Chapter 1

Dylan prowled around the house feeling restless. His skin felt tight and he was a little jittery.

And that was how he felt nearly every night.

After touring with his band, Shaughnessy, for years and then taking time off to join other bands on their gigs, it seemed odd to have nothing to do. Not that he missed it. Much. Now he could look back at the last ten years of his life and realize that while he loved playing the bass—loved the music—the lifestyle had damn-near killed him. He’d spent too many years drinking too much and partying too hard and had paid the price. Dealing with a normal, everyday life was something completely foreign to him.

He was at loose ends and didn’t know what he was supposed to do with himself. He’d played chess with his manager earlier, and Mick had hung out for most of the afternoon, but he couldn’t be expected to stay all day and into the night. He was entitled to a life of his own. Except…Dylan kind of resented it. Not Mick. Not exactly. But anyone right now. Right now, everyone he knew was doing something with their lives—having lives—and he wasn’t.

“Maudlin much?” he murmured, walking through the kitchen on his way to the deck.

Outside, the night air was cool and the sky was clear. He sat in one of his lounge chairs and stared up at the stars. It was peaceful and relaxing and…beyond boring! No matter how hard he tried, Dylan knew he wasn’t meant to sit around and lead a quiet and tranquil life. Of course, that didn’t mean he had to resort to drinking or getting high, but he certainly needed more than this.

He was holding himself back. He knew that. Right now, he still felt a little fragile, like any small step back into the life he knew with the people he used to hang out with would lead to a relapse.

And he refused to relapse.

Again.

There had been a night not long after he’d come home—he’d gone out with his ex for dinner. Heather had called him up out of the blue and offered him a night out, no strings attached. After months of no sex, he had eagerly jumped at the chance. Unfortunately, the night had been a complete disaster. Without alcohol fueling their time together, Dylan had felt awkward and uncomfortable. Heather, oblivious to his struggles, had ordered herself drink after drink, and by the time they’d finished dinner, he was more than a little turned off by her behavior.

They’d gone to her place and, even though his brain was saying yes, his body had no desire to take things any further. Funny—he’d always imagined it would be the other way around. Regardless, Heather had not taken the rejection kindly and had screamed all kinds of profanities at him while taking direct aim at his masculinity.

When he’d gotten home, he’d managed to find one well-hidden bottle of vodka.

The morning after hadn’t been pretty.

Actually, the end of the bottle hadn’t been pretty.

And now—because of that—he was afraid to get near the temptation. Maybe eventually he’d feel strong enough, but for right now, Dylan knew he wasn’t. So where did that leave him? He couldn’t keep living in isolation and he couldn’t exactly go back to his old haunts.

With a muttered curse, he got up again and walked into the house. Closing the French doors behind him, he stalked into the living room and spotted the folder on the coffee table beside the chessboard—the literacy campaign information Mick had brought over earlier.

With a long and drawn-out sigh, he walked over and picked it up.

It would probably hurt him more than help him, but damn if he wasn’t desperate for something to fill his time. From the look of the schedule Mick had included, the entire thing would take about three months between the organization and planning phase—which he fully intended to be a part of—and the actual campaign itself. There would be speaking engagements, commercial shoots, print ads… It would certainly fill his time and get him into the public eye in a positive light.

Maybe.

Dylan wasn’t comfortable talking about the struggles he had endured in learning to read when he was young. He knew there was no shame in it, but that didn’t mean he wanted to share it with the world. A man was entitled to keep some parts of his life private, wasn’t he? But by sharing it, it could potentially help the cause—help him be more believable in his role for the cause.

Great. Now he was looking for a way to work the thing to his own advantage. How selfish was that? Unfortunately, it was the nature of the beast. In his world—or at least the world where his public persona lived—you never did anything that didn’t ultimately serve your own interests. Sad but true.

Another sigh escaped as he sat on the sofa and began to read the documents. All of them. All twelve pages. His eyes hurt, his brain hurt, and he wasn’t quite sure he understood half of what he had read.

