Monica had just broken up with one of her deadbeat boyfriends—she couldn’t remember his name. When Cal had swaggered into the room with his brash attitude and disarming smile, Monica had allowed the immediate attraction she felt to override her grief. And after the ceremony, she couldn’t remember what they’d talked about, only that she couldn’t wait to get him alone. She’d nearly dragged him out to the garden.

The way he’d kissed her, touched her, set Monica on fire in seconds—the man had some wicked skills. If Allie hadn’t come thrashing through the hydrangeas, Cal would have been just another entry on Monica’s long list of past mistakes.

Now she was a completely different person from that brazen, irresponsible girl he’d kissed in the garden. She no longer hooked up with strangers, or stripped on top of pool tables, and she didn’t put herself in compromising positions. She had a serious job, a life, a home of her own. Cal was right about one thing—Monica had grown up.

“Mon?” Allie’s voice derailed Monica’s train of thought, pulling her back into the moment.

“What?”

“I asked how many donors you’ve contacted,” Allie said.

“I’ll send you a copy of my master list, along with the spreadsheets. Anything else? I need to go.”

Allie closed her binder. “I thought we’d have a family dinner tonight, since Cal’s in town. Seven o’clock? Trevor’s parents are coming, along with Pixie and Paolo.” Cal’s mom, Pixie, went miles past eccentric and took a left toward loony. Her much younger Italian husband, Paolo, didn’t speak much, but his lack of communication seemed to work in their favor.

“That sounds like fun,” Monica said, “but I have too much going on at the office.” Actually, it didn’t sound like fun at all, and while she did have a mountain of work to do, in reality, she wanted to stay as far away from Cal Hughes as possible. As soon as he left Vegas, Monica would breathe a little easier. She wasn’t sure if she could trust herself around him. The fact that she’d been struck immobile by the sight of him was a knock to her hard-won self-restraint. Plus, Monica had been on a sex-free diet for three months now. And like all diets, it sucked. Calum was more tempting than triple-chocolate cake. Just one taste.

She wouldn’t stop at one taste—that was the problem.

“I know how busy you are,” Allie said, “but you can take the night off, Mon.”

“Nope, sorry.”

Brynn rose from the table and stretched her arms above her head. “I’ll be here, but I may be a little late. I’ve been putting in some overtime.”

Monica and Allie exchanged a glance. “At least tell me you’re getting paid for it, Brynnie,” Monica said.

Brynn’s eyes slid to the sideboard, where yellow roses filled an antique crystal vase. “My boss bought me lunch the other day. Does that count?” Brynn was a wonderful person—sweet, kind, funny. Assertive? Not so much.

“No, it doesn’t,” Allie said. “Quit letting her take advantage of you.”

Brynn crossed her arms. “Cassandra is helpless, you guys. She’s not a bad person, she’s just flaky.”

“You’re doing all the work, and she takes all the credit,” Monica said, feeling frustrated on Brynn’s behalf. “Which is why you should demand a raise.”

“I will, okay?” Brynn pushed her chair beneath the table. “Just not today. And stop ganging up on me. I like it better when you’re fighting with each other.” She walked out of the room with a wave. “See you later.”

Allie poured herself a cup of coffee and stared after Brynn. “She worries me.”

“Yeah. She needs to stand up for herself.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Monica had some things she needed to discuss with Allie, but the quiet was soothing. If Monica broached her ideas about the foundation, the peace between them would come to a record-screeching halt. So much for giving Brynn advice about standing up to her boss. Monica needed to grow a pair herself before dispensing wisdom to her little sister.

So instead of getting into another argument with Allie, Monica shoved her tablet into her bag and stood. “I’ll give you a status report next week.”

“Why don’t you just cc me on everything?” Allie said. “I think we should set up another food tasting too. I’m not feeling those salmon puffs. Also, make sure our emcee is booked for the right date. We don’t want a repeat of last year.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you? He was only an hour late.” Yeah, that silence thing was nice while it lasted. “I’m on top of this, Al. I’ve got it covered. You need to trust me.”

“Don’t get defensive, I’m just double-checking. Also, we have a meeting with the event planner on Thursday. And I’d like you to contact every media outlet. We need coverage.”

“The PR committee is in charge of media. Why don’t we let them do their job?”

“Because if you don’t stay on top of people, details can fall through the cracks. Please contact everyone again? You know how crazy I get with these events. I want it to go smoothly.”

“Fine, if it’ll shut you up, I’ll do it.” With a sigh, Monica turned toward the door and tried to make a clean break, but Allie asked one more question.

“Have you talked to Ryan?”

There it was. “No, why would I?”

Monica had dated Ryan for over a year. Her family loved him, and her friends adored him. Monica’s feelings didn’t go that far. And while she still had occasional moments of doubt for breaking up with him, she’d done the right thing. Monica had desperately wanted to take his ring and build a future together. It sounded so good in theory, but when it came down to the execution, she couldn’t go through with it. Which was a damn shame, because Ryan was nearly perfect.

Since their breakup, Monica had done a lot of soul searching, thinking about her old, destructive patterns, the ones that had tripped her up in the past—saying yes to the wrong type of guy when she needed to say fuck off and get a job, and her inability to settle down with Ryan, a man who truly loved her.

Monica suspected she was defective. For certain, she had a broken picker. Given a room full of decent men and one bad boy, Monica chose the latter every single time. Tatted-up asshole? Two scoops, please. Unemployed heartbreaker? Bring it on.

And now Cal Hughes. If that kiss five years ago was anything to go by, he was all kinds of wrong for her.

“Ryan called me last week,” Allie said.

Monica blinked. Twice. Familiar anger churned in her gut. Allie simply couldn’t stop herself from sticking her nose into Monica’s business. As director of the foundation’s board, Allie may be the boss at work, but Monica’s personal life was just that. “You need to stay out of this, Al. I mean it. I can handle my own relationships without your help.”

Allie rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “He just wondered how you were doing. He’s so sweet, I didn’t have the heart to hang up.”

“Commiserating won’t help him move on.”

“He’s so good for you, Mon.”

Defective. “I have to go.” Monica adjusted her grip on the computer bag and strode out of the room.

Allie trotted after her. “Hey listen, I’m sorry I overstepped. If he calls again, I won’t talk to him. It’s none of my business.” It never was, but that rarely stopped Allie from interfering.

Monica briefly closed her eyes. “No, it’s fine. Do what you want, just leave me out of the conversation.”

“No, I shouldn’t have butted in. And I’ve been meaning to tell you, you’re doing a great job. I see how hard you work. I’m really proud of you.” Allie lightly squeezed Monica’s upper arm. “Mom would be proud too.”

“Thanks.” She appreciated Allie’s peace offering, even though she wasn’t buying it. Monica seriously doubted her mother was looking down on her with pride. If Trisha Campbell watched over her from some celestial cloud, she was probably shaking her head, wondering why Monica couldn’t get her shit together. Her mother would have loved Ryan. And she definitely wouldn’t approve of men like Calum Hughes. He was the equivalent of doughnuts or fried cheese sticks. There was zero nutritional value in the Cals of this world. Sexy junk food.