Lainey sat at her desk, frozen in place for nearly thirty minutes until she realized that she either had to get moving or she’d lose her mind worrying. Worrying about Owen, she admitted to herself, as her face flushed with the memory of his eyes on her.

Since she couldn’t do a damn thing on the computers until he got back and cleared the malware off the system, she decided to tackle the various supply rooms. Within two hours, both the general supplies—office stuff, along with bathroom supplies and other various boxes of crap—and the “assignment supplies” used by the men that were kept under triple lock and key, were organized within an inch of their lives.

Lainey’s nervous energy had only ramped up, so she spent another hour cleaning the conference room, hanging some of the pictures she’d bought to soften the hard, strip mall-style edges but hadn’t had time to put up yet. She even rearranged the room so that the large table was situated in a more pleasant way relative to the windows.

She surveyed her Feng Shui handiwork then checked her phone for what felt like the zillionth time. Jon had sent a text, telling her his plane was landing, and he’d be there in an hour, and would she mind ordering Chinese because he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

She went to the fridge—a big one she’d bought on sale along with the second-hand commercial-grade range—and pulled out the container of homemade pizza dough she’d made the day before in her miniscule, crappy apartment kitchen. Figuring she might as well relax, she stuck her phone in the speaker and dialed in her favorite oldies rock station. After setting the oven to four hundred, she spent ten minutes slowly kneading the dough back to room temperature, dusting it with flour and smiling as the activity soothed her rattled nerves.

Twenty minutes later, she had onions and mushrooms caramelized in a skillet on one of the big gas burners and had stretched the dough onto two pizza stones. She opened a jar of her secret recipe pizza sauce and covered one rectangle of dough, then used homemade pesto sauce on the other. Once the onions and mushrooms were ready, she pulled a container of grilled chicken from the fridge and arranged it, along with the ’shrooms and onions on the pesto sauce.

She cut paper-thin slices of prosciutto and placed those, along with some store-bought sun-dried tomatoes, on the red sauce. Between checking her phone for word from someone, anyone, she dotted the pesto pizza with goat cheese and used buffalo mozz on the other. As she slid both stones into the massive oven, her phone beeped with an actual call.

Forcing herself to retain the calmness the cooking binge had engendered, she plucked up her phone and put it to her ear. “Zane? You guys all right?” Her knees were shaking so she dropped into one of the chairs at the small table. The men had indulged her with the kitchen thing, once she’d explained she was actually a hyper-organized, under-employed professional chef and would feed whichever of them was around at least twice a week. But she’d stretched the limits of the space with the commercial-grade appliances.

“Yeah, we’re at the hospital.”

“Why?” she squeaked, standing up and getting so dizzy she had to sit right back down. “I mean, is everyone all right?” She had the potholder clenched tight in one fist. She released it slowly, exhaling as she waited for the reply.

“Owen took a bullet to his shoulder. Went all the way through. He’s fine.”

“Oh, thank God,” she sighed, closing her eyes.

“Yeah, so your tip was spot on, Lainey. Nice work.”

“Great,” she said, putting her hand to her burning hot forehead. “Glad to hear it. So . . . it’s just that? Nothing more? He’s . . . you guys . . . are all right otherwise?”

Zane chuckled. Lainey frowned. She’d sworn off guys a while ago, given her experience with the compelling, silent jerk-type. This was simply ridiculous. She had to get a grip.

“I cooked,” she said.

“Well, it’s about time. I was beginning to think that fancy kitchen was gonna go begging.”

“Well, it’s not. Bring some beer or something.”

“You got it, pretty lady.”

There was an awkward silence. Zane cleared his throat. “I mean, yes, ma’am. I’ll bring beer and thank you for making dinner. You didn’t have to. It’s not in your job description anywhere.”

“I know that. I like doing it, and you guys humored me since my apartment kitchen is so small and lame. Just . . . oh, never mind. I’ll see you soon. Jon should be—”

“He’s here with Owen and the docs right now.”

“Oh?” Lainey attempted to keep the overt worry out of her voice.

“Yeah, Owen didn’t want any local anesthetic when they were stitching him up. Was sort of flipping out over it. But he’s fine now.”

“Good. Great. I’ll see you soon.” She ended the call and pressed her forehead to the table, shoving aside the inappropriate concern over a man who’d been nothing but a cold jerk to her for a month.

The next hour, they were all seated at the newly positioned conference room table with the two pizza stones empty in front of them, a six-pack and a half of locally brewed beer empty. Lainey couldn’t take her eyes off Owen, who sat silently except when he complimented the pizza and made random comments about the beer. His arm was in a sling, and he had a huge bruise on one cheek.

“You should see the other guy,” he said at one point, his voice soft, his comment meant just for her. At least in her suddenly vivid imagination.

“You are a killer find, Lainey,” Jon said, pulling a bourbon bottle from the table drawer. “This calls for a real toast.”

She grinned as Zane set out four plastic cups and sloshed healthy portions into each of them. Not willing to meet Owen’s gaze, she held up her cup and listened as the men touted her many attributes—her organizational skills, her ability to read through all their bullshit, the way she was able to withstand their more relentless attempts at flirtation.

“But most of all,” Zane said, flashing what she realized was the sort of smile many women would simply die for. “She makes killer pizzas!”

“Hear, hear,” Jon said, his words slightly slurred around the edges. “Okay, I’m gonna go over there to that couch and pass out. No one drives out of here tonight, got me?”