At the bottom of the last page was the name of the contact person—Paige Walters. She was probably some spinster librarian who was trying her best to drum up interest in reading to keep her local branch of the public library open. He chuckled at the image. Tomorrow, he’d take the first steps and reach out to her. He’d explain who he was and how he wanted to help and, hopefully, do it all without having to bring up the community-service angle. And if it did come up, he’d simply pour on the charm.

And how hard could it be to charm a sweet, old librarian?

* * *

“Okay. You got this. It’s all good. Be firm. Be strong.” Paige studied her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. These mini–pep talks were coming with more and more frequency and yet she wasn’t feeling any more confident.

In ten minutes, she was due to make a presentation on the status of the literacy campaign. It had been her brainchild, and to say that she was the only one excited about it would be an understatement. Reading was Paige’s passion, and when she had gone to her monthly book club meeting and the topic of doing some fund-raising for the local libraries had come up, the ideas for something bigger began to spring forward in her mind. And, of course, once she started talking about it with her group of friends, it became obvious that she should be the one to head the campaign.

Public relations, marketing, and promoting were in Paige’s blood. Her father owned a very successful PR firm in LA—PRW—and she had been wandering the office halls since she was a toddler. Now, as one of the senior account managers, she was free to pick causes and pitch them to the board and know she would be heard.

Or at least somewhat heard.

Okay, they only partially listened and then someone else would step in and take over, but still…if it meant she could finally be working on a campaign she was passionate about, then she’d deal with the petty behind-the-scenes nonsense.

But this one was her baby. No one else was going to want to swoop in and steal her thunder because it wasn’t glamorous or trendy. It was reading. And if there was one thing Paige knew about her family, it was that none of them read for pleasure the way that she did. Other than her book club, she didn’t know anyone else who read as voraciously as she did. And for all the hours—years!—of pleasure reading had given her, she was ready to give something back.

Yes, she had ideas—so many that it made her brain hurt—but that didn’t mean she was going to shy away from the challenge. Reading programs. Tutoring sessions. Story time for all ages. Her heart began to beat faster as she thought about all the possibilities. If everything went smoothly, she was going to have a roster of distinguished authors in all genres and present them to the world as ambassadors of reading—well-spoken individuals who would show all the ways in which reading could enrich a person’s life! They’d start at the preschool and elementary-school levels to help build a foundation, and then move on to find those who still struggled or who had gotten lost in the school system.

This campaign was her way of saying thank you to the thousands of authors who put their work out there and found ways to put their books in readers’ hands—and encouraging the world to pick up a book even if they struggled with reading.

“Whew!” she chuckled as she fanned herself. It all was so exciting that she knew, in a matter of minutes, everyone on the board was going to feel it too.

“That’s not what you’re wearing, is it?”

Paige turned as her sister, Ariel, walked into the ladies’ room. Ever the glamor gal, her sister looked impeccable—porcelain complexion; long, silky, pale-blond hair; blue eyes; and, at five foot ten, her willowy frame towered over Paige’s mere five feet four inches.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

Ariel gave a delicate snort as she faced her sister. “Do you see my suit?”

Hard not to, Paige thought and then nodded.

“This is an Ann Taylor suit.” She struck a pose and smiled serenely. “And the shoes?”

Another nod.

“Manolo Blahnik.” She pointed her foot for emphasis. “This is how an executive dresses, Paige. You need to throw out your wardrobe and let a stylist help you. It’s time to stop dressing like your office is at a coffeehouse. It’s not the image Daddy or any of us want for PRW.”

Paige sighed. “The only one who seems to have an issue with my wardrobe choices is you. No one has said a word about it.”

“Actually, they have. To me. This is me telling you—from everyone—that you need to start dressing the part.”

For a moment, all she could do was stare. “Um…excuse me? What?”

Carefully, Ariel leaned against the countertop and then made a pinched face at her suit touching the surface. “Look, you’re an executive now, Paige. College is over. I mean…honestly. If you weren’t my sister and I saw you walking around here, I’d swear you were an intern.”

Looking down at herself and then at her reflection, Paige still didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. “I’m wearing a skirt!”

With an eye roll, Ariel studied her. “It’s a knit skirt. And clingy. And…are those tights you’re wearing?”

