Tessa

“I had a great time at the game tonight. Thanks,” I tell Mark. We’re standing together outside my apartment door. “I should’ve split the cost of the tickets with you, though.”

The fact that he lives across the hall makes this goodbye awkward. Actually, it makes all things awkward, because I only see him as a friend.

“It was my pleasure, really,” he says, looking from my eyes to my lips.

Oh no! Is he going to kiss me? Barclay was right about one thing: he likes me in the more-than-a-friend way. I’ve been picking up those vibes from him all night.

I pull my bag open and start digging around for my keys. Anything to distract him from kissing me.

“Here they are.” I hold my keys up in the air, conveniently filling the space between us and hoping he takes the hint.

But he doesn’t. He springs forward, his arm landing on my shoulder as his mouth connects with mine in a wet, sloppy kiss, reminiscent of licks from a happy puppy. I pull away and wipe my lips.

Gross.

He turns scarlet, as he should. “How dare you kiss me like that?”

“I’m sorry,” he says with sad eyes and a deflated stance.

Truly sorry or not, he needs to know exactly how I feel about him. At this point, he gives me the damn creeps.

“That kiss was presumptive, Mark.” I place a hand on my hip, and he retreats a step. “It’s not like we’re five years old on the playground. Your approach was way too aggressive for me.”

“Are you going to tell Mr. Hammond?”

“Barclay?” I ask. He tilts his head, then his eyes narrow, assessing me.

I cover my mouth in shock, realizing I used his first name—something a junior executive doesn’t do at Hammond.

“I saw you two going toward the house, alone. Then you were upset when you came back to the party.” Mark searches my face, looking for a slip, but I won’t give him one.

“I was looking for the restroom and Mr. Hammond showed me the one inside,” I lie without any regrets, because I won’t let him expose the man I … I love? It’s the first time I’ve admitted it to myself, but I love him madly, more than a dream job.

What good will it be if I don’t have him? The question gives me an epiphany, and I have to act on it now.

“I have to go, Mark.” I spin around and unlock my door.

After booting up my laptop, I open my company email program and start an email to Ms. Young.

Dear Ms. Young,

I want to thank you for the opportunity you gave me at Hammond Press and the confidence you have in my abilities. For reasons I can’t discuss, unfortunately, I must resign as junior marketing manager effective immediately.

Sincerely,

Contessa Holly

My finger hovers over the mouse, knowing one click changes my world … for today. The chances are I’ll land another publishing gig or something close, but will I find another man like Barclay—one I love with my whole heart, and who I think loves me?

I press send. He’s worth the gamble. I refuse to live my life with what ifs. My new motto: live my life with no regrets. And my new goal, for tonight anyway: find Barclay and lose it.

I change out of the clothes I wore to the baseball game with creepy Mark and shower off any remnants of his DNA. I brush my hair and reapply my makeup. Next up, what to wear.

Maggie bought me a sexy pink slip dress before I left town. It’s street wear lingerie and perfect for tonight. I leave my undergarments sitting in the dresser drawer all alone, and make my way up to the top floor of Hammond Hotel.

I step off the elevator, and bottled up emotions come bubbling up. I just quit my job and can finally be his. Nothing stands in our way. Shaky legs carry me to the hallway and the lone apartment door on the entire floor. I inhale confidence and exhale fear before I push the doorbell, praying he’s home.

A beat later, the door opens, and a disheveled Barclay stands in the doorway. His hair’s mussed in every direction and a delicious layer of scruff covers his chiseled jaw. He’s wearing an unbuttoned white linen shirt, displaying cut abs, and jeans that hang low enough that I can see the edge of his boxer briefs.

“How was your date, sweet girl?” he snarls at me, a slight slur to his words. The smell of strong alcohol on his breath lingers in the air.

He’s drunk, with a fiery passion in his eyes that could ruin me if it’s let loose, and I’ve never wanted anything so much.