Monday. Ugh.

Shuffling papers on her desk, Jen spared a baleful glare at the cloudy gray skies outside her window. The dismal weather matched her mood. Nothing like being agitated all weekend to make a new workweek start off with a fizzle.

At least, John was in a chipper mood. The second his feet hit the pavement this morning, he launched into an enthusiastic re-telling of how Friday had ended for him.

Apparently, things with Samantha went better than expected.

John dominated their conversation on this morning’s walk—not that she cared. Jen was more than okay with him doing all the talking. If she opened her mouth, there was a real possibility the subject would be Ryan, so her sense of self-preservation kept her silent.

“Good morning, John,” Samantha called out as they approached her reception desk.

Jen did a passably good job of curtailing her shocked reaction to hearing Samantha speak in familiar terms with their boss. John’s boyish grin told her of his delight.

The John-Samantha plan was moving right along.

“Samantha,” he replied in a voice Jen had never heard before. She did a quick double take and observed their curious exchange.

“Good morning. Did you have a nice ride in?”

The receptionist turned half a dozen shades of scarlet and shook her head at John as if he was a naughty boy.

“Yes. Thank you.”

They didn’t say more, and Jen churned over the missing details. Had John sent a car for Samantha?

Well, well, well. This was a surprising and very fast step forward.

Someone interrupted, momentarily drawing his attention elsewhere, so Jen studied Samantha. She was watching John with more than a passing interest. She also touched her hair a few times and smoothed the front of her blouse—sure signs that things were moving right along.

Jen leaned over the reception desk and caught her gaze. With a sly smile working her mouth, she winked at Samantha and said, “I like peanut brittle.”

Samantha blinked and asked, “What?”

“That thank-you gesture you’re pondering? It’s as simple as peanut brittle.” She reached out and patted Samantha’s arm. “I told you.”

The receptionist giggled. “He’s a mess, Jen. A serious, undignified mess. But he’s adorable about it. Know what I mean?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And Chelsea thinks he’s so cool. He sent her a science kit that arrived bright and early Saturday, so my weekend was all about John and how important science is for girls.”

Jen snickered. “He’s a feminist. Is that what you’re saying?”

Instead of answering her silliness, Samantha gave Jen a smirk and came straight at her. “And what about the other Mr. Lloyd? Is he also an adorable mess?”

Five unintelligible interjections burst from Jen’s mouth, much to Samantha’s apparent delight.

“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. John also thinks his brother has the hots for you.”

As if she’d lined her up for a kill shot, Samantha’s unintentional zinger exploded center mass inside Jen and sent her spine rigid. Hearing Samantha’s take on the Ryan situation reminded her that blending personal and professional was Jen’s no-go zone.

It didn’t matter that she’d fantasized all weekend about the wealthy yet raggedy-ass wanderer. Dirty snippets were one thing, but reality was another. She liked working in the heart of corporate America, and the fast-paced, high-anxiety environment didn’t suit everyone. In her case, she’d found the recipe that worked for her. A recipe that gave her the challenges and benefits of a career while preserving her privacy so she could live as she wanted. Without judgment or interference. It was already hard enough to be taken seriously as a woman.

Adopting a dismissive air, Jen shifted into her badass executive handler persona and simply said, “He’ll be gone when the next adventure beckons.”

She expected Samantha to be put off by her tone and words, but the other woman gave her a perplexed look and a frown.

“Don’t you know?”

“Know what?” Jen snapped.

“Ryan isn’t going anywhere. The brick and mortar project got the green light.”

Beyond shocked at this news, Jen’s head jerked back. “From who?” she demanded anxiously.

“Well, John, for one, I imagine. I mean, he certainly gave me the impression he was one hundred percent on board. Mrs. Lloyd had a say too, didn’t she?” Samantha gave a small shrug. “And since the original idea came from Mrs. Lloyd’s twin, Grace Brewster was also in Ryan’s corner.”

Anxiety ricocheted inside her. Connie and Grace were always up to something, so it didn’t surprise her that the two were still pushing for Lloyd Global to open a physical storefront targeting Ryan’s outdoor division. Strike while the iron was hot.

The Quinn Montgomery nonsense suddenly made sense. If Ryan was tethered to one place, what better time to pin him to the butterfly board with a convenient spouse?

Not sure what bothered her more—a big decision like this flying right past her or the dual issues of Ryan in residence and a bidding war for his mangy ass—she stiffened even more and pursed her lips.

“John! Come on,” she grumbled. “Gotta go.”

Shuffling him into the office as quickly as possible was Jen’s priority, and it didn’t matter if she came off like a bitch. Ignoring Samantha’s anxious murmur, she marched from the reception desk to her boss and tersely cut his conversation short.