“Um…yeah. Why?”

“Oh God,” Ariel murmured and smoothed a hand over her hair. “Okay, let me try another approach. Turn and face the mirror.” They both did. “Look at us side by side. What do you see?”

“That genetics clearly favored only one of us?” Paige joked.

Ariel didn’t smile. She rarely did. She thought it caused wrinkles.

“Okay, fine. I’m looking.”

“And?”

“And I see that you are wearing a suit and I’m wearing a skirt and sweater.” She shrugged.

“You’re overaccessorized,” Ariel pointed out. “The scarf, the bracelets, the giant watch, and don’t even get me started on those clunky boots.”

Okay, now she was getting pissed. “Look, I happen to like all these accessories, and there’s nothing wrong with any of it. I’m not you. I’m not going to wear a suit or stilettos. That’s not who I am! And even if I went out and copied your entire wardrobe, I can guarantee you it won’t look the same on me as it does on you.”

“Obviously.”

“Why are you always like this?” Paige asked wearily. “It’s like you purposely choose the worst times to pull these stunts.”

“Stunt? What stunt? I’m trying to help you, Paige! You’re about to go in front of the board with your whole…book thing. I want you to put forward the right impression. Gosh, excuse me for trying to be a good sister.”

And there it was—the start of the martyr act. If she had a dollar for every time Ariel…

“I mean, every time I try to do something nice for you, you get mad and make me feel bad. I don’t know what else I can do to prove to you that I have your best interests at heart.”

Okay, she is still going…

“Remember when we used to play together and you would tell me how much you wanted to be like me when you grew up?”

Um…no.

“What happened? What did I ever do to you to make you so ungrateful?”

“That’s enough,” Paige said finally. “I’m not ungrateful. I’m not. I’m sorry you feel that way. It’s just that I’m stressed enough right now, and if you were really concerned about my choice of wardrobe today, you could have told me sooner than three minutes before the presentation.” She did a quick double take at her watch and gasped. “Three minutes! Oh crap!”

“Language, Paige,” Ariel said with disdain. “Daddy would have a fit if he heard you cursing like a sailor.”

Seriously? That was cursing like a sailor? Then it was a good thing her father wasn’t in her head right now because he’d probably have a stroke.

With one last glance at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but be self-conscious. Her hair was a mess compared to her sister’s. Where Ariel’s was pale blond and silky, Paige’s was more of a honeyed blond and wavy. Even tied back like it was now, it didn’t look neat. And she wasn’t kidding on the genetics comment. Besides the height difference, Paige was…curvier. And not in a way that made her feel like a model. Her curves were… Well, they were everywhere and tended to make her look chubby rather than shapely.

Dammit.

This is exactly what always happened. She’d be feeling good about herself and then her sister would walk by with some stupid comment and undo the girl-power pep talk she had just given herself.

Straightening her glasses—oh yes, she wore glasses too—she resigned herself to going in front of the board looking less than executive worthy and hoped everyone would be more focused on the facts and figures of the campaign than her choice in fashion.

One could hope, right?

As they exited the ladies’ room, Paige immediately switched gears and went into work mode. “Okay, did you send out those invitations I asked you to for participants?” Paige had given her that simple job in exchange for helping Ariel negotiate the fine points of the Hernandez contract. Invitations were one of Ariel’s strongest points. No one liked to refuse her. That’s why Paige hadn’t assigned the task to one of their assistants.

Ariel nodded as she glided elegantly down the hall. Paige had to take two steps to her sister’s one. “I did. And I even reached out to several more. This way if anyone backs out, we have substitutes at the ready.”

“Perfect. Good job. Thanks,” Paige replied. “Have you gotten any responses yet? I mean to the new ones?”

Ariel nodded again. “It’s all in the folder.”

“What folder?”

“The one I gave you.”

Paige huffed loudly as they turned and made their way toward the corner conference room. “You didn’t give me a folder, Ariel.”

“Well, I put it on your desk,” she said flippantly, and then her entire face broke out in a smile as their father stood to greet them. “Hi, Daddy! You’re looking handsome today!”

