I wrap my hands around the delicate coffee mug, inhaling the steam rising from the top, and steel myself to be stood up.

It’s so stupidly early that I can’t believe I dialed that number. I can’t believe I didn’t hang up on the first ring. And most of all, I can’t believe that Levi Blake actually picked up. I sure as hell wouldn’t have. I don’t take calls from unknown numbers as a general rule, and if one woke me up before six in the morning...

Well, I’d probably already be awake. Sleep hasn’t been my forte since Henry’s accident. Since everything started caving in around us. No matter how hard I try, I can’t quite connect the dots. The company my father founded with his best college friend was a massive success...until it wasn’t. One drug trial gone wrong—and admittedly, it went very wrong, with one woman dying and another left needing extensive surgery to repair the nerve damage done by the experimental cancer drug—and the whole thing went belly up.

Worse, my father didn’t reveal to anyone—not even my mother—that he’d been leveraging their combined personal assets in order to try to keep the company afloat. Every penny he’d paid to the best PR firms in the country couldn’t keep the investors coming back, though, and by the time Henry’s accident happened, there wasn’t much left. That was the last straw. But Henry, that reckless brother of mine, hadn’t exactly planned in advance for a catastrophe either.

There should have been a plan. Something to bail them out in case everything went south.

“I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

I look up from the coffee mug and into those same startling gray eyes, dotted with silver flecks that catch the early morning light spilling in from the cafe’s windows. Not that this is much of a cafe in any traditional—or TV—sense. It’s not some greasy spoon. Sunrise, tucked in on the ground floor of a building on the Upper East Side, is more high-end dinner establishment than diner. If it weren’t six thirty in the morning, I’d feel underdressed.

But all of Sunrise—the white linen tablecloths, the delicately printed menus, the fine crystal reflecting that same sunlight—pales in comparison to Levi Blake. He doesn’t look like he was just rudely awoken by a woman who may as well be a stranger. His sandy hair isn’t rumpled in the least. He’s also making workout casual—a pair of sweatpants and a matching hoodie, both of which look like something I could have afforded just last year—look every bit as sexy as the suit he was wearing when I saw him yesterday.

My heart pounds at the sight of him, grinning down at me like I’m not a total monster who calls people before it’s even really light out. “Hi...Levi.” It takes me just too long to work up the courage and say his name, a hot flush of desire and embarrassment working over my cheeks.

“You make it sound so sensual.” He takes the seat across from me, totally at ease, and picks up one of the menus.

The flush spreads from my face down to my core. “What?”

“My name.” 

“Yes, well...” I clear my throat, putting down the coffee mug and picking up a menu. I have no idea what to order, but my stomach growls at even the names of food. Get onto neutral ground, you idiot. “What’s good here?”

“What’s good here?” Levi raises his eyebrows. “This isn’t my favorite place for nothing.”

“I didn’t know this was your favorite.”

“Favorite breakfast place.”

“And lunch?” I ask the question automatically.

“What is this, our first date?”

I laugh out loud, unable to hide my nervousness. “Wait—stop.” I put down the menu, holding both hands in the air. “I ask you what your favorite lunch place is, and suddenly we’re on a date?”

“Your words, not mine.” 

I blink across the table at Levi, my face frozen between a smile and a look of pure confusion. “Maybe we should back up.” He waves one hand at me in invitation. “I called you because—because I need to talk about my parents’ estate. And now you’re—”

“A bit of an insufferable flirt?”

He’s stolen the words right from my mouth. “Yeah. That’s what I’d say.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

I can hardly catch my breath. What the hell is Levi’s game? “I’m...at a loss.”

“For money or for words?” He rests his chin against his palm.

I’m caught between a flash of anger followed by the urge to laugh out loud. “Who are you?”

He extends his hand like this is the first time we’ve ever met. “Levi Blake. Collector and owner of Blake’s Auction House.”

I take his hand and shake it with as much confidence as I can possibly muster, trying my damnedest to ignore the shock that runs from his palm to straight between my legs. “Ruby Ashworth. Woman who just wants to have a successful estate sale.”

He takes his hand back and I suck in a breath. I want more of that. I want more of his hands on me. But there’s no way I could ever be with someone like Levi—someone who walks into people’s homes and bids so ruthlessly, someone who turns on a dime like this, becoming a flirtatious, sexy—

“I disagree.”

“Disagree about which part, the woman or the estate sale?” The words tumbling from my mouth fly out on autopilot, but I’m relieved that the retort makes any sense at all.

He gives me a grin that sets my core on fire. “The estate sale. If you really wanted it to be a success, you would have negotiated with me right away. That would have been the easiest thing to do and probably given you the best outcome. But you decided to sell items piecemeal, to any idiot who walked in the door. You didn’t want anyone to buy any of your family’s things. You’re one of those people, who clings to absolutely everything.”

My stomach twists into a knot at the memory of it. I only saw a few people leaving with items in their hands, but they’re burned into my mind. And, damn it, there goes my chin, quivering. The tears, though—those take even me by surprise. I grab for the cloth napkin in my lap. Jesus, could this get any more embarrassing?

“Ruby—” His voice isn’t teasing any more. “Forgive me.”

I force myself to look back into his eyes, patting mine with the napkin like it was all just an error on the part of my tear ducts. “You know, it’s nothing. You’re right—I didn’t want to sell anything.”

He considers me, narrowing his eyes. “Then why call me this early in the morning? If you don’t want to sell, why are we sitting here having this conversation?”

I square my shoulders and swallow my pride. “Because I’m out of options. I screwed up the estate sale. I can’t afford to screw it up a second time.” Then I say the words I’d hoped to avoid—for a lifetime, if possible. “I need you.”