“LILA!” REECE PRACTICALLY SQUEALS, coming around the corner of my cubicle. “Why didn’t you answer when I called you yesterday? I’ve been dying to hear about the benefit.”

I bury my face in my hands, trying to hide the disappointment I know shows as clear as day. Friday night with Blake was possibly one of the best nights of my life—most memorable anyway. Saturday night—the part after the benefit—was a perfect view straight into hell. It’s a bad memory, permanently burned in full color into my mind.

“I’m sorry. I spent the day in bed,” I answer, finding the courage to uncover my eyes, exposing my dark circles from lack of sleep. I spent the morning telling people that I wasn’t feeling well. If I keep at it, it’ll probably become true. Karma is a spiteful little bitch.

“With Pierce?” She sounds so enthusiastic about it, I almost want to lie, go with her fairy tale. Tell her he carried me up the stairs to sooth my aching feet, then slowly undressed me and made sweet love to me until the sun came up.

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I say, “No, Pierce drove me home Saturday night. The closest we were was a dance . . . I promise.”

“You’re kidding me. He didn’t invite you to his place? I bet he has a huge penthouse, with an amazing view and a king size bed.”

“I didn’t exactly give him a chance.”

Her brows wrinkle as she takes me in. I’m a mess; I don’t need a mirror, or her, to tell me that. “Have you had lunch yet?”

Looking down at the clock on my computer screen, I notice it’s almost one. “If you’re inviting me, I guess I can peel myself away from this desk for a few minutes.”

“You can, and you will. You’re losing weight, I swear.”

I roll my eyes. Life has been so busy since I’ve moved here that it’s become normal to skip meals, especially on days like today when I don’t feel much like eating. “I’ll choke down a banana.”

“You’ll do more than that. A sandwich and a banana. Let’s up that and make it a fried chicken sandwich.”

I log off my computer and grab my purse from under my desk. This is going to suck. It’s why depressed people close themselves off; they’d rather not talk about any of it. She’s going to push—ask me what I wore, what he wore. She’s going to want to know what it was like when he dropped me off . . . did he try to kiss me. And if she even thinks about asking about Blake, I’m a goner.

We make our way to the cafeteria, discussing our current work projects instead of men. Our passion for doing our best no matter what is the one thing we have in common.

We keep conversation to a minimum while we pick up our lunch, but all bets are off when we’re seated at our usual table in the corner.

“So, you haven’t mentioned Blake. How is he?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“He’s Blake.”

She sighs. “Start talking.”

Quadruple shit. “He’s a jerk.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that,” she says, slipping a grape between her lips.

I inhale a deep breath, looking around to make sure no one is listening. “Okay, so I thought I could do this whole . . . I don’t know what you call it . . . no-strings-attached relationship. I forgot that I’m a woman, and we can’t control our feelings.”

She nibbles on the edge of her sandwich, watching me intently.

“And he does things . . . says things. I just can’t keep sleeping with him without getting more out of it. I mean, I spent Friday with him, and it was amazing. Like beyond anything I’ve ever imagined, but when I told him about Pierce and the benefit, he couldn’t commit. So here I am.” I throw my hands up in defeat. That’s what I am I’ve decided—hopelessly unlovable. Derek didn’t even want to marry me after spending seven years together.

Her eyes look like the grapefruits I passed in the lunch line. “He didn’t care that you were going with Pierce?”

I think back to the other night . . . the look in his eyes, his words. “I wouldn’t say that. But I did find out they know each other.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep, and they hate each other.” The scene in the hall replays in my mind. Definitely no love lost between them.

“Well, that is interesting. Do you know why?”

“Not really. Except they worked together once.”

My mind wanders to that and the parts of this weekend I left out—the parts that make me not want to care about Blake or how Pierce knows him. Men keep fucking up my life little by little.

“Lila.” I lift my gaze to Pierce who stands next to our table with his hands stuffed in his slate blue suit pockets.

“Hi,” I answer, feeling every bit a high school girl when a hot guy sidles up during lunch. I even tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. Nice, Lila.

“I hate to interrupt, but when you’re done with your lunch, can you join me in my office for a few minutes?”

Reece’s legs bounce against mine under the table. If I say no, she’ll haul me out to the parking lot and beat me until all my sense returns. “I’ll be up in a few. We were just finishing up here.”

He smiles, one side of his mouth lifting higher than the other. “I’ll be waiting. Enjoy your lunch, ladies.”

We both watch him walk away. In fact, the whole cafeteria watches him in hushed silence. Pierce Stanley doesn’t hang out in the cafeteria. Ever.

“You’re one lucky bitch,” Reece finally says when he disappears through the door.

“He just wants to talk.”

“Call it what you want. I’d do anything to get that man alone in his office.”

“Reece?”

“Yeah?”

“You need your pipes snaked.”

She scrunches her nose. “What?”

“Sex. You need sex.”

She blushes. “Some of us don’t have men falling at our feet like you.”

I laugh. “They don’t fall at my feet. They sit next to me on airplanes and invade my apartment.”

“Whatever.”

We spend the next ten minutes talking about Tuesday girls’ night. It sounds like I’m doomed for a sad love story on the big screen. It’s probably a good thing after what happened last week at the bar. I need controlled, safe, and drama free.

When we’re done, we climb in the elevator together. I can tell by the way Reece fiddles with her purse strap that she’s dying to ask me more. It’s probably better if she doesn’t; it wouldn’t be appropriate with the other occupants.

They’re still on when it comes to a stop on her floor. “I’ll call you this afternoon,” I say, reassuring her that she won’t be left in the dark. My life’s become just another romance novel to her.

“I’ll be waiting,” she replies, waving as she exits. I wait until she’s out of the elevator then rest my head back against the wall. I need to catch a break—from men . . . from life in general.

Before my mind carries me too far, the elevators dings at the twelfth floor—Pierce’s floor. I straighten up, smoothing out my skirt as I step off. The receptionist sees me right away, nodding down the hall toward Pierce’s office. I guess he really is expecting me.

I concentrate on the click of my heels on the marble floors. From the front desk to his office is exactly forty-three steps. Enough time to let all the possibilities of what he could want run at feverish speed through my mind. I felt comfortable around him the other night, but we’re back in the office. Expectations are different. Personalities shift. I’m not sure who I’ll get when I open the door.

I knock twice.

His mellifluous voice rings through the thick wooden door. “Come in.”

My trembling fingers grip the knob tightly, but I wait a couple seconds to turn it. Getting in is easy. Dealing with what awaits me inside isn’t so much.

He isn’t sitting behind his desk like he usually is. He’s every bit a masculine statue standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to me. “How was lunch?” he asks.

“Good,” I answer, not quite sure where to go since he’s not even looking at me.

“How was the rest of your weekend?”