Hailey started with the easy questions to give her brain time to reboot from the sensual overload. “So WFY wants to throw a party for your twin?”

“That’s right.”

“He must be a big deal for the company to throw a party for him.”

“Let’s just say it’s a special day. I asked, my Handler agreed.” He smiled. “No big deal.”

Privately she thought if a multibillion-dollar organization like WFY was throwing someone a party, there must be more to it than that.

But as the planner, she didn’t need to know the why, she needed to know the whos, the whats, and the whens. “A birthday?”

“Nah.” Ryder lounged against her couch, glass held loosely in his hand. Unlike her, who felt as if she needed to dash to the bathroom and pat herself down, he seemed unmoved by their previous exchange. “You don’t tend to celebrate birthdays when you’re immortal.”

She darted a glance up from where she’d buried it in her notebook. “He’s a Genie, too?” Maybe that was why they were getting a party thrown for them.

“WFY’s only twin pair. They trot us out at conventions or functions. We helped open the new children’s wing at Mercy Hospital—you didn’t see it?”

She shook her head. Curiosity danced on the tip of her tongue, but she buried the question.

Nobody knew much about how Genies were selected. Once a year on New Year’s Eve, five mortals were recruited from the millions upon millions who applied. Competition was fiercer than a one-day sale at Barneys. It had never been a dream of Hailey’s, but she understood the perks: powers, immortality, and after a one-year trial period and a permanent contract, one wish of your choice.

What would Ryder have wished for?

“Well, it’s all part and parcel of the gig,” he said. “We don’t have to do all the major stuff like Jax Michaels, national interviews, televised wishes, and what have you, but we do the city things. Apparently twins have appeal.” His dimple teased her.

“Who knew?” she said faintly and tapped the pen nib on the paper. “So what’s the party for, if it’s not a birthday bash?”

Ryder rested his boot against his knee. “It’s our ten-year anniversary since becoming Genies. It’s a celebration. And like you”—warm brown met her green—“Leo doesn’t get out much. So I’ve taken matters into my own hands.” He blinked. “WFY has, I mean.”

“He must be excited.”

“Like a dog with a new ball.”

She smiled and made a notation in her notebook.

(And ignored the flutter in her stomach.)

She cleared her throat. “So what does WFY want as the theme?”

He looked at her blankly.

“Black tie? Something more low key? Balloons and banners or candlelight and classic music? Is it in a hotel ballroom or your friend’s basement? Three-tiered cake or one where a stripper pops out the top?”

“Definitely the stripper cake.”

“I wasn’t serious.”

His eyes flashed with humor. “Neither was I.”

As she fought the smile and lost, he shrugged his answer. “I guess . . . I don’t know.” His laugh was a shade self-conscious. “Don’t you have any ideas? Isn’t that what WFY is paying for?” He waggled his eyebrows. “You want that wish, right?”

That had been nibbling at the back of her mind all day, all the possibilities. Everything she could do. Except . . .

She doodled a star in the margins. “About that. I’ve been thinking.”

“Never a good line from a woman.”

A narrow-eyed look. “Look, it was an accident. I’m happy to plan the party in exchange for WFY covering the money, but as far as the wish goes . . . I don’t deserve one.”

“You’re earning it by planning Leo’s party.”

The weakest argument since she’d tried to tell her dad she needed a tattoo to be fully expressive about her personality. Unsurprisingly, Lieutenant Commander Lawson hadn’t budged.

She cast Ryder a doubtful look. “You’re not just feeling sorry for the poor girl?”

“Well, sure.” He laughed at the scowl she slid him. “The truth is, I want you to have it. You’d use it more wisely than any of those other bidders.”

All those rows of diamonds and pearls around the society women’s necks had her nodding.

“Honestly, you get sick of granting a wish for more money.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “And I’d like you to have it to make you happy.” His gaze warmed. “Because you’re not, are you, Hailey?”

Aaand there was Mr. Candor again.

His blunt comment drew an exasperated smile from her. “You say whatever’s on your mind, don’t you?”

“Pretty much. Why hide what you’re thinking?” He placed his glass on the table and threaded his hands together. “Does it annoy you?”

