Seven o’clock Thursday night and I’ve still got nothing for tomorrow’s presentation. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Seriously, I may as well throw in the towel because all of my knowledge, all of my creative ideas, everything is gone. Poof! Up in a cloud of smoke.

“Arghhh.” I scream into the silence of my apartment. “This is useless.” I crumple another sketch and toss it onto the floor. The design elements are there—stainless steel, minimalist layout, cool paint tones—but they’re disjointed, incohesive, as though a toddler arranged them together rather than a college graduate with a fine arts degree.

My fist pounds the throw pillow on my sofa—the tiger print pillow that Jesse gave to me five days before he walked out of my life forever. I know. I should toss it. It completely clashes with my décor, but I can’t part with it.

My fingers trace the velour fabric, and despite myself, I smile as the memory washes over me.

We were lying in bed, naked, tangled up in each other after a long and satisfying sex session. I was blissed out, half asleep, but Jesse was wide awake. His fingers danced over my skin. He was always like that; always had to be touching me in some way.

I giggled as he skimmed my lower back. Then his fingers began to move with more distinction as he traced patterns—letters—on my skin.

“R,” I said, after he stilled his fingers.

“Good girl.” He kissed my shoulder. “This one?”

I scrunched my nose in concentration as he traced the next letter. “A.”

Another kiss. “And this one?”

But I barely had to focus because I knew what he was doing: spelling out my initials. “J.” I sighed as his lips traced a path between my shoulder blades.

“You’re very good at this, Riley Ann,” he said, his hot breath warming my skin.

“Mmmhmm,” I murmured as his hand kneaded my flesh.

“Remember when you wanted me to call you Raja?” He chuckled. “You were obsessed with Aladdin and that stupid tiger.”

My eyes popped open. “I was six!”

I groaned as his fingers worked a knot in my upper back. “I’m gonna start calling you Raja. You could be my own little tiger.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Why not? You’re like a tiger in bed.”

I flipped onto my back so that I could face him. It was true; I was a different person—sexually—when I was with him. He awakened a desire in me, a confidence, a need that I never knew existed. But I wanted him to know that it was only with him No other man made me feel half as loved, half as desired, half as free. “Only for you.”

“Damn right, only for me.” He growled, resting his head against the soft pillow of my breasts. His fingers began tracing letters again, this time on my belly.

“R,” I said, as my fingers played with his hair, and he nodded. “A,” I responded, losing myself in his touch. “C.” I spoke the letter as my brain registered its shape, but my fingers paused on his scalp. I tugged the short strands. “Hey, that’s not my initial.”

“It will be.” His fingers continued to float across my belly. “One day. When you marry me.”

Holy shit. Did he just ask…? “Jesse.” I breathed, equal parts nerves and excitement, the thought slamming into me all at once: I want to marry him. I want to spend the rest of my life loving him, creating memories together, and sharing the good times and the bad.

“Then, I can call you RAC.” He chuckled, then added, “Because you have a nice rack.”

“Idiot.” I pulled his hair, and he stopped laughing.

When he spoke again, his voice was serious and calm. “One day soon, Riley. The whole world will know that you’re mine.” His lips whispered against my skin. “That you’ve always been mine.”

“Argh.” I growl, scowling at the stupid tiger pillow and the stupid memory that goes along with it. This is so not helping right now.

Wanting to get some fresh air and to clear my thoughts, I grab my jacket off the peg and head outside for a stroll around the block, hoping a change of scenery will spark my creativity. A half hour later, when I’m seated at my dining room table, still staring at my sketch pad and I’ve still got nothing, I know the walk hasn’t helped. It’s going to be a long night.

* * *

I’m not one of those people who can pull an all-nighter. In fact, I’m not entirely sure it’s possible. At least for me. A little after midnight, I crashed face down on my bed with a half dozen sketches and a loose color scheme in order. It wasn’t my best work, but it wasn’t my worst, either. Plus, I reasoned, I had significantly less time to prepare for my pitch than the other three designers on staff.

I set my alarm for an extra hour early to prep my notes and review my (measly) seven slides. Coffee was the only thing propelling me forward. That and a long, hot bath that I promised myself as an indulgence when the meeting was said and done.

“Good morning,” Lauren’s cool voice greets me as I take my place at the table. “Mr. Lewg had a last minute appointment, so I will be overseeing the design pitches.” Kiss this chance goodbye, Jones.

There’s an awkward pause as Lauren takes her place at the head of the table and asks who would like to present first. Everyone, including me, averts their gaze and does his or her best to look extremely busy. Finally Lauren looks directly at me and speaks. “Ms. Jones. Thank you so much for volunteering.”

The bratty five-year old who is alive and well inside me threatens to scream, “This isn’t fair. I didn’t volunteer.” But the sane side, the grown-up side, wins, and I take my place at the podium near the projector screen.

“Good morning.” I start with a bright smile. “Thank you all for coming…”