The scent of garlic greeted me as soon as I opened my apartment door. I stopped next to the shriveled plant in the foyer, tossing my keys in the bowl beside it.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Only the greatest human you know,” Khloe shouted from the kitchen. “Did you forget our pasta and wine night?”

Shit on toast.

Taking a deep breath, I made my way to the kitchen. “Oh my gosh, Khlo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to forget, but today has been a larger-than-life disaster.”

She dropped the wooden spoon, rushed over, and wrapped me in her arms. She was more than an amazing friend. In the words of Meredith Grey, Khloe was “my person”—neurotic, fun, and, at times, even a gourmet cook. I loved her for it.

“I’m all ears. What happened?”

“Where should I start?”

“Deep breath and go.”

I tapped my finger over my lips. “Let’s see . . . the City Net pitch went to shit because the owner, Mr. Thompson, said he had a better offer. So not only did I not close the deal, I find out Winthrop had the better bid.”

I wanted to tell Khloe the rest, but I wasn’t sure how. I’d lied to her about Jameson for so long, she’d never forgive me. At the time I’d convinced myself it would be too risky to share with even her, but I wished so many time that I had. It killed me to keep anything from her.

Khloe stared at me, wide-eyed and confused. She took a step back. “Okay.”

I shoved my face into my hands. “Sorry I dumped all of this on you.”

In her you-need-to-relax voice, she said, “Rewind. I thought this meeting was a formality? You know, to sign the legal papers.”

I took a deep breath. “It wasn’t.” Shaking my head, I let out a sigh. “I had the best possible pitch for Thompson, but I guess Jameson sent him a better bid last night after the gala. My boss called me into his office to tell me that if I don’t sign City Net, I can kiss my promotion goodbye.”

“Wow. That’s rough, Eden.” She paced back over to the kitchen, waving her hands about. “Wait, so can you send Thompson a revised bid? Do you have a plan?”

I had a plan, I thought, but all I said was, “I’ll think of one.”

The pasta boiled over, and Khloe rushed to the stove. She swiftly turned it down, tilting her head to the side. “Can I assist somehow?”

I shook my head.

“Maybe a little food will help? Or we can keep talking about it?”

My exhaustion kicked into high gear. With the weight of the day pressing down on my shoulders, and my mind still racing after what happened in Jameson’s office, the last thing I needed was the Khloe Inquisition, even if it was puttering around my kitchen, straining noodles, baking garlic bread, and tossing a salad.

The image of me bent over Jameson’s desk flashed through my mind. My breath skipped and my pulse picked up. I pressed my hand to my thigh, still staring at the cold granite countertop, recalling the glossy polished wood of his desk.

Khloe snapped her fingers in my face. “Where’d you go?

“Nowhere, thinking about the bid,” I lied.

“Go change. The food is almost done.” When I didn’t move, she pointed her finger toward my bedroom. “Get going. Stop standing there like a statue.”

I hopped to it, scurrying hastily toward my room to discard the evidence from earlier. When I removed my skirt, the stockings beneath were soggy and tattered, with runs that traveled all the way down my thighs. A large gash remained at the crotch, big enough to expose all of me. Thankfully, my skirt was long enough to cover the worst of the damage.

As I peeled off my clothes, I touched the skin where Jameson had stroked me. His palms were strong, rough, and he had used them to grip, hold, and squeeze every inch of me. How could I be so thoughtless? One touch was all it took.

Oh God, had I really told him I hated him while I came? What was wrong with me? Who says such a thing during sex? I hid my face in my hands, wishing away the last few hours. Somehow, I knew sleeping with Jameson again would be the biggest regret of my life.

I walked over to my dresser and pulled out a soft cotton T-shirt.

“What’s taking so long?” Khloe called from the kitchen.

I wasn’t ready to go back out there. Or tell her anything. I couldn’t tell her, wouldn’t tell her. What would I say? Oh hey, when I went over to Jameson’s office he accidentally fell into my vagina.

“Be there in a minute,” I called. “Just need to wash my face.”

For now, it would have to remain my dirty little secret—or our dirty little secret. As I pulled on my yoga pants, my mind drifted to his couch. The way he touched me so viscerally and commanded my body as I straddled him. The memory of set off a sharp jolt between my legs.

I washed my face and headed for the living room before Khloe came to find me. She had filled two plates with sweet-smelling marinara and penne. The nearly orgasmic aroma awakened my senses.

“Finally. I’m famished.”

I gave her a little bow, hands folded as though praying. “Thanks for cooking. I don’t have enough battery power left to call for takeout, let alone all this. It smells incredible.”

Khloe smiled, then stuck out her tongue. “You’re welcome.”

“I love ya.”

Her eyes lit up. She lifted her wineglass to me. “Love ya, too. Now, let’s drink to carbs.”

