Kayla C. Oliver

Chapter One

Trent

Marnie was talking. In my personal opinion, that was all she did. Talk, talk, talk. She was like the energizer bunny, minus the drum and with a permanent scowl on her otherwise pretty face. You would think sleeping with my best friend might change some of that, but no. Maybe that was why I didn’t give two shakes about the blah that was coming out of her mouth. She was my editor, and it was a given that she was trying to make my book better, but I was confident. I didn’t need the fucking help, and I didn’t need it from some woman whose idea of a job was picking someone else’s work apart.

And I wonder why she’s constantly scowling, I thought mildly.

If I was honest about things, it wasn’t really Marnie McKenna’s fault that I was basically zoning out during our little meetings. Sure, I thought editors were full of shit and that I had climbed to the top without them, thank you very much, but my mind was elsewhere and that had more to do with my lack of interest than anything else.

She was wearing purple.

I could picture the sexy little spitfire that was Marnie’s assistant in my head with perfect clarity. She was short, but curvy in the best kind of way. Hips that made you want to put your hands on ’em and tits that begged to be suckled. She had that retro curly-hair thing going on that was fucking Marilyn sexy on her, and I wasn’t a big fan of purple, but damn she made that dress look good.

It would look better on the floor, her standing beside it in those damn killer heels, not a stitch on her…

My mind couldn’t help but wander to the things I wanted to do to her. The least of which was kiss those fire-engine-red lips.

Fucking sexy.

But, of course, there was a small hitch with what my cock wanted. Marnie’s assistant, Courtney Hughes, hated my guts.

It was a real problem point in our relationship.

“Damnit, Harvey, are you even listening to me?”

I blinked, Marnie’s pissed-off voice bringing me back to her office. She was tapping her nude-painted nails on her desktop. Behind the desk, I could see her knee bobbing, telling me her legs were crossed. And her eyes were narrowed in the equivalent to fire and fury.

To my credit—or detriment—I didn’t wince. Instead, I smiled wanly and shrugged. “Sorry, what did you say?”

She opened her mouth, ready to let me have it, when I interrupted her by standing up.

“Never mind,” I told her congenially. “I’m not going to listen this time anyway. I’ve got other stuff to take care of, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

I didn’t think I could make Marnie McKenna any angrier than I had, but as her freckled face reddened, I realized I’d managed to do just that. There was some part of me deep down inside that was slightly terrified of her in the way that all men are terrified of an angry female, but I reminded myself that she couldn’t do anything. I held all the cards.

I was the one she’d signed to S&W Publishing.

I was the one who won her that much-sought-after partnership.

And I was the one who was going to make her and her associates a lot of fucking money with my latest soon-to-be best-selling novel.

So she could take her anger and shove it where the sun don’t shine.

“You are two months behind the original deadline!” she ground out from behind gritted teeth. Her hands slapped onto the top of her desk, palms flat, her eyes glittering in anger like a Disney villain’s. “If you don’t get your shit together—”

“You’ll what?” I taunted lightly. “Cancel my contract?”

She ground her teeth together in a really unhealthy manner. I might have pointed that out except I wasn’t an idiot. She was an angry redheaded woman. All I needed to do was find out she was Irish and that would seal the crazy deal.

“Get me the manuscript, Harvey, or it’s your ass.”

That was all she told me and while the warning rang true, I knew there wasn’t really anything she could do.

I smiled broadly, showing as many pearly white teeth as I could. “Sure, sure, sweetheart. I’ll get it to you.”

Before she exploded at me for the sweetheart comment, I sauntered out of there feeling as though I’d won a victory. Maybe that was petty of me, but I was a petty man and big enough to admit it.

As soon as I’d exited Marnie’s office, however, I encountered another angry woman who wanted to wring my neck. Unfortunately, she was the one that I was using as source material for my wet dreams at night.

Fucking sexy Courtney Hughes. She was even a goddamned secretary. How could I not have dirty thoughts about her?

My smile faltered and for just a second I thought about walking back into Marnie’s office just to beg for a little more time to figure out what to say to Courtney. But it was too late. Courtney’s steely eyes flickered up toward me, the rest of her body facing away and sitting up straight.

I suddenly had a lot more appreciation for posture. Sitting straight meant her breasts were pushed slightly forward, round and perky in that tight-fitting purple dress, cleavage begging to spill from the deep-cut neckline. Her back was curved slightly, emphasizing her slim waist as it flared out into those fucking sexy, grab-me-some hips.

I felt my dick harden in my trousers, and suddenly I wished I’d been wearing jeans. They did a little more to hide the evidence of my arousal.

Nothing to do about it, I thought, adjusting my belt in an effort to discreetly adjust my cock.

“Hello, Miss Hughes,” I greeted the little vixen, letting my broad smile turn sultry and sexy.

Her full, bright red lips pursed together tightly as her eyes narrowed, the long lashes silky and dark against her pale skin. When her lips parted, I imagined all kinds of naughty things, including but not limited to sliding my already hardened cock between them. Which of course led to images of her on her knees with an excellent view of her cleavage, followed by her not in a dress, followed by—

Well, the rest is pretty obvious.

Unfortunately, her line of thinking didn’t exactly go the same way.

“Do I look like I’m in grade school, Mr. Harvey?”

Her tone was a shade above nuclear winter. I internalized my wince, managing to hold on to my grin.