“Sorry,” she croaked with no credible sincerity to the gaggle of people holding the boss hostage. “Send a memo.”

John looked at her like she was crazy, and maybe she was. Marching off and fully expecting him to catch up, Jen wasn’t surprised when he drew alongside her and matched his steps to hers.

“What’s that expression all the cool kids use?” he muttered with no small amount of actual sarcasm. “What crawled up your skirt?”

“I’m rethinking my life plan,” she answered in a snippy voice.

Awkwardly shoving him into the first office she could—which happened to be hers—Jen shut the door and rounded on her amused, slightly shocked boss.

“Is there something you should be telling me, John?”

He looked at her long and hard in that way only he could. “I’m pretty sure the answer is yes, but honestly, Jen, there’s a lot to choose from. Can you be more specific?”

Ordinarily, she’d get the answers she needed by asking a slow, specific order of questions. Today, though, her usual approach flew south for the winter.

“Is this whole crazy scheme involving Quinn Montgomery part of a master plan to lure Ryan into the city by offering something he wants and then shackling him in place with a convenient marriage-merger?” Her voice had started off calmly but risen steadily until her disbelief was quite loud at the end.

“Oh,” John answered. “You heard about the storefront, didn’t you? Shit, Jen. Does it really look like a scheme?”

“You can’t be that obtuse, John. Think about it. No. Never mind. You know what?”

She tugged on her prim, buttoned-up suit jacket and announced her displeasure through gritted teeth.

“Forget I said anything. It’s none of my business what your family does. You should run along to your office. You have a meeting on your schedule that you need time to prepare for.”

“Jen, I—”

She cut him off with a dismissive wave. “I have work to do. We’ll talk later. About business,” she added flatly.

He hemmed and hawed a few more times, but she never budged. This was business, she reminded herself over and over. It was not personal. And that was the way she wanted it, so there was no use in acting on her feelings. Business wasn’t about feelings.

When he finally shuffled out and her door shut, Jen’s shoulders slumped for a moment. A week ago, she thought her life was going pretty good. Today, she was questioning what the hell she was doing.

Throwing herself into work, she found refuge in the thousand things waiting for her attention.

“Mom, can you take a breath? I need you to slow down.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. His mother was talking a mile a minute, and he was only getting every third or fourth word.

He heard Ryan’s name a half a dozen times and something about a reception. She berated him for ignoring Uncle Howie’s birthday. In the background, he heard his Aunt Grace calling out comments. When Quinn’s name entered the tirade, he snapped to attention and even rose from his seat.

“Mom. I want you to stop pushing Quinn at Ryan.”

She chuckled and pooh-poohed his comment, so he made it a demand.

“Put me on speaker,” he growled. “Aunt Grace? Are you there?”

He heard her reply and then wasted no time laying down the law.

“I’m putting the Nelson twins on notice. Cut it out right now. I don’t care how you do it, but you shut down this disaster-in-waiting and do it in a way that won’t piss off Ryan. Do you both understand what I’m saying?”

His mother sounded all sorts of amused and confused when she answered.

“My goodness, John. You sound just like your father when you use that tone. Don’t growl, son! We’ll stop. Won’t we, Grace?” she said. “But what’s the big deal? Am I missing something?”

“Ryan’s attention is elsewhere. And so is mine, so don’t shuffle the deck chairs.”

His comment met with silence. Two or three seconds ticked by and he realized his gaffe.

He detected the sound of his mom and aunt whispering. How the hell could he run a huge global company yet be so incredibly stupid? Was he really that dense?

Completely out of the blue, she asked, “Is Jenna around? I need her help with something.”

“Leave Jen alone, Mom.”

“Why?” his mother asked. “Are you involved with her, son? Is that what’s bothering you?”

“Mom! What? No. Good lord. You’re making me crazy. Just leave Jen alone, okay?”

His mother’s amused laugh grated on his nerves. “I come back from the beach house tomorrow, so let’s try for lunch on Wednesday, okay?”

He silently swore but agreed and quickly moved to end the call. A soft knock on his door signaled Jen’s arrival. John looked at her as he put the phone down. She was avoiding eye contact.

Great. First, his mom’s fishing expedition, and now, deliberate dismissal from Jen. Sure, why not?

She pulled her iPad in front of her and started ticking off the things he needed to know, so he had no choice but to remain businesslike and try to keep up with her.

“And finally, don’t forget that I’m on vacation starting Wednesday.”

John flinched at the bluntness in her voice and reacted to the vacation announcement with total shock.

“You can’t go on vacation. I need you.”

“John. We have an agreement,” she drawled with a sigh.

He paused inside for a second and then let loose. “I’ll pay you. Time and a half. Double time! On top of the vacation pay.”

She picked a piece of invisible lint off her sleeve and coldly said, “No.”