She fiddled with the pen, glancing down at it. Huh. Blue. Fascinating. “I don’t think it matters if it bothers me or not.”

“It matters.”

They were swimming much too close to the personal waters again. Cold-shower time.

She pushed back her hair. “Okay, I’ll think of some ideas, but WFY has to sign off on them.”

“Fair enough.”

“And you have to give me the basics. Time of day?”

“Sunset?” he suggested. “An ending, a beginning. Or is that too corny?”

“No, I like it, as long as WFY will.” And she liked that he’d thought of a meaning behind the time. Too damned much. She wrote it down. “Location?”

“We’ll do it at my brother’s.”

“And where’s that?”

“Malibu.”

She stopped writing. “You want me to plan a party in Malibu from New York?”

“You must do it for weddings all the time. And I said I’ll help. I can flash over and back in the time it takes to pick up a phone.”

Ultimately he was the client—or at least, the client’s middleman—and he was right. On rare occasions, Erica did contract for outside–New York weddings.

Hailey shrugged. “Malibu it is.”

“His place is on the beach, so maybe something more low-key.” Ryder was warming to the idea, his eyes shifting amber specks. A girl could get lost in those eyes.

But not her. And not with a Genie, especially that Genie. She’d never be able to control everything with him—look at how well she was doing so far.

“Low-key.” Hailey studied her notes so far. “Like a luau-based thing? Big barbecue pit, buffet tables, DJ setup?”

Ryder nodded with a grin. “And women in coconut bikinis.”

“Dress code, casual,” Hailey noted as she wrote it all down. “You sure this is what WFY has in mind? It doesn’t sound like their usual ritzy, expensive affairs.” She bit her lip. “And I’ll be honest: I doubt this will match the five grand they’re exchanging. In fact, how’re we paying for this? All the money’s going to the charity, so . . .”

“You think too much.”

“Oh, yeah. Overthinker, that’s me. Stressing about silly things like paying the bills. What do you wanna bet the vendors share my point of view?”

He grinned. “Don’t worry about how the vendors are getting paid. The five grand is in exchange for you to organize everything. So do that and we’ll be fine.”

“But—”

“Christ.” His eyebrows lifted. “Just send the bills to me, and we’ll sort it out. Organize, set things up, and you’ll have done enough to match the five grand we’re donating to cover your bid.” A small chuckle slipped loose. “You look like you swallowed a fly. Not used to not being in charge?”

She slid him a sour look.

He ignored it. “As to the party matching up to your five grand ‘fee’, well, you ever see Genies drink?” He snorted. “My Handler alone could drink a grand’s worth of the best scotch. Trust me, five grand will be well spent. If anything, we’ll go over.”

“And if that happens . . . ?”

“I told you; I’ll handle it. I want the best for Leo. If it looks great, get it.”

Jesus. Couldn’t he belch or something to be a shade less attractive?

Hailey closed her notebook and twiddled with the pen. “You want me to call when I’ve gathered my thoughts?”

“Sure.” He checked his watch and pushed to his feet. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Hailey shoved down any disappointment and followed him to the door. “So, yeah. I’ll give you a call when I’ve got some more ideas. About numbers. And stuff.”

He’d gone through the door when he turned suddenly. He rested his foot against it to keep it from closing as he angled his body toward her. His broad shoulders filled the doorway. “You never did answer my question.”

“Which question?”

“Does it annoy you when I speak my mind?”

Hailey stared up at him. “Not really,” she admitted. “It’s kind of refreshing.” At least she knew where she stood with Ryder. He’d never feed her false flattery when really he was thinking something else.

Not that he was auditioning for the role of the next man in her life.

She forced a businesslike smile. “And a client should always speak their mind to their planner.”

Ryder placed one palm against the jamb above her head. His mango scent surrounded her, teasing gently as he leaned in. “I’m not your client, Hailey.”

“I’m planning a party for you—or your employer—to earn a wish. That’s a client in my book. And anyway, I’m . . .” Her breath hitched as his free hand came up to toy with a loose strand of hair. “I’m not . . . ready for anything.”

Although his fingers continued their slow rubbing of her hair, his eyes sharpened. “Bad breakup?”

