Page 1

Chapter One

Kay

“Go on a blind date, they said. It will be fun, they said.”

Kay sighed and slumped back into her chair.

Nothing like sitting alone for over an hour at the very expensive and chic restaurant her date had insisted upon.

She was way outclassed at Ange Bisou and had only agreed to meet there in the first place because she was trying to force herself to step out of her comfort zone.

Routines were her mojo.

In fact, she loved nothing more than following them to a tee.

Which was probably why she was still single.

Ugh.

Kay pull out her phone, as if glancing at it for the hundredth time in the last hour might make a call or text magically appear, as if looking at it might mean she hadn’t actually been stood up . . . for a date she hadn’t wanted to go on in the first place.

Frankly, she had a hard time thinking that any date could possibly be worth her having to change out of her daytime pajamas and into actual adult clothes.

Yes, her normal routine involved daytime pajamas.

She stared at her phone, irritated all over again, because right about now—eight forty-five—she should be finishing up her bath and changing into her sleep pajamas. Maybe with a glass of chardonnay and definitely with a cooking show streaming on Hulu.

Not that she could cook.

Nope. Kay could burn water.

But lack of cooking skills aside, she still enjoyed watching what those chefs could whip up.

Plus, one of her favorite chefs had worked at Ange Bisou. So, despite her having to get out of her pajamas and her routine being completely obliterated, she’d actually been looking forward to eating here tonight.

Until she’d found herself sitting at the table alone.

Kay wished she’d ordered something earlier, but it was too late. She was already an hour in and nursing her second glass of wine, though she had given into the urge to get busy with the bread basket ten minutes ago.

She should have ordered the beet salad.

That was Christie’s addition to the menu. And, yes, she considered herself on a first name basis with her fave celebrity chef, because watching every episode of a reality cooking competition meant they’d become friends, right?

Well now, that was a little slice of pathetic.

Sighing, she caught the waiter’s eye.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, his gaze deliberately on her face and not the empty chair or unused flatware on the other side of the table.

She shook her head. “Just the bill. Thank you.”

“Sure thing.”

Kay shoved another bit of bread into her mouth as she waited, watching as the patrons around her ate coq au vin and chocolate soufflé.

Oh, good God. They had chocolate soufflé.

Her eyes rolled to the ceiling and she forced herself to breathe. She wished she had the guts to say fuck it all and order dinner, to sit and enjoy it.

But she knew herself.

She’d order the beet salad and the chocolate soufflé, and then she would be miserable and self-conscious eating them by herself.

And this didn’t seem like the type of place to pull out a book as a shield.

Nope.

Plus, even if it was, it didn’t matter. Because Kay was ready to go home, ready to change into her sleep pajamas and watch repeats of Great British Bake Off. They gave her hope that someday she might actually develop some cooking chops . . . instead of cooking pork chops into submission.

Because shoe leather had nothing on hers.

Her gaze drifted to the other table, the one with the chocolate soufflé. The woman who’d ordered it had only eaten half and then she nodded to the waiter when he asked if she’d finished.

What kind of monster only finishes half a soufflé?

Kay’s nose wrinkled and her inner voice turned all grumbly. She wished she had a soufflé. She wouldn’t waste it.

And— ugh —because now the woman reached across the table and her partner or date or husband also stretched his hand out to lace their fingers together, his other palm coming up to cup her cheek. It was sweet and lovely and romantic—

“I want to be home,” she whined under her breath. “Right now.”

Romance was dead for the romance writer.

How fitting.

Blinking, she dug out her wallet and by the time her waiter returned with her check, she was ready, all but tossing her card onto the little metal tray.

He zipped away and back in record time and then she scrawled her name, paying fifty bucks for two glasses of wine and a tip to make the poor guy’s night worth it.

Probably not as much as he would have made if she and her nonexistent date had actually eaten, but he’d been nice and not judgy, and hopefully it would take the edge off.

It wasn’t his fault that she’d been stood up.

Nope. That particular responsibility lay solely in Garret’s lap.

Kay blew out a breath, shrugged into her coat, and picked up her purse. The only good news was that her sleep pajamas were ready and waiting for her, laid out on her mattress.

She strode out of the restaurant, smiling to the hostess as she pushed through the door, and had just turned in the direction of her car when—

Wham!

Her purse dropped to the ground, spilling its contents everywhere, and she stumbled, almost falling, as a man shoved past her, cell phone glued to his ear.

