Quick, name the one person you’d rather not talk to on a Friday night…while you’re still at the office?

First question—what was I doing at the office on a Friday night? Easy. Where else would you expect a workaholic to be?

Okay, I wasn’t planning to spend the entire night here. I did have a life after all.

I also wasn’t planning to talk to my mother on the phone while at the office on a Friday night—yet here I was doing exactly that.

“I tried calling your apartment.” Her tone for the last word was like battery acid with a dash of honey. My mother didn’t do apartments. And definitely not apartments the size of—as she had put it—my parents’ swimming pool.

She was exaggerating. Mostly.

Did I feel that my apartment was too small? Not at all. What did I need a large apartment for anyway? With two bedrooms, mine had plenty of space for me, especially since I spent more time at work than I did there. Besides, it was a nice apartment located in a Victorian house not far from the bay. I loved it, even if my mother didn’t.

I didn’t bother to point out she’d been calling my cell phone earlier, but I had let her go to voicemail. I hadn’t expected her to then phone my work number, which was why I’d answered it.

Although I had no idea, in retrospect, who else would’ve called me at 9 p.m. at work on a Friday night, which was Saturday afternoon in Sydney.

“I was just about to leave,” I said. “What can I help you with?” Even though she and Dad had a financial planner, it didn’t stop her from asking my advice.

Not that she necessarily listened to it, but it was one of the few things we could talk about that didn’t leave me feeling as though she was judging me in the worst possible way.

“First,” she said, “while it’s commendable that your career is important to you, you shouldn’t be working at the office so late. Especially not on a Friday night.”

Said the woman who spent my childhood doing the same thing. Only difference was, she had three kids and I was completely kid-free.

I didn’t even have a pet.

“I’m meeting up with friends in a few minutes,” I pointed out. I do have a social life, Mum. A social life that wasn’t all about being seen by the right people in the right places—something Mum had specialized in my entire life.

“Good. The reason I’m calling is to inform you that my mother died.” A small amount of emotion snuck into her otherwise cool voice.

“Nanna’s dead?” The words barely squeezed past shock and despair. I coughed to clear my throat. “What happened?” She had been fine the last time I talked to her.

“Heart attack. The funeral is on Thursday.”

I bit my lip to hold back the building sob. “I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Her voice wavered slightly. “Send me your travel information, and I’ll have Simon pick you up at the airport.”

I smiled a little at the thought of seeing my thirty-year-old brother. “Okay.” I had no idea if she’d heard my reply. She’d ended the call the moment the word had left my mouth.

My gaze fell to the small, framed photo on my desk. The woman crouched on the ground with an adorable baby wallaby cuddling a teddy bear? That was Nanna. She had found him injured and nursed him back to health.

The photo had been taken at Christmas, when she was full of life, her cheeks glowing, her eyes holding the mischievous light that was all Nanna. Both of us were wearing ratty denim shorts and had dirt smudged on our makeup-free faces. Surprised? I know—the complete opposite of how people in San Francisco normally saw me.

I examined my perfectly manicured French tips, then brushed my fingers along the light-gray pencil skirt and the cream-colored cashmere cardigan hugging my breasts. Nanna wouldn’t have recognized me like this.

In San Francisco, I was more like my mother.

I shuddered at the thought—then turned off the computer, straightened my desk, and switched off the office light. Even workaholic Trent had left several hours ago, something that was new for him ever since he started dating Kelsey. I sent her a text that I was on my way.

The bar they’d picked was the furthest thing from a sports bar they could have found. The upbeat jazz music playing in the background? If I didn’t know better, I could’ve sworn Nanna had requested it especially for me. It was one of her favorites.

I grinned at the memory of her humming it while trying to give Marcus, the baby wallaby, a bath. By the end of it, Nanna and I were soaked—Marcus, not so much.

Kelsey and Trent were deep in conversation when I approached the table. Josh wasn’t there yet—and wouldn’t be for another few hours—but they already had drinks in front of them, and a strawberry daiquiri was sitting at one of the two empty spots. Gimme, gimme.

Kelsey glanced up and grinned. “Hey, you actually made it.”

I laughed and the people at the next table visibly cringed. That’s right. I won the gene pool jackpot. I had beautiful, long auburn hair that looked like fire when the sunlight hit it just right. My skin was creamy and perfect—other than a splattering of freckles on my nose—and I had a great body (which I did work hard at, so there was that).

