The Winters Group offices are located inside the Transamerica Building, the second-tallest skyscraper in the heart of the San Francisco financial district. What’s most interesting about the building is that it’s shaped like a pyramid. A friend told me there is a conference room at the top that they use to impress a big client or seal an important business deal. I’m certain I never want to set foot in it.

Interestingly enough, there’s a security screening station in place. I move right over to it, my canvas wedges squeaking on the marble floor. I set my purse on the conveyer belt and head toward the officer. Without a word, probably because I didn’t set off any buzzers or alarms, I’m allowed to continue through. The security guard hasn’t taken his eyes off my chest or body since I walked up. Ignoring him, I make my way over to the table to await my bag.

I notice out of the corner of my eye the guard is still checking me out, only this time, it’s my ass as I wait for my purse. When my purse pops out and I toss it over my shoulder, I hear him address the person who was standing behind me.

“Yeah, sir, you’re going to need to give me your building ID.” His voice is stern and authoritative.

Funny, he didn’t ask me for my access pass. I think about telling him this fact but realize if I do, he’s going to prevent me from gaining access to Grant Winters, and I need to see the man face-to-face. He has to look me in the eye and tell me he’s destroying my life’s work…my family legacy. I’ll have it no other way.

Hustling to grab my purse, I spin on my wedge and head toward the directory. Apparently, five full floors are occupied by the Winters Group. I jet to the bank of elevators and pick the last floor because it has a little placard that says Winters Group Executives next to it. I want to whoop with glee at my good fortune. Then again, the people who come here are usually preapproved, and somehow my bubble-butt got me through. I’ll just thank my lucky stars and hope my luck sticks.

When I exit the elevator, a woman in a tailored gray suit glances up at me from the receptionist’s desk. Her dark hair is pinned back into a severe bun, her lips stained a cherry red. Her eyes are almond shaped. Interesting. Kind of like a cat’s.

“May I help you?”

“Um, yeah, sure. I need to see Mr. Grant Winters, please.” I smile my most genuine, cheery smile.

As the woman frowns and clicks on her keyboard, staring at a computer monitor, I’m not so sure my charming smile is going to work.

“Your name?”

“Luna Marigold. I’m the owner of Lotus House Yoga in Berkeley.”

The woman’s eyes narrow briefly. “And do you have an appointment with Mr. Grant?”

I shake my head and cross my arms over the high bar of the reception desk, getting comfortable. “No. He, uh, sent me this letter, and instead of calling or emailing, I figured it would be best to chat face-to-face. You know, look the man in the eyes while we do business.” I pull out the letter they sent. It’s crumpled and creased, definitely not flat, white, and pristine like it was when I received it.

I hand her the letter and she scans it. Her eyes widen momentarily. “I’m certain Mr. Grant would rather you email your concerns or any questions you have regarding the eviction of Lotus House Yoga. According to this document, your building is being demolished in six months. There’s nothing further to discuss.”

I clear my throat and inhale and exhale smoothly, calming myself down. “Excuse me, Miss. I don’t mean to be rude, but this is my business. My family, my life. My studio. And your boss is going to demolish it in five months and twenty-eight days. I think I deserve the right to discuss this situation with him directly. This is not for you to decide. Now, if you would be so kind as to contact Mr. Grant, tell him I am here, and I’ll be waiting in reception over there.” I point to a grouping of white office chairs. “I’ll wait as long as it takes for him to see me. I’d appreciate it.” I offer my cheery smile, even though this woman does not deserve it.

Her lips pinch together, and she cocks her head. She reaches for the phone and presses a button. “Yes, Mr. Grant. I’m sorry to bother you, but a Luna Marigold of Lotus House Yoga is here without an appointment.”

I narrow my eyes, but she doesn’t falter. Apparently being bitchy is her norm.

“Yes, I know it’s most unusual for a person to show up without an appointment… I can tell her to leave if…”

“I’m not leaving until you speak to me!” I say loud enough for the person she’s talking to on the phone to hear me.

The receptionist swallows. “Yes, you heard that. She’ll be sitting in the reception area when you’re finished with your meeting. I understand. Thank you, Mr. Grant.”

Her gaze narrows to slits. “Mr. Grant has a meeting now but will call for you when he’s done. You’re lucky he’s being so kind. It’s not his usual style.” She practically sneers.

“Have you ever taken yoga?” I ask, throwing off her bitchy vibe.

“What?”

“Meditation?” I continue unfettered.

“Excuse me?”

“Had your chakras realigned?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Yoga and meditation. Charkas. Pfft.” She waves a dismissive hand like I just spoke another language.

“You’d be a lot nicer, much happier, and your face would have fewer wrinkles if you practiced yoga and spiritual wellness.”

Her eyes widen to the size of saucers.

I dig through my purse and pull out a card. “Here’s a free yoga class card. It’s good for yoga, vinyasa flow, aerial, naked yoga, meditation—any class we offer, really.” I shrug. “You should give it a shot. You’d feel and look so much better.” This time I do offer my cheery smile again.

“Naked yoga?” she whispers.

I grin. “Totally. And it’s taught by this hunk named Atlas Powers.”

“A man teaches it?” She lifts a hand to her chest as if she’s shocked.

“Yep, it’s co-ed too. It’s all about freeing your societal restrictions. Challenging yourself to let go, release everything negative you are holding on to. Even the clothing you wear. Basically, it’s designed to set you free.”

“Wrinkles?” She presses her fingertips to a tiny line forming between her brows, probably from being so crabby all day at her job. “Yoga gets rid of wrinkles?”