He paused, glanced downing at her as though surprised to see a peon such as her existed. Probably not fair since there was a trace of concern in his gaze, but she certainly felt like a peasant when compared to the god in front of her.

Tall, dark, hot.

Black hair with the barest hint of a wave, tan skin and deep chocolate eyes, a jawline that could have been chiseled out of marble.

Yup. He was easy on the eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, and her heart skipped a beat.

Maybe not all men were assholes.

“I’m—” she began.

But once again, optimism was proven wrong.

Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t wait for her answer. Whoever was on the phone must have snagged his attention, because his expression hardened and he turned away, saying, “I don’t care if I’m late—”

Pieces fell into place.

Garret Williams, her MIA date, was a former rugby player from Australia. He’d recently begun a project with one of Heather’s subsidiaries.

Heather O’Keith was an accidental friend—more about that later—and had been pestering Kay about setting up this date for months.

Garret was tall.

Garret was built.

Garret had the most gorgeous chocolate eyes Heather had ever seen.

Kay’s own eyes flicked back to the man, who was now yanking open the door. Check. Check. Check.

“—You know I didn’t even want to do this in the first place.”

She’d been expecting an Australian accent, considering he was from Australia, but he sounded American. Well, chalk it up to things she would never know.

The door shut, cutting off anything else he might have said, and leaving Kay alone on the sidewalk, purse’s contents strewn in all directions, and temper rapidly rising.

“Stupid”—she grabbed her book, shoved it back into her bag—“men.”

Then Kay snatched up her keys, wallet, lipstick, pack of gum, two hair ties, and a few bobby pins and tucked them into her purse, all while muttering under her breath about the irritating creatures of the opposite sex who were hot but didn’t appear to give a damn about anyone but themselves.

What the fuck had Heather been thinking?

You know what?

What had she been thinking?

Letting that asshole crash into her with nary an apology, allowing him to leave her to crawl across the dirty sidewalk gathering up her personal items. She hadn’t even managed to say anything useful, just been blinded by his gorgeous god-likeness and had let him traipse off like a big ole’—

Ugh.

Like a big ole’ something that was really insulting and annoying and—

The door opened again, a man holding it wide for his wife.

Kay probably would have left at that moment, gone back to her apartment to sulk in peace, if the tall, dark, and handsome man she assumed was Garret Williams hadn’t still been in the lobby of the restaurant.

But nope, he was still there, still on his phone, still talking loudly enough that she could hear every single word through the open door.

And what she heard took her temper from bubbling to boiling.

“What kind of woman writes romance novels anyway?” he said. “She’s probably an awkward cow who’ll just stare at me through giant glasses the whole time I’m eating.”

Kay’s jaw dropped open. Her hand snatched at the door handle when it started to close.

He chuckled and said, “ Exactly ,” like the snarky little asshole he was.

A vision of a pot boiling over filled her mind, or maybe a tea kettle whistling as steam poured out its spout. Either way, all Kay knew was that she saw literal red as she stormed back into the restaurant.

Just as she approached him, he hung up the phone, tucking it into his pocket and opening his mouth.

“Garret Williams?” she asked.

Furious as she was, she’d managed to hold on to enough reason to make sure the man she was about eviscerate was, in fact, her absentee date.

He rotated to face her. “Yes?”

She reached into her purse, yanked out a paperback of her latest release.

She’d intended to give it to Heather when they met up for coffee tomorrow, but this was more important.

Plus, Heather had already read the ebook.

The paper version had just been intended as a thank you for being awesome and a good friend and—

Right now that didn’t matter.

Kay slapped the book against Garret’s chest. The action made a satisfying smack , especially when she pretended it was actually her hand making contact with his cheek.

But first, he was so tall she couldn’t reach it without a ladder.

And second, she didn’t want to be arrested for assault.

Yeah. Minor details.

“What’s this—”

She narrowed her eyes and took great joy in cutting him off. “Only your cow of a date’s latest release. Maybe you should check the New York Times the next time you go searching for your decency.”

He winced, looked the slightest bit sick. “Katherine?”

Kay lifted her chin, huffed dismissively, and followed up with an insult she would later look upon with pride. For once, she hadn’t rolled over and accepted some asshole’s judgment. She’d owned him and the situation.

“I go by Kay.”

A beat.

“But in your case, I go by Fuck-Off-Because-You-Never-Even-Had-A-Chance.”

And she walked out of the restaurant.

There should have been trumpets and banners . . . or at the very least, a round of applause as she went.

Instead, the only thing that trailed her was the click-click of her heels.

But, for that night, it was enough.