Ugh. Seriously?

“Hey, Dad,” she said with a smile after Ariel stepped aside.

“There’s my girl,” Robert Walters said proudly. “All set for your big presentation?”

“I am. I was just…”

“Didn’t you forget that folder on your desk?” Ariel asked sweetly, and Paige wanted to kick her.

Their father looked at Paige expectantly.

“Um…thanks for reminding me. Give me five minutes.” She took two steps back, then turned and did her best not to run from the room.

Of course, once she was out of the conference room’s line of vision, she bolted. Down the hall, around the bend, and she almost tripped and fell as her assistant, Daisy, jumped out from behind her desk.

“Hey! Where’s the fire?” she asked and then gasped. “Oh my God! Is there? A fire? Are you coming here to warn everyone? Should I make an announcement? Everyone—”

“No! No!” Paige quickly interrupted. “There’s no fire. I forgot a folder I need for the meeting. Ariel said she put it on my desk.” Walking past her assistant, she went into her office and began a frantic search of her desk. There were papers and files and calendars and Post-its but…no folder. The one she had given Ariel was a pretty pastel blue with the logo she was thinking of using for the campaign on it. “Where the heck…?”

“You know, if you cleaned that surface off once in a while, you’d be able to find things much easier.”

“Uh-huh… Where could she have put it?”

“In the conference room.”

Paige instantly stood. “Excuse me?”

“The folder? The pretty blue one with the logo you think looks good but needs to be tweaked because it’s too generic for something like this? Personally, I think you should go with something—”

“Daisy! Focus! Where is the folder?”

Daisy sighed and said, “In the conference room. You had already left when Ariel floated in here on her cloud of superiority, and I told her you weren’t coming here before the meeting. But did she listen? No. So after she left, I took the folder to the conference room for you. It’s on the little podium stand and everything. Oh, and I left you a bottle of water and a little thing of hand sanitizer.”

This time she didn’t bother hiding that she was running and simply sprinted down the hall and back to the conference room. Her footsteps echoed as she entered the room and all eyes were on her.

Dammit.

With a quiet clearing of her throat, she apologized and took her seat at the table and then waited for her father to do as he always did—go over their agenda and open the floor to any new projects—and then he’d let her get up and do her thing.

Relief swamped her as she got comfortable and realized that no one was particularly paying attention to her and she could take a few minutes to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. She wished she could have grabbed the folder to glance through it before she had to stand up and present. Her curiosity was piqued about who else Ariel had reached out to. For starters, she didn’t think her sister knew of any other authors who would achieve Paige’s goals.

Paige followed along on the agenda and made notes where she knew she’d need to step in and finalize details and finally—finally!—her father called her up.

At the podium, she smiled and immediately started sharing one of her favorite stories about when reading had become so important to her. She had been eight, and it had been storming and she couldn’t go outside and play. Her mother had suggested sitting quietly with a book. That book had been Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. For several minutes, Paige described how it felt to be transported to another world, where she could forget about the storm and about her disappointment about not being able to go outside and instead enjoy the wonders of the written word.

When she looked up, she saw some interest, some boredom, and her sister filing her nails.

Clearing her throat, she straightened and went in for the hard facts and figures. “The statistics haven’t changed much in the past decade. Thirty-two million adults in the United States are functionally illiterate. Over twenty percent of adults read below a fifth-grade level. And it’s not getting better, as schools are graduating teens who can’t read. Libraries and schools want to change this. With the introduction of projects such as International Literacy Day, we have brought this problem more into the spotlight, but it’s not enough. We may not be able to help everyone, but I believe with the right campaign, we can put a dent in this alarming statistic.”

Opening the folder, she only gave it a cursory glance before continuing. “I’ve been actively working with Literacy Now for some time on a personal level, and when they came to me and asked for help with a new campaign, I knew we could do something amazing for them. My plan is to bring on a host of A-list authors for promotional spots on TV and in newspapers and magazines to talk about the issue. On top of that, they will go to schools and talk to teachers and students, to encourage them not only about the importance of learning to read, but also to share the joy and wonders of how reading can enrich their lives.”