Letting my eyes wander over that tight, sexy little body of hers, I dragged them back up to her face as I said, “No, you most definitely do not.”

Her cheeks darkened, but her eyes remained narrowed. “Then don’t call me miss. It’s Ms. Hughes to you.” She turned away from me then and went to typing on her computer. Her little movements were just enough to jiggle those lovely tits, and that held my attention for a moment longer.

Shaking my head, I said, “My apologies, then. Maybe I should just call you Courtney so I don’t mess it up again.”

She didn’t even look at me. “That would be inappropriate, Mr. Harvey.”

Determined to make some headway with her, I put both hands on her desk in front of her and leaned forward slightly. I could smell a soft, flowery scent that she wore, faint so as not to be overpowering. “C’mon, sweetheart. Why not give a guy a chance? You never know, you might find that you like it.”

“It” could have been any number of things, from dating to kissing to my cock buried so deep inside her that she screamed out mine and God’s name in the same breath. I let her decide for herself on that one.

I thought her blush deepened slightly, and I marked that one down as a victory. She was definitely thinking of my cock now.

The downside was a second later, I found out what else she was thinking of. “That’s okay. I already know what I do and don’t like, and I know for a fact that I don’t like a cocky, womanizing asshole. Namely, you.”

The phone rang then, which was probably a good thing because I didn’t know what in the fuck I was supposed to say in response to that.

A player. That was what she thought of me.

Which I would love to wholeheartedly deny in this particular instance, but I couldn’t. I liked my women, and I liked to play with them until I didn’t. Numbers weren’t important so much as the experience was. There was a little tickle in the back of my mind that was telling me that Courtney wasn’t the kind of girl to just play with, but I was ignoring that. Just like I was ignoring the one that was hinting that I maybe wasn’t looking to just play with her.

“Marnie McKenna’s Office, S&W Publishing, this is Courtney,” she answered in a professionally friendly voice. All the while she shot daggers at me like I was a spinning knife-thrower’s target at the circus. “Oh, hey, Callum. Yeah, she’s out of her meeting.”

She transferred Callum back—who happened to be my best friend—then addressed me again. “What are you still doing here? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Before I even came up with an answer, she returned to her computer and plucked away at it.

I thought of telling her to have a nice day or that she should give me a chance again or that I was the “agent” that she’d been talking to on the phone for the last three months, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to say any of that. So I turned around and left, letting the elevator doors close on my image of the spicy, sexy Courtney Hughes.

Chapter Two

Trent

I wasn’t in a foul mood so much as in a depressed mood when I got home. Sarah poked her head into the living room as I plopped down on the couch like a sack of potatoes, complete with a deep, mournful sigh.

Her dark eyebrows rose, her mouth kicked half up in an amused smile. “Really? That bad?”

I grunted in answer.

She shook her head at me, coming farther into the living room. She plopped down beside me. “I know McKenna’s supposed to be a ballbuster, but it’s not like you to be such a weenie about it.”

There were a few things that should be known about Sarah Allens. First, she was a very good friend of mine. The kind of friend that passed the test of time and still managed to not hate my guts. The kind of friend that looked past the bullshit and the drama to see that beneath my cocky exterior, I had a less abrasive, slightly less cocky interior that generally meant I wasn’t a total asshole.

Sometimes.

It was this friendship that let her get away with things like calling me a weenie.

The second thing was that she acted as my roommate, secretary, editor, agent, idea emulsifier, and general business operating badass. Without her, my work fell apart. It was a little unmanly to admit, but I was pretty sure all men had some woman working behind the scenes to ensure his personal success. Generally it was the woman they married, but it wasn’t like that with Sarah. We were platonic friends, pure and simple, and we were both okay with that. For a player like me, it was nice to just have a female friend that I wasn’t fucking on the side. That just got messy.

Lastly, she hated Marnie McKenna, my editor. It wasn’t anything personal, per se. In fact, Sarah had never even met Marnie. But she’d been obsessed with Callum for as long as she’d known him and as long as I’d known her, meaning Marnie was automatically her enemy.

“I am not being a weenie,” I defended. “And if I were, it would be a huge weenie, meaning it wasn’t weenie-like at all.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “So you’re saying you would be a dick?”

I winced. “Okay, not what I meant.”

“A cock?”

“Sarah,” I said in warning.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying that McKenna is just an editor. You’ve had loads of them. None made you this miserable before. I don’t see why you’re letting her get under your skin now.”

I mulled over the idea of spilling what was going on with Courtney, but that seemed… complicated. So, much like I usually did, I took the path of least resistance and told her about my meeting instead.

“It’s not Marnie that’s the problem.” I paused and considered that, then shrugged. “Not really anyway. She’s a pain in my ass, but that’s the job of an editor. They stress so I don’t have to, and when shit rolls downhill, there’s heat on her, and so pressure gets put on me. Simple as that.”

“Fine. So it’s not the ballbuster. What is it?”

“The manuscript.” It was more or less the truth. My book was due for publication in only a couple of months’ time, meaning I was way behind. I wasn’t in the red yet, but Marnie had decent reason to be pissed at me, and it wasn’t for the sweetheart comment. She still had to go over everything I submitted—even though it was automatically awesome—and I wasn’t leaving her a lot of time to do that. Worse, I knew it.

