than my own desire to stay, for me to leave.”

“And that was me?” I ask, only to stroke my ego.

His thumb eases across my knuckles and he replies, “Not going to sit in the parking lot of a bar night after night for nothing.”

“But you didn't even like me,” I say.

“You're right. I can't explain why. I just know that I cared enough to want to make sure you were safe.”

“I'm going to spend the rest of this drive trying to remember how bad you were about picking up after yourself.”

That earns me a glance. “Why would you do that?”

“It’ll be easier if I remind myself that you're not perfect.”

He squeezes my hand. “All my dirty clothes go in my hamper now.”

“Shhh,” I reply. “You're not helping.”

At that, he laughs.

When we get to the station, he stays beside me, hand on the handle of my bag as I buy my ticket. Once I have it, we walk out to the platform together.

“This sucks,” I say, making him chuckle.

He wraps me tight within his arms. “You said it'll take three weeks. It sucks, yeah, but three weeks isn't long.”

The whistle blows to signal the approach of my train. I turn my face toward it and frown, not ready to go. Just my luck that I don’t have to wait for a train the one time I want to.

“You're right.”

“Don't think about leaving. Instead, think about coming back to me.”

I tip my face back to look up at him. “I can do that.”

Holding my chin, he lowers his mouth to mine.

As the train slows to a stop, he kisses me sweetly. It's a kiss so sweet; I tuck the memory of it away to help get me through the next twenty-one days.

“Your train’s here,” he says, pointing out the obvious with a smirk.

I reach for my suitcase but he gets to it first, lifting it and carrying it for me to where I need to board.

He steps onto the steps to give me one last kiss. Grabbing the handle of my suitcase, I hurry to find a window seat. Knocking on the window as soon as I sit, Asher looks my way.

He shoves one hand into his pocket and lifts the other. I lift mine as well and hold it up until he's out of sight, then, I press it to my chest. Beneath it, my heart beats wildly, as if it were trying to escape the cage of my ribs to get back to him.

Never, not once, has a separation from someone ever been this hard.

“You can do this,” I remind myself.

I'm not talking about the work ahead of me. If there's one thing I know I can do, it's kick some serious event planning ass.

Hopefully I won't be a love-sick puppy pining after Asher the whole time.

Pushing Asher from my mind, at least for the moment, I focus on the one thing I couldn't do in front of him.

I call my mom.

She answers right away. “Hello?”

I glance around the car I'm in, relieved to see it's mainly empty, and the only other passengers on it are sitting at the other end. “Hey mom, how are you?”

“Paige, how are you settling in? Is Asher there? Are you working on Saturday? When I stop by with Asher’s things we can have lunch.”

Yeah, this call isn’t going to go well at all.

“That's, um, why I called you. See, I'm on a train back to the city right now. There's something I need to take care of there so I'm going to be gone for a few weeks.”

Her gasp is audible before she asks, “What does Asher think of all of this?”

My fingers tense on the armrest of my seat. “Mom.”

She doesn't give me a chance to get out anything else. “He fixed that cabin up for you, and how do you thank him? What could possibly be so important in New York?”

“Asher understands. He knows there's a good reason why I'm leaving. He even drove me to the train station,” I hurriedly explain.

I take it as a good sign that she doesn't say anything. Honestly, I figured she'd be yelling at me.

“Don't screw this up Paige.”

My eyes close at that. It's still a surprise the pain her words can inflect. I guess I deserve it, I have been a major fuck up for most of my life. Though, would it kill her to have just a smidgen of faith in me?

I let out a sigh and then say, “I don't plan to.”

Our call doesn't get much better and we eventually end on an unsure note. It could be worse, I suppose. She could be pissed at me instead of disappointed in me. I'm mentally exhausted afterward and the rest of my train ride goes by in a blur.

It's late and dark outside by the time I arrive. Good thing New York never sleeps. I take a cab from Grand Central to Haven and, as promised, there's a room waiting for me.

When Haven said she'd have a room ready for me, I had not anticipated it would be an upper floor suite with one of the better city views. For her to set this room aside for three weeks, on top of what she's paying me to be here is staggering. Though, the fee to rent Haven’s ballroom for a day is twenty thousand dollars, and that's before any catering or entertaining costs.

Even though it’s late, once I'm in my room I unpack my things and shower. Fiona would not have called if she weren't in a bind. I'm not going to rest until I see how big this mess is.

While I lived in New Hampshire, I let my usual city style slack. It seemed pointless to spend ten minutes shaping and filling my brows when I had to be up at the crack of dawn. Besides, no one there cared.

Brow pencil in hand, I hesitate at the mirror. Before, I wouldn't be caught dead without a full face of makeup.

Now, I'm not sure I care.

Setting my pencil down, I opt for a tinted moisturizer instead. Unable to go cold turkey on no makeup in the city, I swipe on some red lipstick.

With my black slacks and tank, it works. Tugging on a pair of heeled sandals, I grab a red clutch and head for the lobby.

Giselle, the front desk clerk who checked me in, waves me back behind the counter. There's a series of offices feeding from a gorgeous frosted glass doorway. For something as simple as a doorway to offices, it is a beautiful piece of art.

There's an event in full swing tonight. If there's anything wrong with it, it's too late for me to step in. Still, since I'm here and Giselle knows it, if disaster does strike, I'll try my best to work a miracle. As I look at the jam packed event calendar, my nerves begin to fray.

What I'm more worried about is any events, not being organized by an outside planner. I’ll get to those events, based on how involved Haven is outside of providing the space. Until then, I need to prioritize the events where Haven is involved in all aspects.

What I quickly learn is Bentley was shit at keeping records.

When Fiona quoted how much she’d pay me to fill in while Bentley is gone, I knew things wouldn't be good. What I now know is they're even worse than what I feared.