“Who have you recruited so far?” her father asked, and Paige was thrilled to see the genuine interest on his face.

Pulling out the list, she was about to read it and then stopped. What the…? She glanced over at Ariel, who was now texting on her phone. “Ariel?”

Her sister looked up. “Hmm?”

“What is this list?”

“The one you asked me to work on.”

“Uh…no, it’s not. This is not a list of authors. I have no idea who these people are. My list had New York Times bestselling authors from multiple genres—Marta Hayes, Mitchell Blake, Stephen Cane… Who are these people you’ve contacted?”

Robert Walters looked over at his older daughter and waited. Paige knew immediately that the waterworks were going to start and the excuses were going to fly.

“That is not what we talked about, Paige! You said you wanted big names. You didn’t specifically say authors.”

“It’s a literacy campaign! Who else would we need? And, need I remind you, I gave you the list. All you had to do was reach out to their agents. I didn’t ask you to contact anyone new.”

“Oh, that’s just great! I do you a favor by finding you better people—more famous people—and this is the thanks I get?” Ariel cried and then looked at their father. “Honestly, Dad, I was trying to make this campaign a success. No one will pay attention to people they don’t know talking to them about things they don’t care about. There was no one famous on her list!”

“Now, Ariel, Paige had a specific plan for this campaign—”

“But it wasn’t going to work,” Ariel countered. “And besides, I was trying to do a good thing. I’ve been feeling so weird lately, and then it came to me that this was what we needed to do. So while I was at the doctor’s office—”

“Why were you at the doctor?” Robert asked, concern instantly lacing his voice.

Paige was certain she was seeing her own brain from rolling her eyes so hard. How was it that nobody else saw through this ridiculous act?

“Well,” Ariel began with a coy grin, “I was going to wait until lunch to tell you, but…” She looked around the table to build anticipation. “I’m pregnant! Dennis and I are having a baby!” Then she squealed with joy and waited as everyone jumped up to congratulate her.

With a sigh of resignation, Paige stuffed the papers into the folder and simply joined the line to wait her turn.

* * *

The next day, Paige begrudgingly sat and looked over Ariel’s list. The rest of the previous day had been a bust. After the big pregnancy announcement, the meeting had ended. Her father promised they’d get together later in the week to talk about the campaign again, but he had been too far gone with joy at the news of becoming a grandfather to concentrate on anything else.

There was a part of Paige that was excited at the thought of becoming an aunt, but really, it was the image of her sister getting fat and throwing up that put the slight grin on her face.

“Uh-oh. Someone looks like they’re plotting something!”

Looking up, Paige chuckled as Daisy walked in. She was a little bit younger than Paige—fresh out of college—but there was something about her that made you feel like she had been living under a rock or something. She was a hard worker but a bit…quirky. Clueless. Not in a bad way, Paige thought, but there were times when it took far too much energy to reel the girl in.

“What could I possibly be plotting?” Paige asked sweetly. “There’s too much work to be done to focus on anything else.”

Placing some messages on her desk, Daisy took a seat facing her. “So how did the meeting go yesterday? I had to head out early. Did everyone love the list of authors we’re going to get?” She sighed happily. “I mentioned to my mom—who loves to read—that we were trying for Marta Hayes, and she about fell out of her chair! I mean she screeched, and I thought she was going to hyperventilate! So I had to calm her down and get her something to drink and before you knew it—”

“Daisy?”

“Hmm?”

Paige took a moment and studied her assistant. “Remember when we talked about asking questions and waiting for the answer before you start talking again?”

Confusion came first. Then remembrance. Then a smile. “Right. Sorry,” Daisy said with a sheepish smile. “You were going to tell me about the meeting.”

“I had just started going into my pitch about the list of authors, except when I looked it over, it was all different. Ariel changed it,” Paige said.

“What? No!” Daisy cried with disbelief. “Why would she do that?”