What I hadn’t been blessed with was a beautiful laugh like Kelsey. When she laughed, angels sang. When I laughed, they burrowed their heads in the ground and prayed their agony would end quickly—or at least that the world would end soon.

Oh, well. No one was perfect.

But it was that one imperfect trait that turned guys off. I knew it. They knew it. So all was good.

It didn’t cause me to stop laughing, though. Life was too short not to laugh. Nanna had taught me that.

“Of course I made it,” I said, taking my seat. “I stayed late at the office to watch some of Josh’s game.” I took a sip of my drink. “Wow, that’s good.” Now let’s keep them coming.

How did I meet Josh? Kelsey and Trent had hosted a dinner party a few months ago and he was invited. The two of us had hung out together as friends since then—as in, seeing-a-movie-together, Josh-helping-me-move-furniture, and I-need-a-woman’s-opinion kind of friends. Was it possible to be friends with a guy and sex not be involved? Absolutely. And unlike with some couples who invited their single friends out like a matched pair, neither Kelsey nor Trent entertained expectations that Josh and I would become a couple.

Which was a good thing because I couldn’t see it happening. Even if he was hot and my body got all tingly whenever I saw him. Josh didn’t come off as the settling-down type. Not that he needed to settle down when women were more than happy just to have sex with him—no commitment required.

How did I know? I’d seen him being hit on a few times; I swear the guy was a magnet for horny women. Did it ever bother me? Not at all. It was always fun giving him a hard time about it afterward. And yes—he did occasionally leave with a few of them.

Was I the settling down type? Well, I wasn’t looking to get married and I wasn’t looking to start a family. My career? That was my baby.

Maybe this was why Josh and I had become friends over the past few months. We were perfect for each other—strictly as friends.

And hopefully my body would eventually be fully onboard with that.

Kelsey, Trent, and I chatted until Josh eventually showed up, looking like he had just finished playing triple overtime. Not once did I mention Nanna. Not once did I let on that something was wrong. I just happily worshiped my drink.

And once I’d finished worshiping it, I started on round two.

“Enjoy life, Holly,” Nanna’s laughing voice said in the back of my head. “You need to seize life by the horns and all that clichéd crap, and enjoy it while you can. You don’t want to be like your parents—miserable all the time.”

I raised my glass as if to say cheers to her.

“Did I miss anything?” Josh asked as he sat in the empty chair next to me—and a happy heat that had nothing to do with the alcohol made a mad dash to my girlie parts.

All right, ten percent had to do with the alcohol. But the rest was unmistakable lust.

Down girls. This was Josh—Trent’s friend—we were talking about. We were totally not going there.

Somehow the “down” and “going” part got twisted in my head, and an image flashed across my mind of him actually going down on me.

And that was like tossing gasoline on a fire. Kaboom!

I squirmed in my seat, hoping no one noticed how aroused I was.

The waitress picked that moment to check if we needed another round of drinks. I ordered a third daiquiri. “I’m taking a cab home,” I announced at Kelsey’s worried expression.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes. My mother phoned before I came here to tell me my grandmother died.” Did that sound I-don’t-want-to-ruin-your-fun casual? Somewhat close to that maybe?

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Holly.” Kelsey looked ready to fling herself across the table and hug me. Did I mention how much I loved her? I could guarantee Mum wouldn’t be hugging me when I showed up for the funeral. More like running around like an emu with its arse feathers on fire while she spoke to the caterer about the event.

“It’s okay,” I said brightly, thanks to the brilliant invention known as a strawberry daiquiri. “She wouldn’t want you to feel sad or sorry about it. She’s probably watching from Heaven, wondering when I’m going to toast her with tequila shots.”

Josh chuckled. The god of laughter had definitely been more generous with him. It was a sexy, full-bodied laugh that made delicious places I didn’t know existed on my body ache with desire.

Hmm. Maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. Now I was even hornier than before. As in, I’m-ready-to-jump-him-at-the-table horny.

Josh waved the waitress over and ordered a round of shooters for him and me.

“You really don’t want one?” he asked Kelsey. Trent was driving them back to her home afterward.

“I’m positive,” she said. “Tequila and I had a bad run-in at a party once and I haven’t been able to touch the drink since.”