“It can. If you are doing the right facial poses, as well as letting go of stress, getting good sleep, and drinking lots of water.”

The woman shakes her head and lifts her hand to take the card from the top of her desk. “Thank you,” she mumbles and looks down and away.

“No problem. Namaste, friend.”

“Friend.” She half laughs, as if me calling her friend is funny. I’m not sure why she would think it was so humorous. I’m a firm believer that anyone can turn into a friend, even if they are at first rude. Sometimes people do not realize how their actions hurt others. Everyone makes mistakes, and everyone deserves second chances. This is something I was taught by my mother and father, and I continue to live by that motto. It’s served me well over the years.

“Anyway, thank you. Go ahead and take a seat until Mr. Winters calls for you.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll just be over here reading.” I pull out my tattered and worn-out favorite book, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success by Deepak Chopra. Every time I lose my sense of self or my path in the business world or otherwise, I start reading about each law. The lessons he teaches in this self-help book guide a person through finding their own path to enlightenment and success in all things. It’s helped me a hundred times over, and I hope it does again.

Right as I finish thumbing through the section on the Laws of Least Effort, which refers to acceptance of a situation, taking responsibility, expending energy given through love, and keeping myself open to all points of view, the receptionist calls out to me.

“Mr. Winters will see you now.” She smiles softly, stands, and heads my direction. “Through these doors.”

Hey, I got the icy woman to smile, a good sign. Maybe my karma is turning around and is about to move in my favor. Though again, like Deepak teaches in his books, I have to be detached from what I want but still hopeful. If it happens, it happens. Be okay with the outcome you receive as it comes.

Right now, however, I’m not okay with any outcome other than this Mr. Winters person agreeing not to bulldoze my dream and my apartment, not to mention the bakery where I have breakfast every morning, the café where I eat my lunch or dinner every day, and the bookstore where I score all my favorites titles.

The receptionist leads me down a long hallway. We pass by a bunch of glass windows where I can see people on their phones or busily typing away on their computers. It’s weird, though, because the windows are glass, but they aren’t windows to see outside. They are windows to see the people inside.

A shiver ripples down my spine, and my hair stands up. It’s not a good feeling. I wouldn’t be able to work in a fishbowl. As it is, Lotus House is painted with murals depicting a forest, waterfall, and the ocean. I’m greeted by people who want to see me. They come just to see me and take my class and listen to my words and teachings. The thought of sitting behind a desk and being watched from the outside gives me a frightened feeling.

Silently, I send out a bit of soothing energy to the folks who work here, pushing love, light, and serenity their way.

The receptionist stops at a set of double doors at the very end of the hall. She knocks and then, without waiting, opens the door for me. “Mr. Grant. Luna Marigold,” she announces but doesn’t exactly introduce us. I can’t even see the man until I walk past her and through the door.

The office is huge, with a seating area, a bar, and a glass desk with chrome piping. The windows are not exactly floor to ceiling, but they are slanted, so he must have an amazing view of the city. The windows are frosted over, and I don’t know if this is a type of glaze or if it’s like one of those super-secret type blinds like in the movies. It reminds me of the way light filters through a shoji screen. It actually gives off a very calming effect, even though the rest of the room is black, white, and chrome, lacking any personality.

The big glass desk has a chair behind it, and I can see a head of dark hair peeking over the top, but he’s facing the other way.

“Okay, Father, thank you. I’ll handle it.” He turns fast, slams the phone into the cradle, and his eyes shoot to mine. They are the most piercing shade of sapphire blue. His hair is a dark mess of waves. His chin is slightly squared, with high cheekbones and a beautiful, strong, straight nose. His lips are what steal my attention. They are perfectly shaped with a dip on the top lip I’d like nothing more than to rest my finger against. The bottom lip is full, an elegant crescent shape, which suits his face.

In a word: Remarkable.

His eyes fill with something I can’t quite name before he stands, buttons his blazer, and comes over to me. I haven’t moved.

He holds out his hand. My goodness he’s tall. Well over six feet. Maybe six two or three.

“Grant Winters.”

I blink before extending my hand. The second our hands touch, a sizzle of energy so hot hits my palm. I jolt back a few steps and pull my hand away from his hold.

“I must have zapped you. I’m sorry.” He smiles.

Sweet Shiva. His smile. Even. White. Brilliant.

“Are you going to speak?”

I open my mouth, close it, and open it again until I manage to mutter, “Um…I’m Luna.”

“Luna.” His voice is a clear, crisp, masculine tone. Confident. Straightforward.

“Yes. Luna Marigold from Lotus House Yoga.”

He folds one arm over the other, and I watch the move as if he’s just performed a special dance. Every inch of him is mesmerizing, from the tip of his shiny black shoes, up his long legs, to his broad frame and tanned neck. He’s wearing a tailored navy suit, which fits him to perfection. His hair is the only thing a bit wild about him. Everything else is dialed in to the most minute detail.

“Wow,” I whisper, not realizing I let it out.

He grins. “I could say the same about you. Redheads are quite unique…special, even. Did you know that fewer than two percent of people are redheads?”

The question hits my sluggish brain and rolls around until something clicks. “Um, yeah. I did know that. Same with green eyes.”

Grant walks over to his desk and leans his bum against the surface. He crosses his ankles over one another while placing his hands on the top, fingers curling around the edge. Cool as a cucumber. Casual, almost approachable, definitely cocky.

“How can I help you today, Luna?”

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