“Jen,” he burst out frantically. “You’re killing me here.”

“Is this about Samantha? Because you don’t need me, John. Not anymore. You’re doing fine, and to be honest, playing Cyrano de Bergerac is not my thing. Have a little faith in yourself.”

Rubbing his forehead, he frowned at her sharp words. Everything felt like it was turning to shit.

He knew that arguing about her vacation would be useless. She negotiated for that the hardest when her contract was drawn up. Until this moment, he hadn’t cared that she demanded an ironclad vacation policy. A policy that included a clause for a total embargo on contact of any kind for the duration of her personal time.

She thrust her chin at an angle that dared him to be a dick, but instead of reacting personally, all he could think of was how fucking funny it was to imagine Ryan dealing with Jen Carlton when she rocked her badass attitude.

He threw in the towel straightaway, hoping his acquiescence would dampen some of the snarling antagonism.

“You have me over a hurdle with the vacation, Jen. It’s bad timing. For me,” he hurriedly assured her when she glared at him.

The squaring of her shoulders reminded John he was on a slippery slope and had better get it together.

“I apologize for whining. You don’t need my bullshit.”

“Thank you for realizing that’s what you were doing.”

He nodded once.

She came back with a second comment meant to zing—and it did.

“You don’t think twice about taking personal time, so why should I?”

Ouch. Direct hit. He’d dropped everything last year to go skiing in France. Because he could, and by doing so, he effectively dumped a mess in her lap. A mess he’d expected her to deal with.

If that wasn’t the definition of being a dick-boss, he didn’t know what was.

“Point taken. Now let’s discuss the outdoor division.”

“No,” she interrupted more tersely than he’d heard her be. “You do not owe me an explanation. I just work here.”

She’d delivered that last line like a fifty-ton bomb.

“Regardless,” he stammered. “I can’t have friction, Jen. You mean too much to me.”

She crossed her legs and jiggled her foot.

“The storefront is Grace’s idea. Uncle Howie loves a good backcountry adventure, and his enthusiasm rubbed off. Mom got on board, and it’s just dawning on me right now that part of her thumbs-up was because it meant Ryan would stay put. I should have brought you into the loop, but honestly, Jen, the dots never connected. Please don’t be pissed.”

“Him being around all the time changes things.”

“Why?”

She shifted and sighed. Her foot never stopped.

“Jen,” he grated out. “What’s going on?”

She shot from the chair, tugged her jacket into place and avoided his eyes. “It’s personal.”

“And you don’t do personal,” he muttered.

“Look.”

She only said that one word, so he waited for the accompanying thought, but it never came.

“Are we finished here?” The tone she used worried him. Had his brother done something stupid? The sparks flying between Ryan and Jen were obvious to him. And Samantha. What did all this mean?

John wished he had a better understanding of male-female relationships because he was in over his head.

“Jen. I need to know we’re okay.”

She didn’t sigh as much as she hissed. A worrying sound.

“Oh, for god’s sake, we’re fine. I need a break. Why’s that such a big deal?”

He adjusted his tie and ducked his head. She was not fine, and it was a very big deal. But what could he do?

She took the reins and reminded him of the meeting. Then she pointed out two things on his schedule. Finishing, she eyed him with a bland expression.

“I know when I’ve been dismissed.” He chuckled. “It’s a damn shame, though, that this is my office.”

The corner of her mouth almost curved.

“Well played.” Jen smirked. “And on that note.”

She stood, whirled around, and walked to the office door before pausing. He didn’t expect a closing salvo, so the one she delivered reminded John how fucked he was without her.

“I’ll leave some daily reminders that you can keep on your phone. And you have a dinner reservation at Mama Rosa’s on Friday. That gives you a couple of days to figure out how to ask Samantha for a real date.”

His jaw dropped as she left.

She knew him so well. Left on his own, he’d flounder awkwardly without the pre-arranged reservation to force his hand.

“Mom! Aunt Grace! What are you doing here? I thought you were hanging at the beach.”

Ryan moved to bear hug the two women, making an extra effort to fawn over his mom.

“Looking marvelous as always, Lady Iris.”

She beamed at his use of the old joke from the Broadway play, Mame, and ruffled his already disheveled hair. Dropping into a low curtsey, she laughed merrily, called him Lord Dudley, and then hugged the stuffing out of him.

“I’m good, Mom,” he assured as she held his face in her hands and subjected him to the X-ray version of a maternal pat down.

“You look like a hippie.” Aunt Grace chortled.

He eyed her and had a good laugh. “Excuse me?” Ryan sniggered. “But what poor gypsy did you mug for your getup?”

“I beg your pardon,” his aunt bit out like a curse. “I’ll have you know my wardrobe is one hundred percent vintage.”