Always with the honesty.

“You could say that.”

“Sad eyes,” he murmured. He tucked the lock of hair behind her ear, grazing her cheek. A full-blown pang of desire shivered through her body.

The air heated, thickened to the point where she couldn’t easily draw a breath. And that was before his eyes shifted molten amber as they followed the path of his thumb.

She tried to swallow but froze as he lowered his head, angling it until he came to within an inch of her lips. His breath tickled her as she drew in an unsteady breath.

“Hailey?” he said, quiet.

“Yes?” she rasped.

“Don’t wait too long to call.”

* * *

Ryder was too revved to sleep. Instead of heading for the hotel, he flashed to a well-known Genie bar on West Twenty-Third. He was in the mood for people, for lights and noise. Jeannie’s was popular with his crowd, boasting the best burgers, friendly waitresses, and cheap booze, but beyond that, Ryder had practically lived in the place since he was a teenager.

He pushed open the chipped black door and met with a mix of Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper,” pool balls clacking, glasses clinking, and about fifty of New York’s finest Genies blowing off steam. He inhaled the scent of grease and batter, salt from the nuts, and yeast from the beer. Home.

The bar was open plan, but fed off into seated sections all around the square bar that sat central and was lined with every alcohol known and unknown. The jukebox near the entrance pumped out everything from the current rock to cheesy Motown. Uneven dark wooden flooring changed into dark glossy green at the walls where pictures of old New York scattered between chrome lighting.

Ryder headed toward the bar, greeting a couple of coworkers breaking balls at the pool table. The mob soon thinned to reveal a man in his early sixties, a bar towel slung over one black-shirted shoulder, his dark auburn hair gleaming in the dim lighting as he built the perfect pint for a customer.

“Dad,” Ryder shouted over the noise. “Is Leo in?”

“You don’t say hello to your old man?” Cam Wood handed over the pint and nodded his thanks as the customer passed back a bill. “That fancy company knock all manners out of your head?”

Ryder just grinned. “They had to make space for the Genie rules, and I wasn’t going to lose Joe DiMaggio’s batting average.”

“Ah, that’s my boy.”

“Excuse me,” a woman in stacked heels and a miniskirt called from the other side.

Ryder ducked under the bar’s counter before his father answered and headed over. “What can I get you, love?”

She batted her lashes. “Drink-wise?”

Ryder settled onto his elbows, ignoring the stickiness of the maple. “How ’bout we start with a drink and go from there?”

The woman ordered a vodka on the rocks, a white wine, and for him to call her, leaving her number inked on his skin.

Ryder studied the numbers before erasing them with a thought. As the ink disappeared, Cam raised his eyebrows at Ryder’s side. “Not like you to turn down a woman.”

“Not my type.”

“I thought ‘female’ was your type.”

“Maybe I’m growing as a person.”

“Let’s not get our hopes up.” His dad grabbed him for a squeeze and slapped him on the back. He smelled, as he always did, of the musk Ryder’s mom had bought him every anniversary. “You coming for a meal on Sunday? I got a ham and the game’s on at six.”

“Count me in.” Ryder glanced at the customers waiting. “You want help?”

“Nah, I got Lou in the back on break. She’ll be here in a minute.” Cam patted Ryder and gave him a shove. “Go. Leo’s in his usual spot.”

Ryder headed for the back of the bar, an alcove-ridden area where the music wasn’t quite so deafening. In the farthest corner, a half-drunk pint on the table in front of him, sat his brother. Deaf to the noise, Leo had a book in one hand as he lounged against the cushions in the corner booth, the other hand tapping the table absently.

Seriously. His brother should’ve met Hailey first.

Too late now. No way was he letting Leo within an inch of the smart-mouthed female with the luscious long legs and the eyes that made him want to give her the world. Not that he was possessive or anything, but he and Leo had grown up having to share everything. A man had to draw the line somewhere.

Ryder flicked the book as he slid in beside Leo. “You get this is a bar, right? Meant to be socialized in?”

His twin held up his middle finger as he continued to read.

“I hope it’s at least got sex scenes.”