“Because she thinks we need bigger celebrity names—not authors. I mean…she doesn’t even understand what it is we’re trying to do here. It’s a literacy campaign! We need to have authors! I know there have been other campaigns with sports stars and celebrities, but that wasn’t the angle I was going for.” With a huff, Paige pulled up the list of names Ariel had made and handed it to Daisy. “Honestly, I can’t even look at the stupid thing. I get aggravated just thinking about it. I don’t even recognize some of those names!”

Taking the paper from her boss’s hand, Daisy scanned it and then gasped excitedly. “Oh, come on! You have to know who Mick Jagger is!” Then she looked up at Paige and shook her head. “Not that I expect him to do the campaign. I mean, let’s be realistic.”

“I know there are some big names on there—none of whom are probably going to do it—but that’s not the point. The point is, I had an outline for this campaign and she disregarded it. Now I’m going to have to redo my approach and still reach out to authors and their agents and publicists and publishers when I’m already swamped!”

“I can help with that, Paige. That’s part of my job.”

Paige smiled. “I know. And thank you. But…I had this whole thing worked out in my head and now it’s going to be completely different.”

“What did your father say? Didn’t he question why she changed everything without telling you?”

“He never got the chance,” Paige said.

“How come?”

“Because in the middle of it all, she dropped a bombshell. She’s pregnant.”

“No!”

Paige nodded. “Oh yes.”

“And she decided to share that? In the middle of your presentation?”

Another nod. “I don’t think she would have if it weren’t for the fact that I was calling her out on making these changes without my permission and she was trying to take the focus off that.”

“Kind of an elaborate tale to tell just to get out of getting reprimanded.”

Tale? “Wait…are you saying you don’t think she’s pregnant?”

Daisy’s eyes went wide. “What? Oh, no. That’s not what I meant. Although…nothing would surprise me where Ariel’s concerned.” Then her hand flew over her mouth as if she couldn’t believe she had said that out loud.

Unable to help herself, Paige burst out laughing.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God!” Daisy cried, jumping to her feet. “I’m sorry! I’m really, really sorry. I can’t believe I said that!”

Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, Paige waved her off. “It’s okay. Seriously, Daisy, you’re fine. It’s fine. Sit down. Please.”

Daisy murmured “Oh God” a few more times, then sat, her face beet red with embarrassment. After a moment, she calmed and let out a slow breath. “That was completely unprofessional of me. Ariel is your sister and an executive, and she deserves my respect.”

Color me impressed. “It’s all right,” Paige said. “No one heard except me and…well…you know my frustration with my sister, so we’re good.”

“Honestly, Paige, you need to say something to your father. Or to your mother, and have her talk to your father. What Ariel does it’s…it’s just wrong.”

Don’t I know it. “The thing with her is she’s good at her job. Really good. I’m not trying to take that away from her. But she’s not good at finding a cause and getting a campaign started. She’s good at taking over once all the groundwork is done.”

“So why not let it be known that it’s not fair that she’s coasting on other people’s ideas?” Daisy asked.

“Because I’d end up looking paranoid. I’m not good at responding on the fly when she pulls one of these swoops. I’m normally stunned and then I turn mute.”

“Or you come in here and talk to yourself.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed at the comment.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re right. I just don’t know how to be heard. I’ve tried to show that I can handle a campaign on my own, I really have, but…” She paused. “Do people think I dress weird?”

“Um…what?”

“My clothes. You hear the things people comment on around here. Has anyone commented on what I wear?”

“Why would you ask that? You are, like, the coolest person fashion-wise in this office! We all love your clothes! Very hipster-ish.”

Sighing, Paige pinched her nose and thought of how to respond. “I don’t think the executives are looking at how much of a hipster I am. That’s who I’m worried about.”

“Did your sister put this idea in your head?”

Paige nodded.

“Look, I talk to all the assistants here, and believe me when I tell you we talk about everything. No one has ever mentioned your wardrobe to me, so I think if anyone has an issue with it, it’s Ariel and Ariel alone.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Daisy spoke again.

“So, a baby in the family. That should be nice.”

“I guess. Although, I have to admit, I have a hard time imagining Ariel dealing with pregnancy. I don’t think she realizes that she won’t be rocking her designer suits and heels quite like she’s used to.”