“I’ll drink to anything after the day I had, but maybe I’ll set my alarm for an extra thirty minutes of cardio tomorrow.”

Khloe knew how much I craved carbs—bread, pasta, anything delicious—but I always felt guilty after indulging, so we had a tradition: binge, then work it off the next morning. She mostly came with me for moral support.

Devouring a plate full of comfort carbs didn’t help much with the exhaustion. One glass of wine later, Khloe got a second wind, while I melted into the couch with a fuzzy fleece blanket.

“You have way too many books,” Khloe said, staring at the built-in shelves lining the other end of the living room.

“There is no such thing as too many books.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “How about a little music?”

I nodded as Khloe located the remote for the sound system. Soon, Michael Bublé’s voice echoed through the room; while the words of “Kissing a Fool” were smooth, they put me on edge. I closed my eyes only to end up back in Jameson’s office, remembering his lips on my skin and the way he felt deep inside me. My cheeks warmed.

“So, what’s your game plan?”

Khloe’s question tore me from thoughts of Jameson. “Game plan?” Did she see my cheeks flushed just then? Shit.

She cocked her head to the side. “About the City Net deal for Thompson?”

I sat up. “Steal Thompson back from right under Winthrop’s damn nose. I don’t care what I have to do, but I will get this account back. I’m not letting it go, and I refuse to allow all my work go to waste.”

A line appeared on Khloe’s forehead. She pursed her lips.

“What, Khlo?”

“Just . . . Jameson seemed intense. I know you’re an adult and this is your job, but be careful.”

“What do you mean ‘be careful’? Jameson doesn’t scare me one bit.”

She gazed down at her full glass, then up at me again before taking a drawn-out sip of her wine. “There is something between you two.”

“No, there isn’t,” I lied.

She narrowed her eyes. “Bullshit. I knew something was up after the auction last night. I thought maybe it was a work thing, but clearly there’s more.”

“What does it matter now?”

“It bothered you enough to keep it from me.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Khloe, please . . . It’s not important and never was. I didn’t keep anything from you.” Now I’m flat out lying to her face. Great friend award goes to . . .

“You can lie to yourself all you want, but Jameson has it bad,” she insisted while pointing her finger at me. “And you, missy, act weird around him.”

“I do not.”

She batted her lashes. “Suuure.”

Rolling my eyes, I said, “I don’t, Khloe.”

“Dammit, Eden. Out with it!”

Covering my face with the blanket I sighed. “All you need to know is”—I eased the fabric down past my eyes—“he and I would never work.”

She pulled the fleece throw off my face. “Do you think you can get away with that? You’re a grown woman, act like it.”

I glared at her, but she just glared back with an unyielding scowl. “Fine.”

Khloe sat up like a puppy whose owner held a juicy steak. Problem was, I didn’t want to tell her all the salacious details; she would never approve, and I couldn’t risk her going into full Khloe freak-out mode, or worse, confronting him.

“We tried to date once, close to six years ago, but our companies are rivals. If anyone ever found out, I’d be fired. My bosses would think I’d been spying for WSquared.”

“Was the gala the first time you’ve seen him since then?”

“No, but it has been a while. Except for occasional phone calls about clients and accidental run-ins, we avoid each other. He usually doesn’t go to charity events. I had no idea he’d be at the gala. Then you seated us with them.”

She smacked her forehead. “Shit. I’m sorry. That was Pryce’s idea—he said it would look good to rub elbows with Mr. Winthrop.”

“You didn’t know.”

“So has he always been so . . .”

“Dickish?”

She laughed. “I was going to say ‘willful.’”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“Is he the reason you haven’t had a boyfriend in such a long time?”

I shook my head. “No.” Lies!

Khloe combed her fingers through her hair before flipping it to the side. “Does your vagina still work?”

I choked on my own saliva. One mini coughing fit later, I still couldn’t find the words to speak. After earlier in his office, my lady parts definitely still worked.

“Want more wine?”

I held up my hand, shaking it. We’d had a whole bottle, and I couldn’t afford a hangover tomorrow. “I noticed you danced with Mr. Davenport,” I challenged, winking at her.

She whipped her head around so fast I thought she’d drop her glass. Then she placed it down on the table. “I did.”

I pressed my lips together to hide my elation. “And?”

She rolled her eyes. “And nothing. He was nice enough to ask; I said yes.”

“He’s handsome.”

She bit her top lip. “God, I know. E . . . you have no idea.”

I laughed. “Did he ask for your number?”

“Yes,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

“And?”

“And nothing. I am not interested in someone who couldn’t tell the difference between chiffon and tweed.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I swore the back of my skull was visible. “Yes, because proper identification of fabrics is essential to a relationship.”

“It is if you want to date me,” she retorted.

