The headache that had started shortly after Lexi showed up at the agency grew steadily worse throughout the afternoon, making her even crankier. The curious looks and hushed whispers that had begun around the same time didn’t help. Finally, Kayla had had enough.

She waited until the last client left then turned around and faced Sue Ann, Carly, Frankie, and Stephanie. “Annette!” she called out. “Would you come out here, please? I only want to do this once.”

When everyone was gathered and looking at her expectantly, she said, “All right. Go on. Ask me.”

They exchanged glances. It was Carly who spoke first.

“You know Lexi Callaghan?”

“Yes. We went to high school together. It was a long time ago. We’re not close.” All true statements, however misleading.

“I thought she was from Georgia.” This was from Sue Ann, who told anyone who would listen that the best chefs hailed from the south. “That’s where she met up with Aidan Harrison and they came up with the idea for the Celtic Goddess.”

“Oooo, Aidan Harrison,” crooned Carly. “That man is smooth, creamy chocolate on a stick. Do you know him, too?”

“It’s sex on a stick, not chocolate on a stick. No, I don’t know Aidan Harrison. And Lexi moved south before she graduated.”

“Why did she come to see you?” Annette asked, her nose twitching as if she smelled a potential prestigious client.

This was where things got tricky. “She saw my write-up on Sate and recognized my name. She decided to stop in to say hi and get some more information.”

It was partially true. Lexi had seen her review and asked her about it as they had walked to Franklin’s Deli. If Kayla had to guess, she would bet Ian had been skulking around the internet, looking for some hidden agenda or ulterior motive on her part.

“Did she say anything about booking?”

“No. Anything else?”

They shook their heads. “Good. I’m going home.”

“But it’s only six o’clock.”

Kayla shot Annette a withering glance. “I’ve cleared my desk, and I have no appointments scheduled for tonight. I’ve also already logged more than sixty hours this week.”

Annette’s mouth snapped closed as Kayla gathered her things and left.

The ride home was relatively uneventful. As planned, she picked up a tub of ice cream on the way. She couldn’t wait to change into her stretchy pants and spend the rest of the night lounging on her sofa and binge-watching something to get her mind off her shitty day.

It was as she was unlocking her door that she heard something out back. Reaching into her purse, she grabbed her pepper spray and cell phone, and eased around the corner. She didn’t see anyone, but the door to her shed was ajar.

“Damn it,” she muttered.

Scowling, Kayla approached and found the padlock hanging open, but there was no evidence of tampering. Had the kid been by to mow the lawn? She hadn’t even noticed. Chances were, he had and had just forgotten to lock it up again. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Because she worked such crazy hours, she left the key to the shed in one of those fake-rock things on the back porch. She would have to remind him again next time he came to be paid. It wasn’t exactly a high-crime neighborhood, but things did occasionally go missing. Even worse, some curious kid could come along and end up hurting himself or ingesting chemicals or something, and it would somehow be her fault.

A quick look inside revealed some disarray, but nothing obviously missing. Apparently, the kid didn’t like taking the time to put things away properly any more than he liked locking up.

With a few colorful mumbles, she secured the shed. Instead of putting the key back in the fake rock, she took it inside. She didn’t mind letting the kid use her equipment and tools, but she did expect him to do so responsibly.

She had no sooner dropped her purse on the counter when her cell phone chimed. When she saw the number flash on the caller ID, she ignored it. She didn’t have the strength to deal with her mother, not until she had a long, hot shower, a tub of ice cream, and at least two episodes under her belt.

She turned off her cell and plugged it into charge. For the rest of the night, she was officially unavailable.

Kayla put the ice cream in the freezer then headed for her bedroom. The landline phone rang before she made it.

“Kayla? Are you there? Why aren’t you answering your cell? Are you screening? Pick up the phone. This is your mother.”

Glad her mother couldn’t see her, Kayla began to undress. Chances were, things in Denver weren’t going as smoothly as Patricia expected and she was calling to vent. Kayla had been through it enough times to know. When it was just Patricia and Charles, Patricia got her way and things were quiet. But Charles’s daughter was not the type to stand idly by when Patricia started flashing the wife card and throwing her weight around. Charles inevitably got stuck in the middle and, not wanting to upset either woman, tried to compromise. Kayla could have told him that Patricia didn’t do compromise, but he would figure it out eventually. Either way, Kayla wasn’t about to get involved.

An irritated exhale sounded over the machine. “Fine. When you get this, call me.”

Kayla added that to the list of things she was not going to do.

Twenty minutes later, she was showered and in her PJs, curled up with a pint of chocolate chip mint and her finger on Play when her house phone rang again.

“Hey, baby. We still on for tonight? I’m down here at the Beef and Brew, and you’re not,” the rough, gritty male voice broadcast from the machine’s small speaker, making Kayla groan.

She had forgotten all about her date with Dax. They had a standing agreement to meet up on Thursdays if they didn’t have any other plans, kind of a “friends with benefits” thing.

She scrambled up off the couch and picked up the receiver. “Dax?”

“Kayla, where are you, babe?”

“I’m at home. I’m sorry, Dax, I should have called. I’m not feeling well.”

“You’re sick?”

“Not really, just a stressful day and a killer headache.”

In the background, she could hear country music blaring from the jukebox, the muted din of conversations, and the clink of bottles. Normally, she equated those sounds with a good time, but not tonight.

The thought of hanging out, engaging in the obligatory pre-hookup conversation, and pretending to give a shit was not appealing. Surprisingly enough, neither was the guarantee of sex.

Dax was always good for at least one decent orgasm, even if she did have to do most of the work herself.

“A headache, huh? I can come over to your place. I have just the thing.”

Kayla closed her eyes and shook her head for several seconds before realizing Dax couldn’t see her. “Not tonight, Dax, okay?”

“You sure? I used to date this chick who was all into Tantric sex. She said it was great for relieving stress and shit.”

“I’m sure. I’m just going to veg tonight.”

“All right. Hey, I got kinda worked up for tonight, you know what I’m saying? Do you mind if I ...?” Dax let the question hang, but she knew what he was asking.

“Sure, Dax. Knock yourself out.”

“Thanks, Kayla. We’ll catch up next time, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Kayla hung up and sighed. What the hell was she doing? Giving up a night of grunting, sweaty sex with one of the best built guys in town?

Yeah, she was, she thought, slumping into the couch. Because that was exactly what the night would entail—grunting, sweaty sex. No finesse. No worthwhile foreplay. No teasing give-and-take. Dax might have an incredible body she liked to occasionally climb like a monkey and some impressive equipment, but that was all he had. His skills were rudimentary at best, and more often than not, it was up to her to chase down her O. That no longer seemed enough.

Because Dax was not Spencer Dumas.

Kayla grabbed a throw pillow and screamed into it. She had to snap out of this. Spencer Dumas did not have a magical unicorn dick. What had happened at Sate was a one-time thing. He was never going to call, never going to show up on her doorstep. He didn’t even know her name. And he was engaged, for fuck’s sake.

The doorbell rang, interrupting the stern lecture she was giving herself.

“What the hell?” she moaned. Couldn’t everyone just leave her alone to wallow in her own self-pity for a while?

The doorbell rang again. She ignored it.

Then the banging started.

Now beyond cranky, Kayla got up and stomped over to the door with the giant spoon in her hand, dripping with melted ice cream. Whoever was on the other side was going to get a verbal reaming and an oversized utensil shoved up their ass.

She flung open the door and promptly forgot all that.

Because Spencer Dumas was on her doorstep.