“Looks like it’s just you and me then, Hot Stuff,” he said to me.

The corner of my mouth slid up. “Okay, Cool Stuff.”

The space between Kelsey’s eyes crinkled in confusion. “Hot Stuff? Cool Stuff? Am I missing something here?”

“He’s referring to my hair color,” I explained, “and I’m referring to his occupation.”

She laughed. “Got it!”

The waitress returned a few minutes later with lemon wedges, salt, and shooter glasses filled with tequila, all of which she set in front of Josh and me.

I dipped my finger into my tequila, smeared the liquid on the back of my hand, and sprinkled salt on it. Josh did the same, only instead of using his finger, he used his tongue…and my mind instantly imagined where else he could use that tongue—preferably on the ache between my legs.

The ache wholeheartedly agreed with that, and I came within a centimeter of groaning out loud. Not the rolling-your-eyes kind of groan. More like the Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God-do-me-now groan.

I mentally sent the image of Josh’s tongue on my body packing to a deserted island, never to be seen again.

He lifted his glass and I did the same. “To your grandmother.”

“To hockey.”

He gave a small nod, almost as if thanking me for not bringing up what had happened earlier. We then licked, shot, and sucked our way to happiness—or at least close enough to it for now. Josh’s gaze dropped to my mouth and the lemon wedge there, and his eyes darkened.

I removed the lemon from my mouth and glanced over at Kelsey and Trent, checking if they too had noticed Josh’s reaction. That would be a no. They were busy being cozy with each other, Trent caressing her knee.

I pushed aside the momentary pang of sadness that Trent had fallen in love with Kelsey instead of with me. Until two months ago, I had been falling for Trent, only to discover he was in love with my friend.

But anyone could tell they were perfect together. Plus he wanted to have kids one day, as did Kelsey. Me? Not so much.

For me, my career was my one-and-only goal in life. Was I against kids? Not at all. I was just against the idea of being like my own parents. They weren’t the ones who had raised my brothers and me. That honor had gone to Nanna and our nannies.

All thirty of them.

That’s right, thirty.

Now, before you envision my brothers and me as the modern-day von Trapp family, let me point out—the problem wasn’t us. That award went to Mum.

“Lydia, why does Holly have that tiny speck of dirt on her? That’s completely unacceptable.”

“Julia, Holly’s B+ in English lit is unacceptable. You are expected to ensure she gets only straight As. If you can’t remember that, you might want to reread the employment contract.”

“Bertha, why is Holly climbing a tree? Didn’t we agree that was unacceptable behavior for a young lady?”

Point taken? I thought so.

With some of the nannies, we had rejoiced when they’d quit after the first month or two. They could’ve easily been close cousins of Hitler—minus the German accent. I still shuddered at the memory. If my parents hadn’t driven them away, my brothers and I might’ve considered going von-Trapp-kids on them.

There had been a few nice nannies in the mix, but they weren’t around long enough to become the surrogate parents we needed—the loving and supportive parents our friends had. The nicer the nanny, the shorter their stay with us. My brothers and I had it down to a science when it came to predicting how long a nanny would last.

That skill came in handy with my current career. I was great at predicting things and creating the ultimate algorithm for the situation at hand.

But if there was one thing my parents had taught me (well, two really), it was that I didn’t know what it meant to have someone love me, and I didn’t know how to be the amazing mother my kids would deserve.

Okay, this wasn’t a hundred percent true. Nanna had taught me that I was worth loving. But she was the only one to instill that lesson in me, and it was often easily forgotten.

“I need another round,” I told Josh.

Once it arrived, Josh and I toasted Nanna again, and I quickly forgot about my old life back home. Tequila was awesome that way.

After the shooters, I switched back to daiquiris. The four of us talked and laughed for the next hour.

“We’re heading out now,” Trent told us after Kelsey had yawned for the third time, which I loosely translated to mean, “I’m taking my beautiful girlfriend home and fucking her brains out.”

Except I wasn’t ready to leave yet. You could blame the daiquiris and tequila and Nanna’s death for that. I wasn’t ready to go back to my lonely apartment and face the truth—that I had lost the one person who had loved me unconditionally, other than my brothers.

“All right,” Josh said, waving them off. To me he said, “Are you ready to leave, or do you want to hang out together a little longer?”

Hell yes to the latter.