Insert part A into slot B with hexagon screw, ring washer, and spring washer, and tighten with Allen wrench.

I should’ve hired someone to put this shit together.

I’m seated on the floor of a spare bedroom in my penthouse Sunday evening, Sadie resting on her pink princess blanket next to me as I assemble her crib.

I’m tempted to call Odessa because I’m not sure what half the things are that were delivered while I was gone. But I’m not in a mood to eat crow after having scolded her for her defiant act of compassion.

Fuck. I hate that I need her right now.

Soft grunts fill the room, and I glance over to check on Sadie. She’s probably filling her diaper for the fourth time today. It’d be nice to have an extra set of hands around here, but I sent Elizabeth packing after she spent four full days with me in Utah. The woman never complains, but she deserved a break.

Putting the Allen wrench aside, I scoop Sadie in my arms and scan the room for her diaper bag. A changing table lies unassembled in one of these boxes but for now I have to change her at the foot of my bed. She passes out the second I zip up her sleeper, and I lower her delicately in her bassinet.

By the time I return, my phone buzzes in my pocket. With my heart at a standstill, I check the caller ID.

It’s Xavier.

I bet he’s wondering what the hell happened to me after the bar a couple weeks ago. He won’t fucking believe any of this, and I’ll gladly remind him that pranking isn’t my style.

Besides, I’m too exhausted to rehash the fucked up, ill-fitting puzzle pieces that comprise my life.

Glancing at the crib lying in pieces around my feet, I silence the call for now.

An hour later the crib is assembled. I inspect every inch of that thing, tugging and pulling and ensuring it’s secure. Shoving it against the wall, I move toward the changing table box, read the assembly instructions, and lay the pieces in order.

My phone buzzes again, and I debate ignoring it altogether. Sometimes Xavier will call two, three times in a row if I don’t answer.

With a quick change of heart, I check the screen of my phone.

Odessa.

She never called me back after fleeing Golden Oak on Friday, and I spent the entire weekend convincing myself no woman is worth this much headache.

It’s what I should’ve done since the day she flipped me off in the elevator. Life is so much easier when you’re not constantly obsessing about your relationship status and whether or not someone likes you today and if they’re still going to like you tomorrow.

Fuck that.

“Hello?” I answer, cradling the phone against my shoulder as I twist a hexagon bolt into its proper hole.

“Hey.” Her voice is annoyingly nonchalant. “Just sitting here and I realized I was supposed to start my new job tomorrow.”

I’d forgotten. “Yes?”

“I wasn’t sure if that offer still stood or…”

“You’re the one who ran away.” I snort.

She breathes into the phone. “Can you blame me, Beckham?”

No. I can’t.

“The offer still stands.” I tighten the bolt and grab the next of eight more. “You’re welcome to work out of Dane’s office if you’d like.”

“I’m not moving to Utah, Beckham.”

“Fine. You can work with me. Don’t expect any special treatment.”

“Special treatment? What, like when you fucked me against the wall of my office?”

“Exactly,” I smirk. “You do realize that the overwhelming majority of the women I fuck don’t get the pleasure of a second or third ride.”

I can picture her jaw hanging. If she were here, she’d slap me across the face good and hard.

“Lucky for you, I jumped off the Beckham King fuck-me-go-round back in Utah. I won’t be riding again,” she spits.

My lips spread wide. I haven’t smiled this wide in days.

“Did you get everything assembled?” she asks.

“I didn’t realize we were friends again. When did that happen?”

“It didn’t happen, smartass. I’m just asking a question.”

“Now that you’re my employee, I highly recommend not referring to me as smartass.”

“I’m not your employee until tomorrow,” she says. “And I’d like to take the time to remind you that respect is earned, not given.”

I tighten another bolt and move on. “Likewise.”

“You’re saying you don’t respect me?”

“It depends on which Odessa I’m experiencing at the moment.” I snicker. “The doormat? The one going above and beyond normal, everyday niceties? I don’t respect her. The one who refuses to take my shit and gives it right back? Respect the hell out of her.”

“So that’s the secret with you, eh? You prefer your women bitchy and mean.”

“Not at all.” My palm rakes the carpet for a missing washer. “Straightforward and allergic to bullshit is hardly the equivalent of bitchy and mean.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “I guess I don’t understand how being kind to you makes me a doormat.”

“Nice people always have an agenda.”

“I never had an agenda, Beckham. I just thought we were friends.”

“Friends don’t fuck each other. We jumped off the friendship train a long time ago, sweetheart.”

“Ugh.” She groans. “I don’t have time for this. All I asked was whether or not you’d assembled all the baby gear. And since you’re not going to answer me, I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow.”

“Crib’s done. Starting on the changer now.” I prop up the changer and twist it to face me. A couple shelves and it’ll be done.

“Two down, ten to go,” she chuckles. “I’d offer to help you, but I don’t want to be too nice. God forbid you think I’m a doormat again.”

Glancing around the room at the never-ending packages of all things baby, I sigh. Help would be nice.

“You’re quiet,” she says. “Too proud to ask me to help?”

I bite my lower lip, stifling a smile. She may frustrate the hell out of me, but I’m glad she’s back.

“I think you want to help.” A bit of reverse psychology never hurt anyone.

“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong.” The sound of running water trails through the receiver. “I’m sitting here in my bathtub, surrounded by bubbles, sipping on champagne.”

My cock stiffens when an image of a soaking wet Odessa flashes in my mind. “Celebrating something?”

The clink of glass chimes. “Absolutely. I’m celebrating my freedom. No more Jeremiah.”

“Lucky you.”

“I’m starting to see why the single life appealed to you so much,” she muses, a hint of a smile in her voice. “I can get all gussied up tonight, walk down to the bar, go home with any man I want, and not have all that extra bullshit to deal with the next day, you know?”

I sit up, the image of her hooking up with some random schmuck sending an unexpected heat to my veins.

“Don’t be that girl,” I say, hoping to God she doesn’t see through me. “Don’t be that lonely girl who sits at a bar waiting for some horny asshole to pick her up and make her feel special for an hour or two.”

The gentle splash of cascading water fills my ear, as if she’s sitting up now.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” she says.

“Obviously.”

“How about this? How about you just not worry what I do after the sun goes down, hm?”

“Believe me, you’re the last person on earth I’d worry about.” Uncle Leo always said anyone who prefaces their statements with ‘believe me’ is almost always lying. He’d be right.

“Right.” She doesn’t believe me.

“Why don’t we stop whatever it is we’re doing here,” I say. “And you come over here and fuck the shit out of me, and I’ll fuck the shit out of you, and then we can get it out of our system. Start Monday with a clean slate.”

“You and I both know it doesn’t work that way.”

“So we should fuck anyway.”

God, I want to fuck her. Need to fuck her.

She’s silent.

“My cock is throbbing right now, Odessa. It’s fucking massive. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste all because you want to prove a point.”

I hear her sip her champagne and listen for the clink of the glass when she sits it down. “You’re something else, Beckham.”

“You coming or not?”

She makes me wait a minute longer than necessary. “Give me an hour.”