Leo rolled his eyes, but marked his place and threw the book on the table. He raked his hands through his hair, the exact shade of black as Ryder’s but expensively layered and cut short. “Did you see Dad?” he asked in a voice a shade rougher than Ryder’s.

“Yeah, he told me about Sunday.”

His brother picked up his pint, swirled it. “The anniversary was hard on him.”

Ryder’s stomach twisted at the memory, the image of the white marble gravestone. “He misses her. Hell. I miss her.”

Leo stared at the drink in his hand. “Sometimes I think if we’d gone to WFY sooner . . .” His lips pursed before his shoulders lowered on a sigh. “Anyway, I said I’d bring the beer.”

Ryder was more than happy to drop the subject. “All right. I’ll bring the fun.”

A roll of Leo’s eyes accompanied his muttered “Jesus.”

“Nah, he’s busy. I could try Elvis.”

“You raise people from the dead now?”

Ryder spread his arms along the back of the booth. “Hey, my last wish informed me he was living in a secret department of the WFY HQ.”

“That’s still better than the time that woman tried to wish for three more wishes.” Leo’s nose wrinkled. “When I told her that only works in fiction, I got a lamp at my head. She tried to chant me into it.”

A satisfied sigh from Ryder. “Don’t you love ’em?”

“That’s one word.” Leo put his glass back on the coaster and smoothed his tie, a navy silk that sat neat and correct with the jeweled tie pin Ryder had given him. His eyes, a duplicate of Ryder’s brown but with golden lights instead of amber, studied Ryder. “I heard something interesting today.”

“That your middle fingernail grows the fastest?”

“Yeah, that’s what I heard.” Leo slid him an exasperated look tinged with affection. A familiar look since they’d been old enough to smack each other. “Are you dealing for wishes now?”

Alert. Security lights on, perimeter guards be aware.

Without thinking, Ryder conjured a bottle of beer from his dad’s storage. He uncapped it. “No.”

Leo pointedly stared at the beer. “If Dad sees you using, he’ll throw you out, son or no son. You know the rules.”

He did. It was the only way the bar could function, by a strict once-you’re-out-you’re-out policy of no shirt, no shoes, no special powers.

Ryder shrugged.

Leo kicked him under the table. “So?”

“What? I said no.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t explain why Annie from contracts says you had her draw up a contract to give a mortal a wish in exchange for her ‘services.’”

“Why does Annie from contracts care?”

“It’s gossip. You know how that travels.”

“Faster than a laxative, apparently.”

Leo kicked him again.

Ryder kicked back. “What? I can’t do something nice?”

“You always do something nice. But how about saying no for once?”

“You sound like Luka.”

Leo’s features took on a horrified cast. “I do not. If anyone does, it’s you.”

He’d had worse said about him. Ryder swigged again. “Look, it’s related to that auction I did the other night.”

Leo stared at him, waiting.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Ryder warned. “Luka’ll have my nuts.”

“’Cause I’m such a blabbermouth I’d run my mouth off tomorrow.”

“Hey, you’re the one gossiping with Annie from contracts.”

A glare from his twin made Ryder smile. He shrugged one shoulder. “She’s paying off part of her bid through a use of services. Completely legitimate and aboveboard.” Except for the fact that Ryder had fixed the auction so Hailey had won, of course.

“Services?” Leo held up a hand. “All right, if this woman’s work involves a selection of condoms and a price per night, trust me, it ain’t worth it.”

“Please. Does this face look like it needs to buy sex?”

“It looks like it needs to buy soap and a razor.”

Ryder couldn’t help but chuckle. He set the bottle down and started peeling the label, concentrating on the edges. “I met her before the bidding started.” First the edges, then the middle, slowly so it didn’t rip. “She fell ass over head into my arms. And she looked so . . . sad.”

Leo groaned. “Aw, God. It’s the puppy thing all over again.”

“Shut up.”

“How many puppies did we take in when we were kids because they looked sad?”

Ryder mumbled.

“Sorry?”

He glared at his brother. “Twelve. And all of them went to good homes.”

Leo laughed. “So she fell into your lap and you, what, decided to give her a wish to make her happy?”