Sarah’s eyebrows rose in question. “And?”

“I don’t know what my issue is,” I admitted. It was confession time, much as I loathed it. “I feel like my inspiration has evaporated. Something’s missing. I sit down at my damn computer and see that fucking blank page and want to tear my hair out.”

“You’re bald,” she pointed out mildly.

I scowled at her. “I choose to shave my head. That’s not the same thing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Choosing to be bald doesn’t mean you’re not bald.”

“Bald is a term for people losing their hair, not for those who decide their head is too magnificently shaped to deny the rest of the world.”

Hey, I was dark skinned. I could have a bald head and still look good.

“You mean your ego is so big there isn’t any room for hair follicles?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, some of that, too.”

She considered me for a moment, mulling something around in her head before laying it on me. “You always do this, you know.”

“Well, yeah, writing is kind of my career choice.”

She ignored my quip and continued as though I hadn’t said anything. “You get all juiced up for a project, hyper as a damn rabbit, then you get 30 or 40 percent through and hit a roadblock. You come to me and whine about how you’ve lost your inspiration and that you’ll never finish.”

I slung one arm over the couch and glanced at her out of the corner of my eyes. One of the things that sucked about having a best friend was that they already knew all of your bullshit.

“But then you find it again, get your ass into gear, and have a coffee-binging-slash-writing marathon to get the damn thing finished on time. Which you always manage to do.”

I scratched at the bottom of my chin, jutting it out slightly in front of me as I raised an eyebrow at her skeptically. “Yeah, well, maybe this time is different.”

“You say that every time, too.”

I paused. Then I said, “You’re just not going to let me off the hook for this one, are you?”

She shook her head. “Nope.” She patted my thigh affectionately. “Suck it up. Like you said, this is your career.”

I scowled at her as she grinned and stood up, looking pleased with herself. I kept up the scowl until she left the room for her office, which was a second door off the main hallway. When she was out of sight, I sat back with a heavy sigh. There was a rational part of my mind that knew she was right. I did this to myself. Excited about a new project, burn myself out, hit a writer’s block, and finally pick up my steam all over again for the win.

But there was another, less optimistic side of me, and that one said I was screwed.

Letting my head fall back, I considered just lying there like the sack of shit I was imitating today. But before I could do that, I heard Sarah’s voice echo down the hall.

“Get off your ass, Harvey.”

I rolled my eyes. Damnit, she knew me well. But I heaved myself off the couch anyway and headed up the stairs toward my workshop. I sat down at my desk, facing my dreaded blank screen. Putting my fingers on the keyboard, I braced myself for the crap that was going to flow from my mind, none of it worth keeping.

Before I could add pressure to even a single key, my phone went off. I mentally chided myself for not turning the damn thing off. Rule one: Never leave electronic distractions in the room.

I dug my phone out of my pocket and was about to silence it when I saw that it was Callum.

My eyebrows rose, but I answered it. “I would have thought you were busy sexting Marnie with unsolicited dick pics,” I said by way of greeting.

I heard him grunt on the other side. My words were meant to irk him, and that grunt told me I’d been successful. But Callum was almost as close to me as Sarah; he was used to my shit.

“Who says they’re unsolicited?”

I laughed. “Hey, I don’t want to know what kinds of kinky shit the two of you do to entertain yourselves.” I paused, then added, “But if you want to send me a pic of your lady in some sexy lingerie, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“Trent,” Callum warned.

I grinned but didn’t push it. Marnie was attractive, but not really my type. In other words, she was a pain in the ass. Besides, Callum was over the moon for her, despite his lack of belief in love as he put it.

Ignoring me, Callum cleared his throat, and a note of apology formed in his voice. “I called because I’m going to have to cancel our plans this afternoon.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” I whined, placing an exaggerated hand over my chest, though he couldn’t see it.

I could almost hear the eye roll through the phone. Impressive. “Don’t be an ass. I have something to take care of, so you’re on your own.”

“No linner together?”

“Please stop calling it that,” he groaned.

Linner. Lunch and dinner. It sounded horrible, which was why I enjoyed using it so much.

“Fine, fine,” I chuckled. “What’s this thing you have to take care of anyway?”

There was a beat. A pause too long to be natural. It was unlike Callum to withhold something, but that pause told me that was exactly what he was intending on doing. “It’s nothing.”

My eyebrows rose and I sat up straight in my chair. “Nothing is why you’re canceling on me?” I pushed.

He huffed. “No, of course not. I just have something else to do.”

“Something else.”

“Yes, Trent, something else. Believe it or not, you are not the only thing in my life.”

“If you’re just doing kinky shit with Marnie, you can just tell me. I won’t hold it against you.”

His voice dropped slightly in warning. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what the fuck is it?”

“Jesus, Trent, it’s fucking nothing. Why do you have to make a big deal out of everything?”

He didn’t necessarily sound heated, but he sounded annoyed—or nervous. How very unlike my dear friend…

“All right,” I told him finally. “You let Marnie tie you up. I won’t say anything.”

He huffed, but sounded relieved more than annoyed. “Whatever. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

We hung up then, and I wondered what he was so wound up about. What was this thing he didn’t want to tell me about? He didn’t do a lot of secret keeping with me. Mostly I just didn’t think he had enough of a life outside of business to bother with personal secrets, and business secrets were boring.

Maybe it really is something dirty with Marnie, I thought.