“I don’t think we’ll ever grow up. In twenty more years we’ll be spinsters with Golden Girls status. You’ll be Rose, and Sophia will be Blanche.”

We both laughed until our lungs hurt. “You crack me up.”

“All right, I have to get some sleep. I need to go to the office tomorrow, unfortunately.

“But it’s Saturday!”

“I’m lucky it’s not all weekend at this point. I have Monday off though so I’ll get to have a break after the chaos.” Grabbing the dirty dishes, I headed to the sink. “Please don’t give me your stop-being-a-party-pooper look.”

She shrugged. “I know your job is a bit more insane than mine.”

After Khloe left, I headed straight for the shower. I had been dying for one since I arrived. There was no way to wash away what happened in Jameson’s office, but I was determined to try—or rub off a layer of skin, whichever happened to come first.

* * *

Sophia’s charming grin greeted me when I walked through the glass doors of Pryce & Leigh the following morning.

I smiled back. “Morning, Soph. What are you doing here? It’s Saturday.”

“I had an extra financial report to finish before Monday. I can’t slack just because Daddy owns this place. Plus, I work better from here.” She winked. “No distractions.”

I nodded in agreement. “Touché. I’m right there with you.”

Her pre-coffee gusto drove me nuts. She was like a hyper puppy, ready to play. When we stopped in front of my office door, she lingered. “So . . . Tommy invited me to this regatta race on Sunday and said I could bring some friends. I want you and Khloe to come.” She paused a moment. “Please?”

“As in tomorrow?” I mentally crossed my fingers. Please say no. I did not want to see Jameson’s brother or anyone else from the Winthrop clan tomorrow or otherwise.

She nodded her head, a hopeful twinkle in her eyes. “I think Tommy is bringing some of his friends, sort of a group outing. He also mentioned a lot of investors would be in attendance, so it would be a good networking opportunity.”

My ears perked up. I could make sure Mrs. Rodriguez from the Uptown board came. “I’m in, and I’ll make Khloe come.”

Sophia gave me a burst of mini claps. “Fantastic.”

Then it hit me. Sophia had been in contact with Tommy. “Wait, you and Tommy . . .”

“We’ve been texting.”

I stared at her, not moving a muscle. “Interesting.”

“I know what you’re going to say . . .” She glanced right then left. “You know, the lecture about not sleeping with the enemy.”

Fuck. This is not ironic or anything. Nope.

“No—no lecture, Soph. I will say one thing. If he’s anything like his brother, he’s not good news.”

“How so?”

I didn’t want to be a Pessimistic Polly, so I held my tongue. “Just be cautious. Okay?”

She nodded, then glided away toward the finance department as I went to sit in my leather chair, limp as a noodle. Had I honestly thought my moment of insanity could be forgotten? Even Sophia said it: never sleep with the enemy.

Work was typically my escape. Plunging head first into a pool of files gave me a new sense of purpose. What mattered now was taking Uptown from Jameson. The regatta tomorrow would be an opportunity to rub shoulders with some potential new clients. There was no doubt in my mind Thompson would be there as well. He had to be.

I scanned through my brain’s archives the way a computer systematically sorted through every file. I’d use Jameson’s own tactics against him. Vince, my assistant, had located a file on the Uptown board yesterday that gave a detailed rundown of their project expectations. When Mrs. Rodriguez’s name crossed my sights, I knew I could corner Jameson into giving me Thompson back by using their project as leverage. Now I had to crunch the numbers and get them to her. I flipped open my laptop, scrolled through my files, and found an expense spreadsheet I could use to kick-start the new spin on the Uptown project that I knew would make the board happy. Things were finally going right.

R. With twenty-four hours left until the race, the clock ticked on. Another countdown commences in T-minus three . . . two . . . one . . .

Since my savior of an assistant always came in when I did, I pressed the intercom button. “Vince, would you please order me something to eat? I might be here a while—possibly all night.”

His burly voice blasted through the speaker. “Sure thing.”

Vince brought me my favorite—vegetarian pad thai and a Thai iced tea. With a full belly, I pressed on. The pages began blending together, but I noticed the blueprints for the property’s location. The land was strategically within walking distance of a college campus.

Uptown Lofts currently had approval for a fifty-unit luxury apartment complex. With a higher number of units, they could double their profits. Just had to call one of the architects to see if it was a possibility under the current zoning laws. I had Vince leave Barney, our team’s youngest but brightest architect, a message at home, crossing my fingers we hadn’t called too late. Fortunately, he phoned back within the hour. He guaranteed me we wouldn’t have an issue if we wanted to utilize it for student housing instead of upscale luxury lofts. This would be perfect.

The best part? Jameson would never see it coming.

Time to take make another call to Mrs. Rodriguez.