I stretch, open my eyes and yawn. It’s daylight outside.

First, let me start off by stating that it’s never, ever fucking daylight in my room when I wake up.

We went over this before, remember?

Molly Quinn wakes up at five a.m.

That’s the way I do things.

Today is different, and it begins with the sunlight shining in my room, announcing for me to wake the fuck up already.

I stretch again and tug the covers up closer to my neck while glancing at the alarm clock on my night stand.

Holy shit! It’s already nine o’clock in the fucking morning.

Well…I guess we both know what that means: I’m not going into work today.

I grab my cell phone off the night stand and proudly yawn as I dial Katrina’s direct line.

I imagine her sitting in her cubicle, spanning the office wondering where the hell I am and if I’m going to show up.

She’ll have her answer in a few seconds. I’m turning over a new fucking leaf and apparently taking my father’s advice to heart by literally lightening the fuck up.

Oh, yeah, this new me swears a great deal, too, because I don’t fucking care anymore. Not after that shit show at lunch with my dad.

Katrina picks up the line immediately, most likely recognizing my number, but also because it’s part of her job to answer the phone.

“Molly?” Her voice is quizzical on the other end.

“Hey, Katrina,” I chime, so cheerily she probably wonders if I’m surrounded by fucking Disney animals while they braid my hair and magically make my bed.

“Are you coming into work today? It’s nine already.” Her voice reveals her concern.

“Nope.” I shake my head, even though she can’t see me.

“I’m sorry, is everything alright?” Katrina asks.

“Everything is perfect,” I state.

I don’t owe Katrina that much of an explanation; I’m her boss after all.

“I’ll be working from home today,” I announce. “If you need me, you can text, call or email.”

“Okay,” Katrina says, and I can tell she’s confused.

“You can report anything important or pressing if it comes up,” I add.

“Sure thing,” she responds, and we say goodbye.

I hang up and stretch again, savoring in the fact that I don’t have to even get out of bed if I don’t want to, but who the fuck am I kidding here? I live on coffee in the morning.

I pull my hair back in a no-nonsense ponytail and climb into some bright pink jogging capris. I pull a tank top over my head that reads, “I survived Mardi Gras, NOLA 2012.”

I walk to my kitchen but stop dead in my tracks when my doorbell rings.

I’m not expecting anyone, and everyone I know will expect me to be at work, so I’m having a perplexing moment of wonder.

I walk to the door and stand on my tip toes to peer through the peep hole.

It’s Owen Wolfe. Damn! What the hell is he doing here?

I swing the door open and breezily greet him with a smile. “Good morning!”

He whips out a bouquet of stargazer lilies from behind his back. “For you,” he says in a charming voice and gives me his million-dollar handsome-as-fuck smile.

“Wow, thanks!” I take the flowers gratefully and bring them to my nostrils to sniff their wonderful aroma. “These are beautiful, what’s the occasion?”

I move aside to allow him in.

“Just pretty flowers for an even prettier woman,” he says with a grin, exposing his perfect set of teeth.

“Awesome,” I say. “Why don’t you take a seat on the couch, and I’ll make us some coffee?” I suggest.

“That sounds amazing,” Owen admits and plops down.

He’s wearing a black suit with a dark navy tie. He looks ready for the workday and sexy as hell.

“Cream and sugar?” I call from the kitchen, asking how he wants his cup.

“Just cream, please, that’s great. Whatever you have is fine,” he responds politely.

I bring the mugs and hand him one of them. “For you.” I grin.

“Thanks.” He takes it and brings it up to his mouth. “It smells delicious.”

“So, what are you doing here?” I get right to the point.

“More importantly, why aren’t you at work?” he asks.

I lean back on the back of the couch. “If you thought I would be at work, then why are you at my house?” I raise my eyebrow, taunting him.

He rolls his eyes. “I called your secretary, who told me you weren’t coming in today.”

“Oh…right,” I say. Now I feel fucking stupid.

“Anyway,” he gives me a cute little smirky expression, “I’m here to invite you to the Lone Wolfe Anniversary Celebration.” He beams with pride.

“No way!” I flirtatiously slap his knee. “It’s awesome you’re having a party for that. Congratulations by the way.” I take a sip of my coffee.

“Thank you,” he says with a humble nod.

“Why didn’t you just mail me an invitation?” I chuckle.

“Well that’s another part of the reason I’m here,” he begins and takes my hands in his. He feels warm, strong and masculine.

“Okay,” I say and look down at our intertwining hands as my heart beats faster.

“I want you to go as my date,” he says as if I should take this as a privilege and an honor.

“Really?” I smile.

“If you’ll have me,” he says with the grace of a true gentleman.

I ponder this idea for a moment. In theory, it sounds like a fantastic idea. Maybe there will even be some celebrities there, and maybe Owen will introduce me to them.

“Well, you can probably guess that I’m doing a personality flip here.” I laugh and cross my legs. “You know, beginning with having dinner with you the other night—”

“To now playing hooky from work…” He grins and interrupts me.

“Right.” I point a finger at him in agreement. “Something like that. Maybe I’m becoming more like you.”

“I might not be the best role model for anyone,” Owen jokes.

I laugh and think about how much fun I have when I’m around him, but more importantly how I’m actually fun, too, when we’re together. I’m trying to be more relaxed, and I hope my leisurely lifestyle plan doesn’t backfire.

For now, I’m content to take each second and opportunity as they arise. There’s something irresistible about Owen that draws me in, and I have a hard time saying no to him, which I’m sure he’s already used to.

“Okay.” I nod. “Yes, I’ll be your date for your anniversary party.”

Owen’s eyes light up. “That’s great, thank you so much.”

“No, thank you for inviting me.” I smile at him, wondering if we’ll end up in bed together again. The funniest part of this scenario? I’m not even afraid to know what might happen.

Owen starts to chuckle as if there’s a realization hitting him.

“What?” I chuckle because his laughter is infectious.

“You went from being this uptight girl to the girl who doesn’t give a fuck about anything.”

“That’s not true.” I raise my arm over my head. “I can think of something I care about.”

He leans back on the sofa. “Oh, yeah? What?”

“Well, let’s see here…” I tap my index finger against my chin. “Aha! I care about what dress I’ll wear to your party.” I nod assertively.

“That’s my kind of woman,” he laughs.

Right now, I’m certain I’ll be whoever I want to be and nothing more.