An image of Callum and Marnie bumping uglies ran through my head before I could stop it. I shuddered. I liked my friend and Marnie was sexy, but I didn’t need to see them in the throes of passion.

“Christ, how am I supposed to write with that image?” I said out loud.

It turned out I wouldn’t have to worry about it. Before I’d even put my phone down, it chimed in my hand. I unlocked it to see a new message.

Are we going to meet?

I groaned loudly and tossed my phone across the room to land on the couch in the corner with a flop. My hands scrubbed at my face as I realized just how much I was screwed.

The message was from Courtney Hughes and it was to Malcom Resner, my agent. Except I didn’t have an agent, and there wasn’t anyone named Malcom Resner.

Malcom was my middle name. Resner I’d taken from my bookcase in a panic when I realized that Courtney wanted a name from me.

And therein lay the rub.

Courtney hated my guts. She thought I was a conceited, womanizing asshole. Which wasn’t wholly inaccurate. I never promised a woman anything, and if she thought she was getting it, it was her fault, not mine. But I definitely wasn’t what one would call chivalrous. I liked to fuck ’em and leave ’em. I was good in the sack, so I figured they got something for their trouble regardless. But I had a thing for Courtney and wanted to pursue it if she’d just give me a damn chance.

The trouble was that she was giving me a chance—she just didn’t know it was me. She thought it was my agent, and I was playing that up. We were texting, talking on the phone, emailing. And it wasn’t necessarily kinky, but it was kind of personal, intimate. Now, she wanted to take it to the next level. Which I did, too. Images of her puckered ruby lips parting to let the head of my cock pop into her mouth flooded most of my brain, and the rest involved me balls-deep in her pussy.

But I couldn’t figure out how to get her to be okay with going out to meet Malcom Resner only to figure out he was Trent Harvey.

Somehow, I didn’t think she’d take it well.

I debated how I was supposed to answer her until it was too late to respond. Which may have been my subconscious’s way of not dealing with things. That seemed pretty legitimate.

Ultimately, I left the message unanswered. I undressed, brushed my teeth, threw a paper airplane at my computer, then gave up and went to bed. I told myself I’d figure out what to do in the morning. Until then, I would hope for pleasant dreams involving a certain little ruby-lipped spitfire.

Chapter Three

Courtney

My drink was sweating on the table in front of me. I’d taken all of two sips of it, and it was my first. Across from me, Elizabeth was on her third and about halfway through it to boot. She was probably also giving me the evil eye considering how rude I was being. But even knowing that I was being rude, I couldn’t stop myself.

I reached for my phone, which I’d put in my purse in an effort to stop myself from checking every five seconds. Digging it out, I checked the notifications. Nothing. I’d sent Malcom that text nearly two hours ago.

“Bastard,” I muttered to myself.

Used to be he would answer me within seconds. Even when he was in meetings and doing agent things. He always made time for me. Hell, even when it looked like Harvey—Malcom’s client, unfortunately—was going to sign with another publisher, Malcom still said he wanted to remain “friends.” Well, we were passing the last few mile markers for friendship and passing into that fast lane of romance.

That was, assuming we ever got around to meeting in person.

“Are you seriously going to spend the whole night with your phone?”

I glanced up to see Elizabeth sitting across from me. Her glass was empty on the table and her arms were crossed. She didn’t look pissed. Yet. But I knew it was only a matter of time if I didn’t pull my head out of my ass and give her some attention.

After all, I hadn’t seen her in years.

I winced apologetically. “Sorry, Liz. I’m just—”

“Waiting on some asshole to text you back?” she supplied nonchalantly as she waved down the waiter again. When he appeared she asked for a refill and a second one for me, even though I hadn’t finished my first. After he left, she fixed her dark eyes on me again. “Seriously. I haven’t seen you this worked up over anyone since… Well, actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worked up over the other half of the species.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I always thought you were secretly playing for the other team.”

She winked and I laughed.

“Shut up,” I told her. “First, I am decidedly straight. Girls just aren’t my thing. Second, this isn’t about a guy.”

Liz laughed. “Please. Do you honestly think that’s going to work on me, honey? I know you too well.”

I quickly debated trying to lie convincingly to Liz, but dismissed the idea before I could do something stupid. Truth was, she did know me too well. The only other person who knew me so well was Marnie—and she was a little preoccupied with her own love life to worry over mine.

I sighed and took my drink in my hand. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me,” I finally admitted.

Elizabeth shook her head a little. “You and Marnie. I swear, I haven’t seen the two of you in years, and first Marnie flakes on me, then you have a love affair with your phone. What gives?”

“Sorry,” I said again. I really did feel badly about it.

She waved off my apology. “Never mind that. Make it up to me with the deets. Who’s the guy?”

“It’s complicated.”

“All the best stories are,” she said with a grin.

I smiled a little, then caved. “His name’s Malcom. He’s an agent.”

“Ooh, an agent. Trouble from the get-go, eh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. He’s not just any agent—he’s Trent Harvey’s agent.”

That got Liz’s attention. “The Trent Harvey? The dude who sleeps with three girls at a time, has crazy hotel sexapades, and is loaded?”

“I was going to say best-selling author, but sure, that, too,” I responded dryly.

“Oh, whatever. Who cares about the books? He’s sexy, he’s rich, and he’s a total manwhore.”