Daisy chuckled. “Well…maybe she will. You see all those glamorous actresses walking the red carpet when they’re nine months pregnant, and they do it with such ease! Remember Beyoncé at that awards show? I can barely walk around in high heels now. I couldn’t imagine doing it while I had a baby belly.”

“I guess we’re going to find out soon enough how she’ll do.” Honestly, no matter how snarky her thoughts, Paige knew her sister would come off looking like it was all a breeze. If it were Paige, however, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that pregnancy would make her look like a bloated, beached whale.

Great. Something to look forward to.

Not!

Clearing her throat, Daisy picked up the list that had fallen to the floor and glanced at it again. “Honestly, Paige, it’s not that this is a bad list. It’s random—almost as if she were simply picking names of people who have been in the headlines lately. I can’t see a correlation between any of them and this particular campaign.”

“That’s what I thought too. I just wish she had—”

Daisy’s loud gasp cut her off.

“What? What’s the matter?”

Daisy glanced at the list and then at Paige before her gaze returned to the piece of paper. “Did you see who’s on here?”

“Um…yeah. Sort of. Maybe. Why?”

“Dylan Anders is on here! Oh my God! I can’t believe it! I love him!” She jumped to her feet again. “Do you think he’s going to do it? Did Ariel mention if she’d talked to him already? If he comes here, I think I’ll die. No…no…I know I’ll die! Oh my God…Dylan Anders!” she cried and began to fan herself with the paper. “That man is sex on a stick!”

Paige sighed. Great. Just what she needed—sex on a stick when she hadn’t had sex since…well… Heck. When was the last time she’d had sex?

“He’s got great arms! Oh my gosh, have you seen them? I bet he has great hands too! He must, from playing bass! And he looks incredible in jeans and when he’s all scruffy—he’s one of those guys who can totally pull that off and make it look incredibly hot, you know? But oh…that would be amazing if Ariel got him! Don’t you think it would be amazing?”

“Not five minutes ago we were talking about how her list was ridiculous!” Paige snapped. “And now one look at a name of some random guitar player—”

“Bass player.”

“Whatever! One look at a name on a page and all of a sudden Ariel’s right and I’m wrong?”

Daisy gave her a patient smile. “No one said you were wrong, Paige. I just think this could be, you know, exciting! Rock stars and authors. It could make for a very cool campaign. You’d be appealing to a wider demographic this way, wouldn’t you?”

Dammit, she didn’t want Ariel to be right. She didn’t want this to be a good idea at all. This was her baby. Her brainchild. She’d worked for weeks perfecting everything down to the tiniest detail, and her sister, being her typical self, just happened to stumble upon a great idea? How unfair was that?

“Look, I’m not saying what she did was right,” Daisy went on. “I just think that maybe, this one time, she might have happened upon a good idea.” She shrugged. “It’s up to you what you want to do with it. You’re the one who’s going to make it great.”

Paige gently face-planted on the desk. “I don’t know what to do with it,” she mumbled. “If I agree with her, she’s going to be so smug. And if I don’t go along with it and the campaign fails, then it will all come back on me how I screwed up because of my ego.”

“I certainly wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

Slowly, Paige lifted her head and gave her assistant a stern glare. “Thanks.”

“Why don’t I get you a bottle of water and some ibuprofen and close the doors so you can concentrate? I won’t let anyone in unless it’s an emergency and I’ll hold all your calls. How does that sound?”

“Make the water a soda and throw in a bag of chips and you’ve got a deal.”

Daisy left and, for a minute, Paige let the silence wash over her. It was after three in the afternoon and a Friday. Would it be a bad thing for her to pack it in and call it a day? She had a feeling that maybe she’d get more accomplished and perhaps think a little clearer about this list of potential celebrities if she was someplace a little more soothing. Peaceful.

And not her office.

That was the key.

If she was going to relax and look at the situation objectively, she knew she needed to put a little effort into unwinding. Maybe she’d leave and stop at the grocery store on the way home and find something fun to make for dinner—and grab some cake or brownies for dessert. And wine! Yes, a nice bottle of wine to get her through the weekend would help with the situation.

