Page 107 of One Week Wingman

Because I know, it’s only just beginning.

PIPER

For a woman browsingsex toy catalogs at noon on a Monday, you’d think my life was a whole lot… Steamier, than it is right now.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, bless the soul who first put two and two together and came up with a solo, rechargeable device (and hands-free? Even better for holding that Kindle), but flipping through the latest Wi-Fi-paired devices promising twice the fun in one little package, I find myself wishing that I had an eager and willing partner in saucy crimes.

And, you know, that my research wasn’t strictly professional.

“Day-drinking, Piper? Do we need to stage an intervention?”

I stifle a yelp of surprise, slamming my laptop shut before anyone can see my screen. I’m at Mavericks bar, working on my business plan at the bar with a mimosa. I figured it would be quiet enough to go unnoticed.

Clearly, I was wrong.

“Says the man with a beer in his hand, who co-owns the bar.” I reply, narrowing my eyes at the interruption. It’s Flynn McCord, also known as my brother’s best friend.

Alsoalsoknown as the bane of my existence.

He gives a shrug, his gaze already moving to the group of brunching blondes by the window. Two of them flutter a wave his way—and then frown at each other when they realize they both know him. Pretty well, I’d guess.

“Whoops,” I say with a smile. “Looks like your game’s up.”

“No game,” Flynn says, unruffled. In his trademark flannel shirt and work jeans, he’s still pulling off the whole ‘rugged craftsman’ thing, and from the look of the blondes, it’s been working a treat. “We’re all adults here. At least, most of us are,” he adds, ruffling my hair as he saunters off to charm the blondes back into submission.

Or a threesome, knowing his track record.

Not that I care. Not one bit.

I take a sip of my mimosa and try to focus on work. My older brother owns the place with his friends, and since I don’t have an office just yet, I’ll take all the space I can get. A girl can only stare too long at her apartment walls, and I already had to bail on a coffee shop when they started playing101 Most Melancholy Breakup Anthems.

On repeat.

“Any chance of a drink?” A male voice interrupts me.

“I don’t work here,” I reply, before looking up. Then I blink. The tall, blonde guy leaning against the bar has a scruffy beard and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, but there’s still something familiar about him…

“Think anyone would mind if I help myself?” he asks—and then doesn’t wait for a reply before he rounds the empty bar, grabs a bottle of bourbon and pours a healthy splash.

I smile. “It’s your funeral,” I say, still trying to place him. Have the Gods of Sex Toys decided to offer up my willing and eager testing partner?

He flashes a grin. “Will you say something sweet at my graveside?” he asks, rejoining me. “You look like you could make grown men weep.”

I snort with laughter at the line. Then I realize where I’ve seen that smile before. On a billboard in Times Square, advertising some big blockbuster movie.

My jaw drops.Holy shit. “Wait… You’re—”

“Running early,” Flynn interrupts. He plants himself squarely between me and Teen Choice Heartthrob of the Year, Jackson Kane. “Jackson, my man… Don’t worry about Pipsqueak here, she just wants an autograph.”

I resist the urge to punch him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” Flynn smirks, his dark blonde hair curling at the ends.

“Because my name is Piper,” I smile past him to Jackson, giving him a welcoming ‘date me’ grin. “And please, ignore him.”

“Wish I could sometimes.” Jackson grins back. “But the man’s already under contract for my apartment renovation.”

“Says the guy who begged me to make room on my busy schedule.” Flynn laughs. “Good to see you, it’s been too long. When was it, Vegas?”

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