I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’m not going to argue with you on any of those points. But that’s not the point. I’m not texting him. Just his agent.”

“Okay, and what’s the damage with his agent?”

Our drinks came then, prompting me to down the rest of my first one so that I could start on my second. I sipped at it as I dished.

“Marnie got that big account, remember?”

Liz nodded.

“Well, it was Harvey’s account. It was a whole big deal—I’m not going to get into the nitty-gritty of it, but there was some competition involved with another publisher. Tarvish Press. Anyway, I’m trying to help her get the account by dealing with Harvey and his agent.”

“So… this is a business thing?” Liz lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

I shrugged. “No, but it started out that way. The account was what Marnie needed to make partner. I pulled every string I could to get that damn account.” I hesitated before slowly adding, “Including making a deal with Malcom.”

Liz’s eyes lit up, and she leaned forward, her face splitting in a grin. “Oh, a deal, eh? And what kind of deal was it? What fancy-shmancy schmoozing did you have to do? Tell me it was something dirty, kinky, and or totally skanky.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be crude. I promised him a favor.”

She was still grinning as she asked, “Has he cashed it in yet?”

I spit my tongue out at her like we were back in college. Then I sat back in my chair. “No, that’s actually part of the problem.”

“Now I’m confused. What?”

I took a longer sip from my drink. “We’ve been talking since Marnie got the account. And texting. And emailing.”

“But?” Liz prompted.

“But that’s it. We haven’t met in person. I don’t even know what this guy looks like!”

Liz’s grin dropped as her eyebrows rose high up on her head. “What? Are you crazy?”

I blinked. Probably,I thought, but all I said was, “I hope not.”

Liz ignored my answer and pushed forward. “You’re getting worked up over some guy you haven’t even seen before?”

I winced. “Um, kind of?”

Liz muttered some things under her breath that I couldn’t catch, then downed her drink. She signaled the waiter for another, which likely meant he’d bring another for me. Not that I would mind. I was starting to think I’d need more than a few tonight.

“Jesus. Okay, before I list off the million reasons why you’re being dumb right now, I’ll ask you this: why not just meet him, then?”

“I’ve tried,” I blurted, not even caring that she was going to tell me what an idiot I was being. Hell, I probably needed someone to tell me. “We’ve made plans to go out for drinks, to have coffee, to grab brunch. Every time he cancels on me. Something comes up. His fucking dog dies, whatever, and I’m left with no plans and no idea what I’m doing wrong.”

There was a pause, then, “Did his dog actually die?”

I rolled my eyes. “No! I don’t think he even has a dog. It was just an example.”

“Oh, good. Because that is a 100 percent legitimate excuse. Like, I would forgive someone for blowing me off over that.”

I waited impatiently for her to get to her point.

“Sorry,” she apologized, then leaned back and considered me. “So you’re upset over some dude you’ve never even met in person?”

I nodded.

“And he’s blown off meeting you several times.”

I nodded again.

“And you’re still stalking your text messages waiting for him to respond?”

“Um.”

“‘Um’ is an admission of guilt,” she informed me, her tone and pose superior. “To which I have only this to say: what the hell happened to that ball-busting, take no prisoners, hell-on-wheels girl I know and love?”

The corners of my mouth tugged down in a pout. “I am not a ballbuster.”

“Not anymore!”

“I never have been.” When she just stared at me, I added, “I’m just selective.”

“You mean sardonic. Pessimistic. Angry at men.”

“Realistic,” I countered. “Cautious.”

She shrugged her slender shoulders. Sitting there in the soft lighting, her hair so pale it was almost white and her limbs so long and elegant, it was no wonder how she became a model. She had to be born for it. “Whatever. Point is, the old Court never would have let herself get all wound up over some guy.”

I frowned. There was a thread of truth there that tugged at me. I didn’t think of myself as a “man hater,” though obviously my friends leaned that way. I just didn’t like to bend over backward for some guy. And now, I was starting to think that was exactly what I was doing.

When did I get so damn pathetic?

“What are you suggesting?”

She smiled silkily at me. “Dump the prick.”

“What?”

“You heard me, dump him.”

“But we’ve really connected.”

She laughed at me. Loudly. Several people from other tables actually glanced over at us when they heard her. It made me wince, but I tried to convince myself it didn’t make me feel uncomfortable.

“What?” I demanded when her laughter was dwindling to chuckles.

She wiped dramatically at her eyes. “Nothing, it’s just… have you heard yourself? I mean, you sound like the kind of girl we always used to laugh at. Connected, seriously.” She shook her head. “Fact is, connection or not, if this thing with him was really meant to be, you would have already met. It wouldn’t be this difficult, you know? Relationships should be organic, not forced, and it really sounds like this guy is pulling back on the reins.”

I sat silently for several moments. My stomach churned and it wasn’t because of the fruity, sugary alcoholic beverages we were consuming. I had a bad feeling all of a sudden, because there was a big part of me that knew Liz was right. I shouldn’t have to fight to get him to so much as meet me. If he didn’t want to meet me, then I shouldn’t have to fight to convince him otherwise.

Despite the bitterness that was crawling up my throat, I forced a smile at Liz. Then I held up my glass to her. “You’re right. To organic relationships,” I toasted.

“To man haters, the only ones who have it figured out,” she countered.

