Monday is never my day.

Hadley is up my ass about the last-minute delays on last week’s package.

“Do you anticipate similar delays with any of the pieces for this week?”

“I don’t, no.” I turn to scan the calendar app open on my computer screen. “I’ve built in extra time to confirm all the necessary quotes, and the designers have been getting the graphics back at least four hours ahead of schedule.”

She purses her lips, squints at my computer screen. “Angelica, I was pretty disappointed in your performance last week.”

Then why are you telling me? “I completely understand, Hadley. It won’t happen again.” There’s absolutely no point in reminding her that I have company-guaranteed sick time, or that it’s appropriate for people to have a life outside of work.

Speaking of outside, there’s something more pressing I need to do today—even more pressing than pleasing Hadley. The sooner I can get her to go back to her own office, the sooner I can barrel through the rest of today’s work.

I have a meeting with Charlie.

I got his message as soon as I sat down at my desk this morning.

Did you download the latest information?

Yes.

I hovered over the “send” button for a moment before adding, I have the thumb drive with me. Better that he interpret my tone as serious rather than snotty. God knows what he’ll do if I piss him off.

In his next reply, he named off a coffee shop located two blocks from my office, and a time: 5:15. It seemed reasonable until Hadley revealed she was in an even more uptight mood than usual today, which usually signals that I’ll be staying until at least 6:00.

My only hope is to get enough done before 5:00 that I can make the case for heading out then.

I work like a madwoman, straight through lunch, putting text together with images for three site features that are going live by the end of the week, hassling the photography department about changes I need made on some of the photos, and checking tasks off in Hadley’s task-tracking system. She lives and dies by that thing, and so do I.

By 4:45, I’m down to the final checkbox on the list. The task reads, “Send full email update to Hadley Martin.’ It hurts not to roll my eyes.

But send a “full email update” I do, detailing little tidbits about each of the items on the list and confirming that they are, in fact, finished.

When the clock strikes five, I flip off my computer monitor with an authority I certainly don’t feel on the inside, fling my purse strap over my shoulder, and stride out of the office like I’m on a mission.

Thankfully, Hadley’s office door is closed, and as I go by I hear her voice rising in volume. I can only hope this phone call will last long enough that she doesn’t call me back in. It’s been known to happen.

Charlie is waiting outside the coffee shop—an independently owned one three doors down from a Dunkin’ Donuts. As usual, there’s nobody inside the indie store—Mugs—but Charlie lurks outside, leaning against the brickwork, his collared shirt making him look like a preppy Geek Squad member, only menacing.

When he notices me, my stomach tightens. I stifle the urge to turn and run in the opposite direction down the street.

Instead, I force myself to approach him, stopping several feet away. He straightens up from the wall.

“Drive.”

I slip my hand into my purse and pull out the thumb drive, tipping it into his hand as fast as humanly possible.

Charlie pulls an identical thumb drive from his pocket and hands it off to me. “One week from today. That’s the deadline.” I can feel the adrenaline spiking through my veins. “Got it?”

“Yes.”

He turns to go, but the blood is rushing in my ears. How long does this façade have to last? “Wait.”

Charlie turns slowly around, his eyes narrowed at me menacingly. “What?”

“How long—?” I force the words out around the tightness in my throat. “How long do you want me to keep this up? When is Adam’s debt going to be paid?”

He barks out a laugh. “If you hadn’t been such a stupid bitch and installed the program correctly the first time, this would be behind you.” My muscles tense at the word bitch, but I’m not stupid enough to pick a fight about it. Not here. “I wouldn’t answer that question even if I could.”

I should turn and go. I should walk back down the street, hail a cab and get out at Jett’s apartment and do what I’m told. But the moment is dragging out, slowing down, and I can see every twitch of expression in Charlie’s face. If we’re going to keep meeting like this, I want to have some idea of when it will end. So I give it one more try.

“You don’t have any idea when—?”

“What did I say?” Charlie’s eyes are cold, sending shivers racing down my spine even in the late summer heat.

“Never mind.” I back up a couple of steps. “One week.”

“As long as it takes,” he spits, then turns on his heel and leaves. At the next alley, he makes a right and disappears from my view.

Once he’s out of sight, my muscles go weak, and for an instant I think I might totter over on my high heels like I’ve been day-drinking. I get hold of myself at the last second.

Charlie has been crystal clear—getting Jett to let me stay at his penthouse is only the tip of the iceberg. This could go on for weeks.

Weeks.

If that happens, there’s no way I can keep pretending that I’m there for a fling. I certainly won’t be able to keep coming back after the fact if it’s as meaningless as Jett seems to make me want to believe.

He’s going to have to fall in love.

But I can’t do the same.