Boy was I wrong about that one. Should I be surprised? Not like I had a great track record with women, but honest to God, I thought Harper was different. Fuck me.

When I woke up and she wasn’t lying there beside me, I assumed she went to the kitchen or the shower. After scouring every fucking corner of my place, I realized she split in the middle of the night. Not only did she leave, but the little thief took my clothes, flip flops, and motherfucking cake, too. And could she have left a bigger mess? It appeared as though a fucking tornado hit my dresser and closet. Lucky me, now I could add calling the housekeeper to the list of shit to do today.

Not exactly the morning I had planned when I went to sleep last night with her sweet little body in my arms. Fuck, she felt perfect—her lush skin and full breasts were enough to make the average man weep. Kissing her mouth wasn’t just an action, it was an erotic adventure. Never had I gotten that wound up simply by making out with a woman. The way she used her tongue in my mouth made me curious what other areas of my body she could explore.

Had I imagined her ecstasy when she came apart in my arms? The way she reacted, I didn’t think anyone was more surprised than her when her sweet pussy squeezed my fingers in a death grip.

Then tell me why the hell she left? She promised to stick around while I made her breakfast. But where was she? No note, no tap on the shoulder before she ran. Nothing.

I shook my head and decided to shower and grab a coffee on the way to meeting number one, of at least five for the day. There was nothing more to be done here, except get more and more pissed off every time I thought of last night. Jesus. What the fuck was I thinking? The very last thing in the world I needed right then was to jump into another pointless relationship. Enough craziness arrived on my plate daily. No matter how much I craved running my hands up Harper’s legs and squeezing that tight, perfectly rounded ass, there was no need to add an insane woman to the mix.

While my hair was still wet, my phone rang. “Hello?”

“How did last night go? You get your girl? What’s she like? Is she nice?” My mother’s voice boomed over the line and shot questions at me like a machine gun. Guess we were playing twenty questions, but I had no answers for her.

“Ma, I gotta run. Early meetings.” Early meetings, late meetings, all the time with the fucking meetings. My head nearly exploded just thinking about it. I rolled my shoulders and took a deep breath. Ma deserved better than my juvenile attitude.

“She didn’t like the pink squirrel?” she asked. I hung my head and adjusted my tie. Yeah, she liked the cocktail, all right, but not enough to stick around. Probably had better places to be. Perhaps that ex-husband wasn’t so “ex” after all.

I sighed and tried to control my temper. “She was nobody special. Don’t worry. I shouldn’t have called you so late. I’m sorry about that.” In fact, I was sorry about a lot of things, like wasting my time on women who ran out on me.

“No, Jacky, I’m sorry. I just... Well, I hoped that you...” From the tone in her voice I knew where this shit was headed, and it needed to be shut down. Now. “Honey, not everyone is like—”

“Ma!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, cutting her off. If I had to hear her lecture me one more time, I would... Well, do absolutely nothing. My mom earned the right to dole out shit to me. But Christ, I was done with this conversation. “Look, I’m sorry for yelling. I’ve gotta go. Will you come by for lunch? I’ll make your favorite.” The woman snapped my last nerve, but she was also the only real parent I ever had. Silence. Fuck. “I said I was sorry. Don’t be pissed. You got me at a bad time and I’m going to be late if I don’t leave right now.”

“I’ll see you at two o’clock. And, Jacky?”

I grabbed my keys and rolled my eyes at the hall closet. “Yeah?”

“Don’t give up, Son. You’ll find someone. Stop closing yourself off to the rest of the world. There’s more to life than work.” Then the phone clicked off.

Advice that worked for some, but not for me. Work I could count on. But women? Never.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, I gave myself a scare. My hair stuck up everywhere and my makeup was smeared willy-nilly, but I reread my new shirt and smiled. Not a shirt I expected to see in perfect Jack’s drawer, and it made me happy to unearth a silly side. Then that made me sad because I’d never learn anything else about him because we would never see each other again. And that made me even more depressed.

Initially, I was embarrassed when Vivienne’s ride-sharing app guy picked me up from Jack’s apartment and laughed at my shirt—and likely other things as well. I must have been quite the sight outfitted in Jack’s shorts, huge flip flops, and a ridiculous T-shirt, carrying my beautiful shoes and dress.

Talk about the worst walk of shame ever.

But he took it in stride and drove me home, assuring me he’d seen much worse. That didn’t comfort me, but I shut up and took my lumps.

Vivienne had programmed his number into my phone “just in case”. Boy was I thankful to be rescued. As soon as I jumped into the car, he beamed his smile at me and it filled me with relief. After asking for my address, he pulled out onto the nearly abandoned street and said, “I personally think Ricky Martin got a bum rap. I liked his stuff back in the day. Sure, I was just a kid,” he glanced over at me and grinned, “but I loved his music.”

More than a little confused, I tilted my head and tried to understand why we were discussing Menudo alumni at this late hour. A few moments of awkwardness later, the man pointed to my shirt, so I peeked down and straightened my stolen garment. I deciphered the shirt easily. Even upside down the words “Livin’ la Vida Sofa” displayed loud and proud on the front, with a picture of a couch smack-dab in the center. My chin fell to my chest, and I groaned an, “Oh my God.” This night just kept getting more and more humiliating.

He noticed my reaction and said, “Oh, I see. It was a dig and dash? Hard to pick out the good stuff in the dark, right? Been there, done that, got the stolen T-shirt.” He smiled his sweet as heck smile at me and turned back to the road. “I believe mine was a pink night shirt that read ‘I Hate Mondays.’” I giggled at the thought of him wearing women’s sleepwear, and he smirked and shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m Connor, by the way. Nice to finally meet you, Harper,” he said, then offered his hand. I shook it—his big, strong hand... Yes, I looked—and smiled back.

Did he say, “Nice to ‘finally’ meet you?” Even though I thought it was an odd thing to say, since he only drove Vivienne and her gang around for one night, I let it lie.

Anyway, I was able to escape from Jack’s place with minimal effort, but plenty of regret. I felt like a complete ass, so I had to go. Didn’t I? He’d asked me to stay over and wanted to feed me breakfast, and I’d agreed, then bolted. Shit, did I ever blow that.

Running on a few hours of sleep wasn’t helping matters. I had a bit of a dull head, but nothing a few cups of caffeine wouldn’t cure. A quick peek at the clock said ten to eight.

With my hand on the door, my phone rang. This was fairly strange for not even eight o’clock in the morning. “Hello?”

“Harper? Dean. Look, Vivienne called in sick. She can’t even crawl out of bed. I need you to fill in for her.”

I chuckled because first, there was no way I understood how to do Vivienne’s job. To have me fill in for her was the joke of the century. Secondly, that woman was a machine and never asked for help. Not once in three years had she called in sick. Or “sick”. I wondered if she suffered from the revenge of the pink drink.

“I can’t do Vivienne’s job. How about I call her clients and reschedule instead?”

“You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. This client can’t wait. His orders must get submitted as soon as possible, and I don’t know when I can make it back there. I’ve been on the road from San Francisco for the past two hours.”

My stomach clenched. “Who is the client?”

“Jack McCallister.”

Shit.