I laughed, and then we downed our drinks. A moment later, the waiter came with our refills. Liz told him to keep them coming. We were going to get completely trashed. Liz gave the waiter a card with the number of her preferred taxi and said that when we were ready to go, he should call them. The waiter easily agreed.

Then we drank.

Chapter Four

Trent

I tapped a pen idly against the edge of my desk as I reclined back in my chair. I was trying to think of what greatness I was supposed to bring to life on my computer today. Unfortunately, I was drawing a blank. Ideas might as well have been raindrops in the damn Sahara. Few, far between, and evaporative as hell. There was no inspiration that morning, which was why I was thinking of Courtney Hughes, sexy secretary.

Or maybe there was no inspiration because all I could think about was Courtney Hughes. Either way, she was on my mind.

I slumped forward and put my hands on the keyboard. Words flowed from my fingertips at a hearty eighty-eight words per minute until I had half a page full of them. Then I decided they were complete crap and erased the whole damn thing.

“Fuck,” I muttered to the screen.

I tried again, my fingers hesitating for a moment before the words started to come.

Her eyes were cold, guarded, but I knew that warmth lay beneath them. I’d seen it before. Warmth that turned into fire as she opened up to me. Heat spilled from the ruby-red plumpness of her lips, slipped from her pink tongue, until she was breathing fire. A fire that consumed me. I watched as that fire slipped down her slender throat, over those delicate shoulders, and down. Down beneath the fabric of her dress, dipping between her breasts to form that line of cleavage that led to the promise of spicy sweetness.

I longed for a taste of that—

My fingers paused on the keyboard as I realized what I was doing. My novel wasn’t really a romance. There were a few spicy moments for the sake of character development—and because a little fucking never hurt anyone—but it wasn’t about love. It was a murder mystery about a guy dealing with an existential crisis as he considered the possibility that his father was a serial killer.

Not exactly the kind of novel that needed extended details on a woman’s cleavage.

What was worse, I knew that the woman I’d described wasn’t Kelly, my female love interest. No, the woman I’d just been writing about was Courtney. Her perky breasts. Her full, red, red lips. Her ice-cold eyes.

“Damnit.”

I deleted the whole section, knowing I wouldn’t be able to use it. Worse, knowing that it was going to give me a raging hard-on that I wouldn’t be able to make go away without envisioning her in some compromising positions.

Sighing, I shook my head and got up. I needed a break from that damn computer.

Stretching first, I tried to figure out what I was going to do. Not about the novel—that would either come together or it wouldn’t, just like always—but about her. She wanted to meet, but if I let that happen, she would not be happy. She was expecting Malcom Resner, but she was going to get Trent Harvey. But I couldn’t leave things as they were either. She wanted more. I could practically taste it in her text messages.

And honestly, I wanted more, too. I wanted to touch her and taste her and feel her in my arms. I was a physical person, and it was killing me to do this through text messages. Especially when I knew what she looked like.

Fucking sexy.

What am I going to do?

I paced around my office, trying to come up with a solution to the mess I’d created. But I had nothing. There was no getting out of this short of a face transplant, and I didn’t think I wanted to try that John Travolta movie thing anyway.

I slid my hands over my smooth head, trying to come up with an answer.

If she would just give the real me a chance, I know I could win her over.

At least, I thought I could. There was a part of me that acknowledged that her hatred for me seemed to run pretty deep. But I was confident. She obviously liked my personality, or she wouldn’t still be texting Trent.

I was thinking myself into circles, and it was exhausting. Deciding that I needed a break—from thinking about Courtney and from working on my damn novel—I headed downstairs in search of coffee and food. Maybe I’d go to that café I liked.

Or, well, pretended to like. It was more for show than anything else. It was one of those hip places that authors like me were supposed to be into. And I knew that sometimes the best way to sell yourself was image. Look the part. Cafés helped me look the part.

I grabbed my phone as I headed downstairs. Rule one of writing: turn off or silence all electronic devices that weren’t actively being used for writing. Meaning my phone was not in the picture when I was working.

As I turned it on, it told me that I had several missed calls. They were all from Marnie.

I didn’t bother to listen to the voicemails. I could guess.

“What’s taking so long?” and “Do you take anything seriously?” and my personal favorite, “Get the damn manuscript done or it’s your ass.” All in that lovely tone of pissed-off redhead.

No, I definitely didn’t need to listen to the messages.

Once I sifted through the missed calls, I noticed that I also received several text messages. These I was much more invested in. They were from Courtney.

Two in the morning, she texted me this:

Fuck off.

Two after two in the morning, I got a second one.

I don’t need your stupid ass.

Five after two in the morning, I got a third message.

If you aren’t interested in a piece of my lovely self, then I don’t need you.

And finally, eight after two in the morning, I got a final message.

Did I mention I don’t need you? ’Cause I don’t.

“Jesus,” I muttered.

I had a feeling she’d been drunk when sending those messages, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t meant every one of them. Especially the not needing me part. I felt panic well up inside me, and it was that panic that had me dialing her number before I could talk myself out of it.

The phone rang twice before I heard her pick up. “Hello?” Her voice sounded gruff, sandy. Like she had just woken up or was still hungover.

Before she could say anything else or hang up on me, I launched into the fray. “First, we’re going to fucking meet. For real this time. No bailing, no jokes, no sometime in the fucking futures. I want to see every bit of you, damnit, and I’m tired of waiting. Second, you have to stay for the entire date. You owe me a favor, and I’m cashing in on it.”

