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“Hi,” I say, my own gaze drawn to her bright red lips.

“Hi, yourself. You look…” Her eyes travel down again, and she licks her lips. “Um, very nice.”

Lobsterman, my ass.

“So do you.” I can’t help it, my gaze drops to her lips again. That red lipstick is going to kill me.

“Toni,” she warns.

Our gazes meet, and I see that her eyes are a bit darker than they were moments before. I’ve seen flashes of that expression this past week, though Audrey’s done a good job of quickly snapping back to professional mode.

I drop my voice. “You’re thinking it, too. Don’t lie.”

“I’m thinking of how much I like your hair when it’s wild and free.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You don’t play fair,” Audrey says.

“And you do?”

“What have I done?”

“Besides the red lipstick?” Audrey blushes slightly. Thought so. “You exist, Audrey. In the same space with me. That’s it. That’s all you have to do.”

Audrey’s mouth drops open slightly and her expression shifts; her gaze lowers to my lips.

“Audrey, I love your place,” Greta says from behind us.

Audrey and I pull apart. I hadn’t realized how close we’d gotten and my face flushes with embarrassment. I move to the other side of the kitchen island. As much as I want Audrey, I haven’t forgotten Greta’s warning. I can do this. I can be professional. I can wait until Audrey finishes the project with the company. My goal over the next few months is to show Greta that I can do this job, and do it well, and to prove to Audrey that I’m not just some one-night stand.

Though looking around Audrey and Willa’s townhouse I start to think my initial impression that Audrey is out of my league is spot on. Everything is high end, or at least it seems like it to someone who’s slept outside on the trail for most of their life. Their townhouse is in Capitol Hill, a swanky part of Denver, and the interior looks like a spread from the Architectural Digest I flip through in my doctor’s waiting room. The couches are clean and have all their legs attached. The rug is fluffy and stain free, the colors coordinating with the pillows on the couch and the two facing club chairs. The gas fireplace is lit, and a Christmas tree with multicolored lights in the corner is giving off a festive glow. And then there’s the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances shine, the granite countertop is cool and smooth, the cabinets are painted a sleek gunmetal gray. Audrey stands behind the gas stove, stirring the gumbo, looking at ease and completely at home.

Greta’s voice jolts me out of my reverie.

“Toni, how’s the apartment search going?”

Greta sips her white wine and waits for my reply. Willa and Audrey are waiting for it, too, but I can’t speak. I glance back at Greta. It’s obvious she’s just making conversation, and there’s no malice in the question. Little does she know.

“I’m surprised Max hasn’t kicked you out yet,” Greta continues.

I sneak a glance at Audrey, whose eyebrows have risen to almost her hairline.

“Max?” Willa says.

“Toni’s oldest friend. We all grew up together in Aspen. She owns the Dew Drop Inn,” Greta says. “Toni stays with Max when she rolls back into town from her trips.”

“Do you?” Audrey says.

“I offered to let her stay with me,” Greta says. “I have a second bedroom. But apparently she prefers Max’s lumpy couch.”

Audrey does not look happy, and I can’t really blame her. She’s definitely not the kind of woman who expects to be having sex in a borrowed bed. God, I am such a dirtbag.

“I found a place today,” I lie. I haven’t had time to look for an apartment this week with work and all. It’s amazing how exhausted I am working in an office all day. I’ve gone back to Max’s, shoved food in my mouth, and crashed on the couch and fallen asleep to re-runs of Law and Order. Max hasn’t seemed eager to kick me out, though our schedules are so different we haven’t had time for a conversation. Besides, she likes splitting the bills too much.

“Oh great,” Willa says. “Where is it?”

“Um, not far from Max’s, as a matter of fact.” I mean, I do want to stay in that area, and I can afford it with the salary I’m getting, in addition to the monthly trust-fund allocation Greta and I have received since we each turned twenty-five. “I’m definitely going to need some decorating help.” I look around their house and then at Audrey. “Wanna help me?”