Chapter 1

ONE

Saylor

I grab my coat and sling it over my arm as I head for the exit.

Locking up the art gallery I own is a whole process, and I pause to make sure I have everything. Purse and keys are in my hand, phone in my purse, and I'm ready to go. I take one last look around to make sure everything is closed, and then punch the code into the keypad for the alarm system. It begins to beep, reminding me I only have thirty seconds to get out and lock the door, so I go out the back and quickly engage the deadbolt.

I park in the alley out the back. It doesn't feel like the safest place to be walking by myself after dark, but it's better than driving around endlessly every morning looking for a spot. And it's close.

A sound startles me, and I freeze, threading my keys through my fingers as I look around.

"Is anyone there?" I call out.

There's no reply, and everything is quiet.

Fuck.

I practically throw myself at my car, get inside and immediately lock the doors, letting out a shaky breath.

Now I feel stupid.

I've been parking here six nights a week since I'd opened my gallery four months ago and have never had a problem. There's no reason to think there will be tonight, though it never hurts to be cautious.

I put my SUV into gear and begin to pull forward when I feel the odd thumping.

Oh, no.

My heart sinks because I know what this means.

It's almost definitely a flat tire, and I silently groan.

I have a roadside assistance plan, but it sometimes takes hours for someone to arrive.

It's already after seven, and I'm both tired and hungry.

I also have a date.

A blind date I should never have agreed to, but canceling at the last minute would be rude.

I park the SUV and get out.

Sure enough, the rear driver's side tire is flat as a board.

Now what?

I don't want to sit here for an hour or two waiting for someone to come tow it, and then I'll be without a car anyway.

"Miss Saylor? Everything okay?

The elderly man who owns the cigar shop a few doors down from my gallery strides over to me.

"Flat tire," I say glumly.

"I'm happy to change it for you," he offers.

"I'd love that, Rudy, but this is one of those new cars that doesn't provide a donut or anything. Just a can of stuff that's supposed to seal the leak until you can drive to a repair shop."

He shakes his head. "All these newfangled things don't make sense to me. What's a young woman like you supposed to do?"

"I'm going to leave it here and call an Uber," I say.

"Well, come inside," he says, gently taking my elbow. "You don't want to wait out here by yourself."

"Thank you." I follow him inside his shop, which smells faintly of tobacco and whisky and something earthy. I love being in his store, even though I don't smoke cigars.

"I'd be happy to drive you, but I don't close for two more hours."

"I know." I smile. "Don't worry. I actually have a date."

"Is there a young man in your life?" His eyes twinkle with amusement.

"No." I make a face. "It's a blind date. And I'm currently regretting all my life choices."

He cocks his head. "Beautiful, successful, young woman like you needs to be set up on blind dates? Oh, to be forty years younger."

I laugh. "I'm thirty-one, so not considered young by dating standards anymore. And you wouldn't believe how much harder it is to meet nice men when you're both a little older and successful and independent."

He shakes his head again. "Well, they're losing out. I don't suppose you'd consider dating a man old enough to be your grandfather?"

I laugh. "Of course, I'd consider it. But tonight, I have to be polite and show up. He's the nephew of one of my customers who spends a ton of money in the gallery. I felt obligated, but in retrospect, I should have made up a boyfriend or something."

"Maybe he's nice," Rudy offers. "You won't know until you meet him."

"I don't have high hopes, but we're meeting at a popular restaurant, so I'll be able to escape if necessary."

"Good." He turns as a customer comes in.

According to the app on my phone, there's a driver available who is two minutes away, so I wave to Rudy and go out front to wait. The sooner I show up, the sooner I can get this evening over with. I shouldn't have let one of my best customers coerce me into saying yes. I hate dating, and I've never gone out on a blind date in my life.

I have to admit I'm lonely sometimes, though.

Despite having friends, a successful modeling career, and now a busy, profitable art gallery, I haven't had a boyfriend in a couple of years. I date here and there, but guys are either looking for a woman to take care of them, looking for someone to stay home and take care of a family while they focus on their careers, or are simply infatuated with Saylor Bonetti, the former supermodel.

I want something else.

Something more .

If I'm going to settle down and share my life with someone, he needs to be supportive of all the different professional irons I have in the fire. I'm still modeling, and I teach at a local modeling school. I have a recurring role on a primetime television show. And of course, I have both my gallery and my art, which take a lot of time.