“Kinda.” Ryder chipped away at the label. “I fixed the bidding so she won.”

The laugh Leo boomed out drew attention from some sort of bachelorette party across the way. Four pairs of interested female eyes centered on their table as Leo wiped fake tears from his eyes. “You are something else, brother.”

“It was an impulse.” Ryder drilled his fingers on the table, uncomfortable.

“Knowing you, Ry, I’m sure it was.”

“Hey, she was bidding on me at first.” Just remembering her fervent determination to win had lust tightening his belly. “But she’s not rich, and everyone’s got a limit. You know what society women are like. All silk and no soul. Trust me, she deserves a wish more than they do.”

“So, and let me know if I guess wrong, you offered to pay the rest of the bid?”

“It’s only five grand,” Ryder grumbled, uncomfortable he was so predictable. “And as far as she knows, WFY is pulling the strings.”

“Uh-uh.” Laughter gleamed in Leo’s eyes. “Saint Ryder to the rescue.”

Why did everyone keep saying that?

“Anyway,” Ryder continued, glaring, “it turns out she’s some sort of high-end event planner so she’s gonna help me out with your party.”

That wiped Leo’s smile clean off, leaving behind a glower. “I told you I don’t want a party.”

“Yeah, but I want a party. And by the way, it’s going to be at your house.”

“Gee, can’t wait.”

“Embrace life, bro. It doesn’t suck.”

“Hmm.” Leo tapped his fingers on the table as the music switched to a slow ballad. Cyndi Lauper purred how she’d always be there time after time as his gaze latched on to something in Ryder’s face. “This woman must be something, huh?”

Ryder lifted his beer, nonchalant. He choked as he drank his beer too fast, but he styled it off as a sarcastic smile. “She’s only a woman, Leo.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She’s helping me plan your party.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And if she’s marginally attractive—”

“I knew it.”

Ryder glared, defensive and not enjoying the sensation. What did he care if Leo poked at him about Hailey’s looks? He knew his motivation hadn’t been all about her legs that were the perfect length to wind around his waist, or the full, soft lips that flattened when she was annoyed with him.

It had been her eyes and how they triggered the same well of emotion that had made him adopt twelve puppies—though he thought he might keep the dog comparison to himself. Strangely, women never liked being compared to dogs. Go figure.

“Hey.” Female and slightly slurred, the voice drew his attention to a curly blonde. She stood a foot away, a pink tutu and a hot pink sash over a skin-tight black dress. That sash might as well say Easy Pickings instead of Bridal Party.

Leo’s smile was calculated to charm. “Hey.”

“You’re, like, those twins, huh?” The woman put a hand on her impressive chest. “The Genies.”

“The ones with a magic touch.” Leo might have been less of a socializer than Ryder, but they both shared the same quick-to-quip attitude. Always went down well with women.

Sure enough, this one looked ready to faint, the flush in her cheeks as much from close proximity to Genies, Ryder would wager, as a staggering amount of alcohol.

“My friends,” the woman said, gesturing, wobbling in her heels, “thought you might wanna, like, join us.”

Behind her, the group drinking frothy pink drinks raised their glasses and cheered. One blew a kiss.

“I don’t know.” Leo shifted in his chair until he caught Ryder’s gaze. “Would we want to join a group of fun-loving, beautiful women on a bachelorette night?”

Read: women who’d be feeling emotional and lonely and interested in making themselves feel good.

Any other night Ryder would already be there, pouring on his charm and talking the blonde out of her tutu, her dress, and whatever skimpy underwear she had on under there. It was what he did, how he lived. The ultimate free-loving, easy-going, doesn’t-even-buy-green-bananas-because-he-never-commits guy.

Even if at the minute hanging with his brother seemed more fun than drinking with four random women.

Still, Leo would never let him live it down if he let the opportunity slip by. He’d think it was some kind of sign that Ryder was hooked on Hailey or something. As if. This bait didn’t swim that way.

So he put on his game face and stood. He offered his arm with a grin, subtly checking his watch and marking the time as he did so. He’d give it half an hour before leaving Leo and the women to it, his playboy rep firmly intact. “Why’re we still sitting over here?”