“You forgot one thing,” Owen said softly, holding his red Solo cup half-full of brown liquor without drinking it. His deep blue gaze was fixed on her. Lainey’s face got so hot she knew it must be flaming red. She glared back at him.

“Nope, I didn’t,” Zane declared as he flopped back into a chair and pulled his phone from his pocket.

“You did. You forgot how unbelievably gorgeous she is.”

Zane looked up from his perusal of his phone’s screen and frowned at Owen, and then he looked at Lainey as if puzzled by this comment. Before he could reply, Lainey slammed back the bourbon, poured herself another helping, and stood up. Her mind was racing from Owen’s words and her body had lurched into a sort of high alert.

“That sort of comment can get you slapped with a sexual harassment suit, mister,” she quipped, trying to keep it light as she started collecting the paper plates, napkins.

“I’ll help,” Owen offered.

Zane shot him a smirk and then yawned so wide Lainey thought she could hear his jaw cracking. “Jesus, please-us, what a day.” He smiled at something on his phone. “Excuse me. I have some sexting to do.”

Lainey rolled her eyes but let Owen take the two baking stones from her hands. She walked over to the couch and put Jon’s legs up on it. He flinched, then rolled over onto his side and resumed snoring. By the time she’d collected the cups and the rest of the stuff from their dinner, Owen was already back in the small kitchen, wiping down the ceramic stones with a soft cloth.

She hesitated, watching his shoulders and back—and ass—for a few seconds while marveling that he understood not to put the things under running water or, even worse, use dish soap on them. He placed them carefully beside the sink and turned to face her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that, you know. Other than the truth of it.” He shrugged and ran a hand around the back of his neck.

“No offense taken. I should thank you for the compliment.”

“You’re sort of intimidating. Do you even realize that?” He held out his hands. She placed the rest of the garbage in them since the room was not really meant to hold more than one person at a time. He tossed them into the trash, then tugged the bag out of it and tied it off while Lainey attempted to find an answer to his odd question.

“Huh, hardly,” she said, leaning in the doorway. “But that explains why you’ve been so, um . . .”

“So much of a jerk?” His smile was wide and genuine, and it came close to melting her fillings.

The damn man was too much. She needed to go home.

She turned, but the booze sloshed around in her system, and the hallway did an alarming three-sixty. Even as she reached for the wall, it seemed to warp away from her. Alarmed and embarrassed, she sensed herself falling even as she tried to absent herself from the whole scene. Owen Taylor, the hot guy with the sour puss face with whom she’d worked for six weeks but barely knew, was actually talking with her—flirting, probably. And she was about to pass out drunk.

“Oh, shit,” she said, covering her eyes and willing the hallway to stop spinning. Someone grabbed her elbow. She leaned into that someone’s warm torso even as hot tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m not really a cry baby.” But the sensation of being held up by a man, even in her drunken state, had caused her well-built wall of emotional protection to come crashing down.

“It’s all right,” Owen said, his lips close to her ear. “I’ve got you.”

“I don’t need . . .” she said, shoving him away in one last ditch attempt to keep from doing something stupid. “Oh . . .,” she managed to squeak out before nausea slammed into her like a tidal wave. She raced for the bathroom, barely making it before losing the booze and most of the pizza she’d consumed.

Sitting on the cold tile floor with her arms propped on her bent knees, she groaned when she saw Owen’s boot and prosthetic foot appear under the stall door. “I’m sorry. Just go on home and leave me here. I’ll crash . . . somewhere.”

“Nope,” he said, giving the stall door a brisk tug, which caused the weak lock to give way. “Those guys have claimed all the useable sleeping surfaces. I’m taking you home.”

He pulled her up and guided her to the sinks. “Brush your teeth,” he said, reaching into the drawer where she kept the necessary supplies. “I’ll wait outside.”

She nodded, miserable and horrified at her behavior, but she brushed, rinsed and spit, then made her wobbly way back to the hallway. Owen was leaning against the wall. When she emerged, he smiled and held out his good elbow. “This work? Or should I carry you?”

“God, no,” she said, even though the thought of that made her even more wobbly. “I’m good. I can walk. Why don’t you just call me an Uber or something?”

“Now what kind of a sober knight in shining armor would I be if I just stuck you in some stranger’s car?”

“I don’t require a knight in shining armor, thanks much,” she said, and then burped, which made Owen burst out laughing. She frowned at him. “Jesus. I’m really impressive.”

“You are, actually. Now, let’s go. I just need your address.”

She sighed, stared at his outstretched elbow for another second, and then tucked her hand into it. “My apartment is a dumpy basement that smells like cat pee and mildew, fair warning.”

“What a coincidence. I love cats and mold.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she said as he handed her up into the passenger’s side of his Jeep. “What’s with the attention all of a sudden? I mean, you’ve barely given me a second glance for over a month.”

Owen hesitated before shutting her door, shifting his sling with a wince. “I think I was trying not to really look at you. I had a sort of shitty experience with a girl—a woman, I mean—before I got here. I was gonna swear off chicks—women, sorry—for a while. So I refused to look at you, because . . .” He leaned down close to her face, too damn close. She pressed her lips together as if that would ward off any advances. “Because I knew if I did, I’d like what I saw. And I do.” He poked her nose with the finger of his good hand, smiled, and shut her door.