“Give it a rest, Grace,” his mom inserted. “Just because you’ve had the same day of the week underwear for the past forty years doesn’t make you a style icon.”

The identical twins fell into each other’s arms with their howls of laughter splitting the air. He’d never get enough of their tit-for-tat way of engaging.

“Is that why Uncle Howie never knows what day it is?”

He waggled his eyebrows with snarky suggestiveness and made both ladies howl even more.

Grace broke off first and waved her arms around. “This place is fantastic, Ryan. I love all the wood.”

“We lucked out. The natural accents are a bonus. Won’t take much to give the space a rustic vibe.”

His mom wrapped her arm through his. “Daddy would have loved this idea. He was so crazy for nature and the outdoors.”

Ryan smiled. “I’m gonna blow up that picture of me, John, and Dad from our camping trip in Montana and have it cover a whole wall in the kid’s department.”

Constance Nelson Lloyd teared up and covered her mouth with her hand. It took him a long time after his father died to understand the difference between happy and sad tears. When he or John did something to honor Gregory Lloyd’s memory, happy tears took center stage. He gently patted his mother’s hand on his arm and smiled down at her lovingly.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

He saw the look exchanged by the sisters and wondered what they were up to.

“Well, to be perfectly honest, we came back early after your brother snapped at me on the phone.”

“John snapped at you? John Lloyd?”

She smacked his arm. “Don’t be smart. Yes. Your brother. He snapped at me.”

Hmph. “I didn’t realize John had the capability to snap.”

He heard his aunt’s amused snicker but didn’t look over his shoulder to see what she thought was so funny.

“What did you say that earned a real human reaction?”

Grace didn’t give her sister a chance to respond and trampled right into the conversation. “First, he called your mother out, and then, he got super defensive.”

“About what?” he asked.

“All I did was ask about Jenna, and he went from his usual self to something a bit more spirited.”

“What about Jen?” he snarled.

Releasing his arm, his mother took a big step back, crossed her arms, and studied him. Grace moved in behind her and rested her chin on his mom’s shoulder. It was all kinds of disconcerting to have identical faces staring at him.

“Well, I don’t know, darling. What about Jen, hmm? Both you and your brother seem to share a dramatic reaction to hearing her name.”

No use in denying it since he’d walked straight into that one.

“Let’s not go there, but pretend we did,” he said with a mocking grin. No way was he defending his reaction to anything involving his brother’s assistant.

The twins laughed in unison.

“Okay. I’ll give you a pass. For now.”

Ryan grumbled dramatically and smacked his forehead. “Shit. You handing out a pass demands a quid pro quo. All right, then.” He sniggered. “Out with it. What have you done?”

His aunt gleefully ratted on her sister. “Your mother was grooming Quinn Montgomery.”

“Yes, I know,” he smartly bit back. “It’s your mess. You clean it up.”

“Done,” his mother drawled with a half-smile.

“While we’re being honest,” he told them, “I have a confession. Well, two.”

Aunt Grace made a dismissive sound and rolled her eyes. “Is this about your super-secret Denver homestead?”

“Seriously?” he dryly muttered. “Care to tell me how you knew that?”

“The Chamber of Commerce recognized the name on the deed and reached out with a howdy.”

Ryan blinked at his mom and came to grips with this news.

“Okay,” he said. “So you know about the cabin. Do you also know about Goober?”

“Um, what?”

He looked at his mother’s perplexed smirk and chuckled. He was relieved that his parent didn’t know everything.

“I have a dog. His name is Goober. He’s your first fur grandbaby, Mom!”

His aunt started laughing. “You guys are so twisted!”

“Let me see a picture,” his mom demanded.

He took out his phone and scrolled the pictures till he found one of him that his backcountry guide had snapped. It was of him and Goober stretched out in a hammock. Asleep.

“He’s adorable. Look, Grace! I’m a granny at last!”

“If it had to happen to one of us, I’m glad it was you first,” Grace jeered. The two stuck their tongues out at each other and tossed a few snarky comments back and forth.

Ryan relaxed and enjoyed their playful exchange until his mother suddenly turned on a dime and pinned him with a look that froze him in place.

“Who is your brother seeing?”

“What? Who?”

“Answer me, Ryan. Your brother, John. Who’s he seeing?”

“Uh … where’d you hear that he’s seeing someone?”

“From him.”

“Oh.” Ryan wondered what else he could say besides that.

He should have seen it coming. I mean, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen this ploy played out a million times before. It was a Connie and Grace signature move. The two should have been FBI investigators.

When he didn’t answer, she pulled a mom move out of thin air. “Next Friday. Dinner. You, your brother, and your plus ones. I’ll text you with the details.”

He was still grappling with the conundrum she’d thrown in his lap when she patted his cheek and took her leave.

Well, at least he had till next week to figure out his next move with Jen.