Josie had just made it downstairs when the doorbell rang. Movers already? She hadn't even scoped out the rest of the house for a place to put her furniture, now that she had decided to be amicable and keep her bedroom intact.

Was that wimpy? A return to Old Josie to accede to Evan's wishes? She frowned. It really had seemed important to him, so would it really be bad to leave the room as he wanted it? Being nice was okay. It wasn't the same thing as letting herself be taken advantage of. No, it was definitely okay. She could feel good about her decision. She wasn't reverting.

The doorbell rang again.

Josie hopped over the last stair then yanked open the front door, ready to face some overweight, saggy-bottomed moving guy.

But it was a very tall, model-skinny woman with white blond hair, a very sophisticated evening gown, and stiletto heels. "You probably aren't the movers, huh?"

The woman stared at Josie.

Josie met her gaze, using all her willpower not to look down at her dirty jeans, sneakers, and wrinkled tee shirt. She had no makeup on and her hair was shoved in a ponytail. She was like mud compared to this woman. Finally, she cleared her throat. "Can I help you?"

The woman finally donned a cool smile. "I'm here for Evan."

"You are?" She felt her shoulders drop about six inches.

"Yes." The woman peered past Josie. "Is he ready?"

"Not quite. I just left him changing his clothes in his bedroom." Okay, so that sort of implied something that wasn't actually the case. From the sharp look the woman gave her, she was glad she'd said it.

Not that she owned Evan, but Josie could tell this woman thought she was all special and well...she felt a wee bit possessive about Evan. "I suppose you could come in and wait for him." She stepped aside.

The woman took a few dignified steps into the front hall, clasping a delicate handbag in her manicured fingers. Yeesh. There was no way Josie could walk in heels that high. They were nearly as long as her calf.

She shut the door and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm Josie Harper. I live here with Evan."

The woman gave her a look that really required eyebrows being lifted in disdain, but her perfectly coifed brows didn't move.

Botox woman. How un-Amazon-like. Josie wiggled her eyebrows just to prove she could. "And your name is?"

"Priscilla Donnelly. Of Donnelly, Inc."

"Oh, course. Donnelly, Inc. Wonderful company." Who the heck was Donnelly? "Your dad own it?"

A flicker of ice lit up Priscilla's eyes. "Yes, but I'm second in command. I'll be taking over when he retires." She looked her up and down. "And what do you do?"

Saying she was unemployed and living off charity didn't sound so good. "I'm just playing happy homemaker for Evan these days." Why had she said that? Her goal was to become a woman like Priscilla Donnelly. Financially secure, fabulous career, with a sense of fashion that would put her on the cover of all career woman magazines. She should be down on her knees, begging Priscilla to mold her into a new woman.

But she couldn't.

She hated Priscilla Donnelly.

Yikes. She was turning into a horrible person. Hating someone she'd just met for no reason? She should be ashamed. "Listen, sorry for being testy. I've had a really bad week."

"It's no problem." Priscilla glanced up the stairs, and her face suddenly dropped its shmooish reserve, breaking into a warm and well-practiced smile. "Evan. At last."

Boiling rage exploded inside Josie. And she'd wondered why she'd hated Priscilla from the first moment. A good warrior always listened to her instinct, especially when identifying the enemy. Josie slowly turned and faced the stairs. Evan was jogging down them, another gorgeous suit accentuating all the masculine curves of his body. And he was smiling at Priscilla. Smiling. He hadn't smiled at Josie since they'd met.

Jerk.

"Hey, Priss. Sorry to keep you waiting."

Priss? What kind of a name was that? "Your business dinner date is here." Okay, so she sounded a little sarcastic. Nothing she could do about it.

"Priss isn't my business dinner date. She's my secret weapon."

Priss giggled and gave Josie a sympathetic look. Poor delusional sod, thinking you have a chance with my Evan. Her thoughts were so obvious Josie wanted to vomit right there.

Okay. That was it. She was officially an emotional disaster. "Have a nice evening."

"You too. Make yourself at home." Evan put his hand on the small of Priss's back to guide her out the door.

She felt ill.

Priss stepped outside, but Evan turned to Josie. "You okay? You look a little green."

Blasted jerk actually looked like he cared. Made her want to just fall into his arms and start crying about everything that had gone wrong in the last six months. Instead she forced a smile to her face. "Just a little hungry."

"You sure?" He laid his hand across her forehead. "No fever."

For a fraction of an instant, she let her eyes close while she relished the touch of his cool hand against her skin.

Then he removed his hand and she opened her eyes. "I told you. I'm fine."

"All right then." Evan hesitated, then pulled a paper and pen out of the table in the front hall. "Here's my cell number. Call me if you need anything." He touched her face. "Sorry I have to run out."

He was sorry? He was almost making her feel special, like he cared, like they had some sort of connection. And she suddenly wished so much that it was true.

She took a step back and folded her arms. "Go. It's not polite to make a woman wait."

So he left.

And she went in search of ice cream. Cookies. Cake. Fudge. Anything chocolate would suffice.

* * *

Evan glanced surreptitiously at his watch for the hundredth time in twenty minutes. This evening was turning into a disaster in all ways.

There had been one goal for tonight. One simple goal. Have a nice dinner with Dr. Samuel K. Black, IV. Gain his trust and his friendship. Secure him as a client.

Easy.

Except for one minor problem.

Dr. Black was bored out of his mind.

This was strike two.

Evan and Dr. Black had met once in Dr. Black's office. Evan knew he'd passed the professional inspection, but he'd sensed a failure to connect with the wealthy Bostonian. And he needed this client to really break through into the elite group of financial advisors serving Boston's Old Guard.

And the man was slipping through his fingers.

He'd thought it was because Dr. Black was looking for someone with blue blood, someone with a pedigree and a history. He doubted his familial ties to felons and his dirt-poor childhood would qualify. Which is why he'd recruited Priscilla. She was the epitome of everything Old Boston Proper, and Evan had been pursuing her for months. Tonight was the first time she'd actually accepted an invitation from him.

He'd been pleased by her acceptance of his invitation, both on a professional and personal level. Priss was just what he needed to complete his life.

But she was boring as hell, and Dr. Black looked like he was about to nod off in his salad.

And all Evan could think about was Josie. He had a feeling she was wreaking havoc on his home, and he felt like a little kid, eager to get home and see what she'd done.

No, this evening was definitely not going as planned.

With Priscilla's connections, her practiced and perfect manners, and dignified charm, not to mention looks that would knock any man down, he'd been so certain she'd be a valuable asset in winning the trust of Dr. Samuel K. Black, IV, and a perfect match for him.

She was currently expounding on the latest idiotic move by Congress that could adversely affect the earnings of Donnelly, Inc. Dr. Black was nodding in a suspicious rhythm...

Evan peered closer. Sure enough, Dr. Black's eyes were at half-mast, and his chin was bowing toward his chest.

This was not going well.

Time to call it a night before he lost all opportunity with this man.

As for Priscilla, he was giving up on her. He couldn't deal with another evening in her company. It'd be back to seeing her at cocktail parties and gallery openings.

But why? He'd always thought Priscilla was interesting before. Why was he so bored that it was all he could do from throwing himself out the window into the Charles River? Surely, it had nothing to do with the fact he kept comparing her to Josie, and Josie kept winning.

That would be unacceptable.

He was just feeling a little cranky. Time to shape up and invest a little energy in the evening, both in Dr. Black and Priscilla.

He could do this.