Monica also spent a part of her days avoiding Ryan McMillan. He texted every afternoon, called each morning—which she declined—and sent gifts. Right now, the break room contained Belgian chocolates, flowers, and mini-muffin baskets. Ignoring him wasn’t working. She needed to have the talk. Eventually. Maybe after the gala, when things calmed down.

With everything else going on, Monica hadn’t done any work with the international grants. She’d pretty much given up her goals of changing the foundation’s agenda. Maybe in another year or two, but probably not. Still, every once in a while, Monica would take out the folder and read over the research she’d compiled. Then she’d chastise herself for wasting time and shove it back in the drawer.

On a happier note, after only three days in town, Jules had wandered into the office and volunteered her time. Apparently, talking Cal’s ear off while he replaced an exhaust system wasn’t as thrilling as she’d hoped it would be. Monica immediately put her to work on the silent auction.

Cal’s sister had the vocabulary of a truck driver and an opinion on everything, and she freely shared both. Jules’s clothes still rated a nine on the skank scale, but she’d toned down her makeup and removed the extensions from her hair. They started a routine of eating lunch together, and Monica grew fonder of her by the minute.

Jules had made herself at home in Allie’s mansion. She loved Allie’s fussing—weird, but true—thought Trevor was a god, and played with the twins every afternoon.

“Do you know what your cheeky little nephew, Zack, did?” she asked, lounging in Monica’s guest chair. Today, Jules had packed her boobs into a short white dress that had to be at least one size too tight, and stomped around in a pair of monster heels. “He took my phone while I wasn’t looking and added this farting app. So every time my phone rang that day, it sounded quite rude. The boys thought it was hilarious.”

Monica smiled. “Yeah, you gotta watch Zack. He’s the sneaky one.”

“They miss you.” Jules cast her eyes to the window, sipped on her iced coffee, and failed to appear nonchalant. “You could stop by the house, you know. Take an evening swim or a stroll around the garden.”

“Don’t even,” Monica said. “You know Allie and I aren’t speaking.”

“Which is rubbish, if you want my opinion.”

Monica started tapping on her keyboard. “I don’t. When you fix your relationship with your parents, I’ll take your advice. Until then—”

“Right, get back to work. I’m here for free, you know. It’s not like I’m getting anything out of this.”

Monica glanced up as Jules tromped to the door. “Actually, I’m sending your lawyer a letter, telling him how helpful you’ve been. He’s going to pass it along to the judge.”

Jules turned. “Really?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did Cal put you up to this?”

“No. And by the way, are you coming to the villa tonight?” A couple nights a week, Jules ate dinner with them. Cal enjoyed his sister’s company. They teased each other mercilessly. It made Monica miss Allie, just a smidge. Before Monica had taken the job at the foundation, their relationship had finally been in a good place. Monica wished they could go back to those days.

Jules sighed dramatically. “No. It’s spaghetti night at the Blake house, and I promised the twins I’d be there. Thomas says he can stuff four meatballs in his mouth at once. We’ll see.” She left the office, slamming the door behind her.

As soon as Jules left, Monica began plowing through her to-do list like a woman possessed. In the last few weeks, her life had been divided in half. During the day, she was all business, but she no longer stayed late, and she didn’t work on weekends. Once six o’clock rolled around, Monica blew through the office door…and straight into Cal’s arms. Now, she devoted her nights to pleasure.

They’d eat dinner on the patio, then make love in the pool…and the living room, the kitchen, the foyer. And every night she’d lay in his bed, engulfed in his arms, listening to him talk about his travels.

“What about Egypt?”

“Rode a camel to see the pyramids. I was…twelve, maybe? Camels are disgusting animals. Give me a Mercedes Gullwing any day.”

“Great Wall of China?”

“I’ve seen it. But do you know what’s really fascinating? The Shaolin monastery in Dengfeng, and the nearby martial arts school. Seeing these vast demonstrations, masses of children going through their motions, like a choreographed dance.”

She’d asked him if he’d ever hit the clubs on Ibiza or partied on the beaches in Barcelona.

“When I was younger. That gets old after a while. Temples, ruins, talking to people in the marketplaces—much more interesting.”

“Favorite place in Africa?”

Cal remained quiet for a beat. “Safaris are marvelous. Sleeping in a tree-house suite, watching the animals in their habitat was amazing.”

“What about the poverty?”

“Awful. The conditions in some of the countries are deplorable. No sanitation, no clean water. It’s heartbreaking. That’s not what you want to hear though, is it? You want to hear the good stories, the exciting places.”

Monica rolled over to face him. “No, that’s not all I want to hear. I know what conditions are like in developing countries, Cal. I may not travel, but I can read.” She propped herself up on one elbow. “They need medicine, doctors, more clinics.”

“Didn’t mean to insult you, love. I apologize.”

She sighed. “It’s okay. I just wish the foundation would branch out a little.”

“Allie wouldn’t go for it?” he asked, kissing her chin.

“No. And she’s still not speaking to me right now.”

Cal rubbed his hand along her back. “You two will sort things out. It’s what you do.”

“And what about you and Pix? When are you going to thaw that wall of ice between the two of you?”

Instead of answering, Cal told her about the time he sat in a café and watched rain fall on the Seine, and what St. Petersburg Square looked like at sunset. Monica pictured herself there too, dreamed about it. The more he talked, the more she wanted to see the world. What was it like to climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower? Or see a real Venice canal? It was a lovely fantasy.

Listening to Cal’s sexy voice as he weaved stories of small, quaint villages and exotic, far-off cities was addictive—everything about him was addictive. His touch, his kisses, his smile. She’d never get tired of him, but she could never let herself get used to him, either. Every night, Monica walked a tightrope, allowing herself to open up to Cal, but not too much. It was a difficult balancing act, and Monica had never been good at balancing.

One evening after she got off work, Cal drove her out to Henderson. He’d seen one of his cars up for sale at a recent auction and contacted the new owners, a wealthy couple who lived in a square box of a mansion. They housed their collection in the most ostentatious garage Monica had ever seen—black-and-white slate flooring, climate controlled, and rows of vintage cars that stretched on for days.

Cal stopped next to a red Ferrari. “What do you think?” he asked, bending near the front fender and tugging on her hand until she hunched next to him. “See these lines? Look at that delicious curve of the front panel.” He actually petted the pristine grille.

“And you restored this?”

“Most of it. My lads at the shop helped. V-12 engine, three hundred horsepower. Gorgeous.” Cal moved to the driver’s side door. “Get in. See what it feels like.”

Monica slid into the leather seat. Luxury. This was the ultimate. Even the interior was beautiful—a padded leather dashboard, a polished wooden steering wheel. It felt cool and smooth beneath her fingers.

“Isn’t she something?” Cal asked. “I had to create my own jigs for the suspension parts, and molds for the back panel, but it was worth the effort.” He rubbed his fingertips across the sleek roof.