Spencer’s visit did absolutely nothing to improve her mood. She had been so angry she hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning throughout the night. By the next day, her foul temper had taken a decided downturn and kept right on going.

It seemed as if everything that could go wrong that week, did. Annette decided to upgrade the office computers, which might have been all right if she hadn’t put her technologically-inept husband in charge of the task to save a few bucks ... and get him off his ass. As a result, the system was down more than it was up, and Kayla was forced to stay up half the night at home, trying to get work done that she couldn’t do at the office.

Because she had been up at all hours, she caught the kid she had hired to cut her grass hooking-up with the girl next door in her shed. Apparently, they told her with complete seriousness, they couldn’t help themselves. They had taken one look at each other and it had been love at first sight.

Well, that explained the noises she had been hearing out there at night.

While Kayla did sympathize—she remembered what it was like to be that age and in the throes of rampant teenage hormones—she couldn’t allow it to continue. They would find a way, as horny kids always did, but her garden shed wasn’t going to be their little love shack.

She fired the lawn kid and told the girl that, if she ever caught them sneaking onto her property again, she was going to take pictures and tell the girl’s mother. She wouldn’t, not really, but they didn’t know that.

As if all that wasn’t bad enough, her mother showed up on her doorstep with three pieces of designer luggage and a declaration that she had left Charles and would be staying in Kayla’s guest room indefinitely.

“Charles actually took her side over mine, can you imagine?” Patricia said that night, stabbing her fork into her fresh kale and quinoa salad. “He said the stress wasn’t good for the baby. Ha! That girl’s as healthy as an ox, and about the size of one, too.”

Kayla took another drink of her wine. “I’m sure he’ll come around. When is the baby due?”

“Two months.”

Two months. Eight weeks. Fifty-six days. One thousand, three hundred, and forty-four hours. Eighty thousand, six hundred, and forty minutes. Four million, eight hundred and thirty-eight thousand, four hundred seconds.

It wasn’t as if Kayla was counting or anything, but given that her mother had arrived only six hours earlier, Kayla knew she wasn’t going to survive two months of listening to her bitching, whining, and moaning.

“I can call the realtor and have them delist the old house,” Kayla suggested.

“I thought you said there were several potential buyers interested.”

“There are, but there will be buyers a couple months from now, too. It’s a good house in a good neighborhood.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The guest room is small, and the bathroom is woefully out of date, but I’ll make the best of it. If Charles doesn’t come to his senses, we can find something more suitable.”

We? There would be no “we” about it. This was her house.

Kayla loved her mother, but there was not a chance in hell she could live with her again; at least one of them wouldn’t survive it. As it was, Kayla was already considering the pros and cons of setting up a cot in the supply closet at the office. It would be a tight fit, but she could make it work.

Before she could say anything else, the doorbell rang.

“Are you expecting someone, Kayla?” Patricia asked. “I hope it’s not that Neanderthal again.”

“What Neanderthal?”

“The one who came by when you went to the grocery store for proper fresh produce. Dirk, Dan—something like that.”

The doorbell rang again. Shit, it was Thursday again, wasn’t it?

“Dax?”

“Yes, that’s it. Dax. He looked like a gym rat.”

“He’s a personal fitness trainer.”

Patricia’s nose scrunched up in disgust. “Pretty, but all brawn and no brains. Probably doesn’t even have a portfolio. He’s entirely unsuitable, Kayla.”

“Good thing you’re not the one seeing him, then.”

“Kayla Rose, I don’t think I like your tone.”

A loud knock replaced the chime of the doorbell. “Kayla, I know you’re in there.”

Kayla’s heart dropped down into her stomach. That wasn’t Dax’s voice.

He didn’t. He wouldn’t.

“Kayla, who is that?”

“Uh, no one. A neighbor. Probably just wants his hedge trimmers back. One sec.”

Kayla hurried to the door. Instead of letting Spencer in, she closed the door behind her and dragged him to the side of the house where they couldn’t be seen by Patricia’s curious eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“That’s the second time you’ve greeted me that way. What happened to Hello, Spencer? Or Please, come in, Spencer?”

This was no time for him to be charming. He had no idea the danger he was in.

“It’s not a good time.”

His eyes narrowed. “When is a good time, Kayla? You haven’t been returning my calls.”

“I didn’t see the point.”

“The point is, we need to talk.”

“About what? Were you looking for someone to make your honeymoon travel arrangements? Or did you just want to accuse me of sleeping with you for personal gain again?”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

“Your engagement or your accusations?”

He ran his hand through his hair as if frustrated. A dark shadow dusted his strong jaw, and he was looking more than a little delicious in his custom-tailored suit. Savile Row, by the look of it.

“Both,” he said, blowing out a breath. “And more.”

“Kayla?” her mother’s voice called. “Are you out here?”

Could this day possibly get any worse?

“Like I said,” Kayla whispered harshly, “this is not a good time. You need to go before—”

“Ah, there you are.” Patricia rounded the corner, her eyes widening when she spotted him. “Oh. Hello there.”