Page 81 of Her Billionaire Bargain (Kensington Square)

He had not signed and returned by the end of the business day.

It was now the beginning of business on Thursday, and I still couldn’t leave a message or speak to the stupid jerk I missed very much.

My body missed him even more. Which was neither here nor there. And I had freaking PMS to boot.

Plus, Berry had slept horribly the night before, waking up with bad dreams not once but twice. I’d read her some of the book I’d gotten her about nightmares that she was quite capable of reading to herself, but it had steadied both of us to sit together reading on her bed in the glow of her elephant nightlight.

Worst of all, the second time, she’d asked me if I was still fighting with Dex. I’d had to say yes because I didn’t want to build her hopes too high, since I had zero confidence I could fix the mess I’d made.

At this point, I didn’t even care if he’d slept with the pet-sitter. We hadn’t even been talking then. As long as she was above eighteen, it was none of my business. And if he’d been telling the truth, and I was just an overly suspicious harpy, I needed to apologize.

Not that it mattered. His box was probably full from women begging to get another ride on his carousel horse. Of course, he was going to entertain their many and varied offers because what could I possibly have to give after I’d been such a grade-A witch?

Clearly, I wasn’t cut out for not blurring the lines, and he didn’t seem to be speaking to me at the current time. So, probably the smartest move would be to snip off this loose end entirely. It was better for both of us.

Even if it absolutely didnotfeel like the best move. Honestly? It felt like cutting off a toe would hurt less.

What could a man like Dexter Shaw want with a single mom and her young child?

Must be because I was a challenge, I decided, as I flipped through a book of paint samples to the soothing Gregorian chants playing through my phone.

Not that I’d been any sort of challenge when I’d thrown myself at him Saturday night.

What I needed right now was to focus on work. Andonlywork.

I’d been advised by Dahlia, our lead designer, that one Ms. Renee Ballswig was unhappy with the entire design we’d come up with for her master suite and would need a complete redo, down to paint colors, furniture, area rugs, and even throw pillows. She even hated the matching cat bed I’d sourced for her from a specialty shop in Switzerland. The shade of green felt “icky” to her, not relaxing.

Try again, chumps.

She hadn’t added the chumps part but it was heavily implied. Since Renee’s job was the most profitable one we had on the books pre-Dex, we really wanted to make her happy. As she’d told us about one hundred times so far, she had many high-profile friends who just loved to design and re-design their highfalutin homes and businesses.

The door to my office flew open, the knob hitting the wall from the force Dahlia had used. “That woman is on my last nerve. Actually, she’s already worked my last nerve and I’m left with shreds. Why are rich people so exhausting?”

I winced in sympathy as I rose to come around the desk. “That bad, huh? Is it something in the air?”

“It must be because the she-devils are out in force.” Dahlia dropped into one of my visitors’ chairs, her normally perfectly coiffed sleek dark hair looking as if she’d been caught in a wind tunnel. One of her fake eyelashes was sticking to her cheek and she flung it off with disgust.

I forced myself to stand my ground as a supportive friend and colleague and not go looking for the caterpillar-esque eyelashes now somewhere on my freshly vacuumed gray rug. I always stress-vacuumed and my rug had been spotless before the eyelashes arrived.

She dragged her giant book of images and swatches and ideas out of her bulging soft-sided briefcase and flopped it open on my desk, knocking off my aspirational gold nameplate and pen and Berry’s framed third grade school picture. “Whoops.” She tried to grab the picture and somehow hit my letter tray, sending paperwork scattering. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I should’ve just stayed in bed today.”

I had to laugh. “I’m having the same kind of day. Make that week. It’s all been crap.” I hustled across the room and bent in my tight skirt to pick up the scattered papers, shuffling them into the trays without paying attention to the labels. I’d worry about that later.

At least she hadn’t thrown over my travel mug of raspberry coffee, heavy on the double chocolate creamer.

Dahlia crouched in her much more agility-friendly trousers and inched forward to grab my pen from where it had rolled under my desk. “Yeah? What’s up with your mega deal?”

I made a face and stuffed more papers into the tray, creasing some in the process. “Not talking about that.”

“Why? Did he pull out?”

Something about that phrasing struck me as ridiculously funny considering the circumstances. I laughed and laughed and kept right on laughing as my ankle twisted and I ended up on my ass on the floor, still cackling.

Dahlia angled her head and tossed my pen on the desk, following suit with my now scuffed nameplate. “Okay, let me in on the joke. I’d like to laugh too.”

“He definitely did not pull out.”

“Why do I think we aren’t talking about renovations anymore?”

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