That favor was going to be my salvation—and probably get me fucking killed at the same damn time, but I didn’t care. It was my only shot, and I’d make it work.

It had to work.

There was a long stretch of silence, and I almost thought she’d hung up on me. Then, I heard her answer. “Fine. Don’t fuck this up.”

She hung up before either of us could say anything else. But I didn’t care.

She’d stay for the whole date, meaning I had one night to convince her that Trent Harvey was the man she was falling for. Somehow, I knew this was a recipe for disaster.

My date with Malcom was set for that Friday and I asked Marnie beforehand if I could leave a little early.

“Early? Are you feeling sick, or have you just lost your mind?” she asked incredulously.

I hadn’t so much as shown up five minutes late in the years I’d worked for her. I could see why she was a little surprised.

I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. It was Monday, so I was giving her as much notice as I could. If Malcom had set up this impromptu date a little earlier, I’d have let her know then, but I decided a week was plenty of time to let her know I was getting off a little early. Seriously, she could live without me for a couple of hours.

“I have a hot date,” I informed her with a smile.

Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “Seriously? When the fuck did this happen?”

Marnie knew tentatively that I’d been in contact with Harvey’s agent. She didn’t outwardly disapprove, mostly because I didn’t think she knew how serious it was. Hell, I didn’t know how serious it was anymore. And since Harvey was working for S&W Publishing now, it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest or anything.

She never needed to know that I’d been planning on still talking to Malcom even if Harvey decided to go with Tarvish.

“It’s actually been going on for a while,” I informed her. “We’ve been talking and texting and—”

“Wait, so is this a real date or a virtual one?”

I shot her a glare. “A real one, thank you very much.” Finally, I thought but didn’t add. I didn’t need to tell her that the guy had only just manned up enough to meet me in person.

Marnie considered me for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

For once, she sounded a little hurt, and I felt bad. For about 2.5 seconds.

I gathered up my papers and shoved them into the oversized tote bag that could have fit a body if I chopped it into pieces first. “Oh, please. You had already slept with Callum by the time you told me about what was going on.”

She winced. Point to me. “Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right. I just… don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things, you know? We’ve been friends for ages.”

I softened slightly, then nodded. “You’re right. I wasn’t keeping this a secret—I just wasn’t really sure where it was going. I didn’t want to be the asshole who thought the marriage was around the corner when I didn’t even have a first date secured.”

Marnie grinned at me. “Good point.”

“And speaking of friends for ages, Liz missed you last night.”

Another wince and another point for me. “Shit, I’m an asshole.”

I nodded in agreement. “Especially since you bailed for a little sexy time with Callum.”

She scowled at me. “I did not.”

All I did was raise a single eyebrow at her in skepticism.

Sighing, she half nodded. “Okay, fine, sort of. I just needed to talk to him, and one thing led to another. I didn’t mean to bail on you guys for sex. It just sort of happened that way.”

I actually laughed at her. “That explanation totally wins you points. Accidental sex excuse. I like it. I’ll use it sometime.”

She shoved playfully at my shoulder. “Oh, shut up.” She glanced at the delicate watch on her wrist. “Are you headed to lunch?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m going to take some work with me and make a few calls, because some of your clients have gotten it into their head that if I’m at lunch, they can dodge me.” I waggled a finger at her. “Such is not the case.”

She grinned at me. “This is why I love you.”

“What would you do without me?”

“Crash and burn, I’m sure.”

I waved goodbye, and she headed back into her office.

***

Friday rolled around at what felt like a snail’s pace. I didn’t want to admit how excited I was about my date, but the truth was it had been a long time. A long time since I’d had much of anything in the form of a social life, much less romance. Marnie was my best friend, meaning work and social went hand in hand. And forget about dating. I’d sworn off guys since the last asshole in my life. Malcom was the first chance I’d been willing to take in years.

Which was why I wasn’t just excited, but anxious, too.

What if things went wrong? What if he was a dick in real life? What if I met him and I just wasn’t attracted to him?

I didn’t think of myself as overly shallow, but there was no denying that physicality was an important part of my personal relationships. I didn’t need Brad Pitt, but I needed someone that pushed the right buttons and set off the right signals in my body. Sure, I was all about this guy’s personality, but what if we just didn’t mesh physically?

Worse, what if he decided I wasn’t the right physical type for him? Not every man appreciated a short chick. And while I wasn’t fat, I was curvy. What if that wasn’t his thing?

Doubt ate at me steadily throughout the day, despite my attempts to quell it. I put on a good front, enough that even Marnie didn’t know how nervous I was, but it didn’t do anything for how I felt on the inside.

When three thirty rolled around, I knocked on Marnie’s door and poked my head into her office. “Hey, it’s that time.”

She glanced up from her desk—she looked a little stressed, so she was probably looking over something from Harvey—blinked twice, then glanced at her wristwatch. “What? That late already?”

“I’m leaving early, remember? Hot date?”

It took her several seconds before it clicked for her. “Oh! Right, your date. I totally spaced it. But go, you’re good. Definitely. Be sure to tell me everything that happens afterwards.”

“I will,” I promised, grinning.

“And Court?”

“Yeah?”

“Try to have a good time.”

I nodded. “I will.”