Looking around her office, she spotted her satchel and immediately snapped it up and began organizing papers, folders, and reports and stuffing them inside. With a quick glance at her emails, she noted that there wasn’t anything urgent waiting for her, and without an ounce of guilt, she shut down her computer. Walking around the room, Paige scooped up her phone, her charger, and the small stack of books she had on a corner table that she’d been meaning to bring home.

Once everything was packed, she scanned the room one more time and was pleased to see that she had everything she needed. At the thought of leaving early, the tension began to ease from her shoulders, which she rolled to confirm that fact. All she needed to do was let Daisy know. No need to tell anyone else—it wasn’t as if she punched a clock. Everyone worked crazy hours as needed and no one ever questioned her whereabouts. Not that she ever took advantage of it, but it was a nice perk.

“Okay, boss! Here’s your soda and… What are you doing? Are you going somewhere?” Daisy asked as soon as she stepped into the office.

“I have decided to head home and look over this stuff and try to make sense of it all. You know I see things more objectively when I’m not stressed.”

Daisy smiled and then sighed. “I wish you weren’t tense all the time. You’re so good at your job, and you know everyone here thinks the world of you. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing for you to just…relax!”

“That’s why I’m leaving early. I’m going to go home and unwind and…”

“Do some yoga? I love doing yoga. It really helps me—”

“No yoga,” Paige interrupted before the story went any further. “I’m going to pick up something good to make for dinner, something yummy for dessert, and some wine.”

“Yoga’s better for you.”

“You relieve stress your way, and I’ll relieve it my way. Okay?” she asked, forcing a smile on her face.

“Fine. Go and grill a cow or eat a vat of ice cream. See if I care. I’m going to do hot yoga tonight and maybe a Zumba class in the morning.”

“Good for you,” Paige said, taking the bottle of soda from Daisy’s hand. “And I hope you have a great weekend. I’ll see you Monday.” She began to walk away, but Daisy got in step beside her.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you ever do anything…you know…fun?”

Paige looked at her as if she was crazy. “Seriously? That’s your question?”

Daisy nodded. “Uh-huh. It’s just that I’ve noticed how you take work home every weekend, and you never talk about doing anything fun, like going on a date or out with friends. You should do that.”

They were at the elevator, and Paige hit the Down button and then turned toward Daisy. “Things have been busy but…sure, I go out with friends.”

“When was the last time you did that?”

Oh God. When was that? Probably around the last time she’d had sex. Not that she was having sex with friends but… Oh. Wait. Mitch. Mitch Stevens. Sex and a friend. Sort of like a two-for-one based on this conversation.

“Okay, I’ll admit it’s been a while. But it’s all good. Once this campaign stuff falls into place, I’ll be able to step back a bit and take time for myself. I promise.”

Daisy’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

Behind them, the elevator dinged its arrival. Thankfully.

“Don’t worry about me,” Paige said reassuringly. “I’m fine. You enjoy your weekend and hopefully on Monday all of this will have sorted itself out. And maybe…” She stopped as the look on Daisy’s face changed.

Paled.

Her mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. Her eyes widened.

“Daisy? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“I…I… It’s…it’s…”

Panic swamped Paige. She stepped forward and grabbed her assistant by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Daisy? What’s wrong?”

“Sex!” Daisy hissed.

“What?”

Daisy began to tremble as she leaned forward and whispered to Paige, “Sex on a stick. Oh God. He really is!”

Paige took a step back and immediately bumped into someone. “Oh…excuse me. I’m sorry. I…” She turned her head and froze.

Good Lord.

Tall, dark, and a bit scruffy. He wore faded blue jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a leather jacket, and smelled like a sexy combination of heaven and sin. Paige’s eyes wandered up to his strong jaw and dark-chocolate-brown eyes as she swallowed hard.

Holy. Crap.

“Hey,” he said casually, smiling. “I’m looking for Paige Walters. I was told her office was up here.”

“You’re…you’re…” Daisy stammered.

He laughed softly and held out his hand to her. “Dylan Anders.”

Of course he was.