I grabbed a few things from my desk to work on over the weekend, made sure my computer was off, and grabbed my cell. Then I headed out.

When I got home, the first thing I did was shower. I wanted to be as clean as a whistle and as bare as a newborn baby, not a hair in sight. So I took a little longer than usual and shaved all my lady bits until I was smooth. When I got out, I put that soft vanilla-smelling lotion on, then went to work getting dressed. I’d pulled aside several viable options for that evening, but I still had to decide which of them was the best of the bunch.

“Something sexy, something sexy,” I muttered to myself as I stared at the five dresses I’d laid out on my bed.

One was a deep burgundy thing that went past my knees. Not quite a pencil, but it cinched tightly at the waist and emphasized my hips. The neckline was modest enough for public and a nice restaurant, but showed a hint of cleavage just the same.

Two were blue, which I quickly dismissed. Blue was a cold color and more appropriate for work, dealing with people I didn’t like, and the occasional perfect spring day for whatever reason.

I’d been pissed at Malcom when I’d picked them out, debating being an asshole to him.

That had changed, so now I was debating between the burgundy, the pink, and the red with black, lacy overlay.

The pink was cute, but I quickly decided I didn’t want to be cute. I wanted to wow him. To lure him in with sexiness and the promise of more. Which was why I ended up dismissing the burgundy, too. It was pretty and even a little sexy, but it was too modest. I needed to reel him in, not leave him guessing.

“Red and black it is,” I muttered.

Which was how I picked my underwear. Lacy black seamless panties coupled with a plunging push-up bra that did wonders for the shape of my large breasts.

I wiggled into the dress, then threw a T-shirt over the top to finish up my makeup and hair. I painstakingly curled my silky tresses, then put them mostly up in an elegant twist. Shaking my head a little, I loosened some of the curls until they fell naturally down the nape of my neck and framed my heart-shaped face.

Perfect. Or as close to perfect as any woman got.

I checked the time, then grabbed my clutch. It was just big enough for my ID, credit card, some cash, a compact, and a condom. Just in case.

I headed out the door, hoping tonight was going to be as good as my mind was building it up to be.

About forty-five minutes later—thanks a lot, Seattle traffic—I got out of my car and walked the half block to the restaurant where I was supposed to meet Malcom. He’d texted me the details the day after asking me out, and that was about all I’d heard from him.

I told myself it was because he was trying to build up the suspense to meet me.

It was a sit-down restaurant, a nicer one that required reservations, and I hesitantly went up to the host to ask if my party had arrived yet.

“I’m sorry, I don’t see a reservation under that name,” he said, doing his best to not look down his nose at me. He failed miserably. “Perhaps you have the wrong restaurant.”

I lifted a single eyebrow at him. “Check again. Malcom Resner.”

The man pursed his lips but did as I asked. After a quick perusal of the names, he looked up at me again and smiled thinly. “I’m afraid I don’t see a Resner anywhere.”

My shoulders slumped, but I forced myself to thank the man. He was an ass, but he was probably paid to be that way. I turned and headed back out to wait at the front.

Had I gotten the wrong restaurant? Or did Malcom not realize it was the type of place to need a reservation?

I checked my phone and the message he’d sent me. Shay’s, 6:30pm Friday.

Glancing up at the sign, I confirmed that this was most definitely Shay’s. The corners of my mouth tugged down into a frown. Because suddenly there were only a few options of what was going wrong. Either he didn’t realize this was a reservation type of place, this was the wrong place, or… he forgot.

That last one sent a cold chill down my spine.

Had he seriously forgotten? I was halfway through a very angry text about leaving a woman waiting when I heard someone call my name.

“Courtney!”

It sounded familiar. Instantly, my shoulders relaxed. I turned toward it as I said, “Malcom.”

Except when I caught sight of who it was, it wasn’t Malcom at all. I froze. It was Trent Harvey. I felt tension crawl across my body again. He was sexy, dressed in fitted black slacks and a silky, deep-burgundy button-down. Its colors shifted subtly in different lighting, and it suited him wonderfully. His body was well-defined, and he was tall. Tall enough that I would have to look up at him if we were standing any closer.

But I didn’t care about any of that. I wasn’t interested in seeing him. I wanted Malcom, and damnit, that disappointed me immensely that he hadn’t shown yet.

He will, I told myself.

Setting my shoulders, I said, “Mr. Harvey. What a pleasant surprise.” My tone directly contradicted that statement.

“It certainly is,” he said with a perfect smile. “Care to join me?”

My lips pursed tightly together, even as I tried to smile politely. “I’m sorry, I really can’t. I have a prior engagement.”

“Oh? And here I thought we had a date tonight?”

I frowned outright at him this time. “A date? Are you crazy? I have plans with your agent, Mr. Resner.”

His perfect smile faltered, and I took a little pleasure knowing I’d thrown him off balance. That is, until he spoke again.

“I’m afraid Mr. Resner isn’t coming.”

“What?”

Had I really been stood up? Worse, was Trent Harvey the one telling me I’d been stood up?

“That’s bullshit. He’ll be here any minute.”

Harvey shook his head. “No. He’s not coming because… because he doesn’t exist.”

I felt my eyes roll all on their own. “Did you forget to take your meds or something? Of course he’s real. I’ve been talking to him on the phone for months now. He’s the one who invited me here.”