The truth is, I don't have time for casual dating or for a man who wants a woman content to be a wife or stay-at-home mom. Hopefully, once I make that clear, I won't hear from this guy again.

* * *

I'm late getting to the restaurant, and of course, this is one of the few days of the year where it's pouring down rain in Los Angeles. Since I don't have my SUV, I also don't have the umbrella I keep in the back seat, and I'm damp when I get inside.

My date, Russell, is standing right there when I walk in, a big smile on his face.

"Saylor! Hey, it's great to meet you!" He pumps my hand effusively, and I manage a polite smile.

"Hi. Nice to meet you."

Except it isn't.

He looks older than the thirty-seven he'd said he was, by about a decade, and although I'm sure someone might find him handsome, it isn't me.

"Our table is ready! You want me to tell the hostess to seat us?"

"I need the ladies' room so I can freshen up first," I say quickly. "I'll be right back."

I should know better than to agree to a blind date, but Bertie wore me down. She's also bought four paintings and has sent me half a dozen new customers in the last few months. One of them commissioned a piece of art I'm charging upwards of ten thousand dollars for, so I don't want to lose the business. Or Bertie's friendship, for that matter.

I use a handful of paper towels to dry off and get some of the water out of my shoes. I touch up my lipstick, do my best to smooth my hair back from my face, and finally take a steadying breath.

It's just dinner.

I can survive anything for an hour or two, right?

"There you are!" Russell is waiting right outside the bathroom and his loud voice makes me jump.

"Russell, you scared me," I say, blinking at him in annoyance.

"Sorry. I wanted to make sure you didn't get lost."

Get lost? We aren't in the fucking desert.

Tonight is going to be a blast.

Not.

I want to ask him what kind of misogynistic bullshit he's spewing but opt to let it go. There's no point in arguing because I am never going to see him again.

We sit down, and he orders an expensive bottle of wine before turning to me.

"So. Aunt Bertie says you paint."

Another veiled condescending comment.

He's starting to get on my nerves.

"I'm an artist, yes," I say quietly. "And your aunt said you're a lawyer."

He nods proudly. "Corporate stuff. Probably not anything you're interested in."

"Mergers and acquisitions?" I ask blandly since that's the most boring thing I can think of.

He squints a little. "Aunt Bertie gave you a rundown, eh? So, yeah, I work in M&A. That means we guide our clients through complex corporate transactions, including things like due diligence, regulatory compliance, and negotiations. And FYI, I made partner last year, so you don't have to worry about my finances."

This guy is even worse than I imagined.

I'm eternally grateful when the waiter appears and pours wine for us.

Since I've opened the door for him to talk about his work, he leans into it, telling me about his big-name clients, how much business he'd brought in last year, and myriad other details that make me want to run screaming from the room.

The more he drones on, the less interested I become, and I look around the restaurant to see if I recognize anyone. This is a popular place that lots of my friends frequent, and the bar is always busy. I've just scanned the crowd when a familiar face comes into my field of vision, and I pause.

A group of Phantoms are here.

And I'm not talking about ghosts.

The L.A. Phantoms are the local professional hockey team, and my friend Chey is now in a relationship with a guy on the team named Ivan Rochenko. Because of that, I've met most of his teammates, and I zero in on the group standing at the bar.

Marty Nadeau is one of the older guys, and he's cute if you like them tall, dark, and married.

Connor Brooks is a rookie who's only eighteen or nineteen, so way too young for me, but adorable in his own way.

There are a few others, but Canyon Marks is the one I focus on.

He's the kind of guy I could sink my teeth into.

So to speak.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with dreamy blue eyes and scruff on his jaw that makes my nether regions clench just thinking about what it would feel like to have him between my legs.

Would he be a giving lover or a typical, arrogant ass who thinks his looks make up for being shitty in bed?

Nope.

In my fantasy, he knows his way around a woman's body.

"Saylor. Are you listening to me?" Russell snaps his fingers in front of my face.

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him off, but I genuinely adore his aunt and don't want to risk our friendship.

Maybe it's time to fake an illness.

"I'm sorry, it's been a long day," I say. "And I think I'm getting a migraine."

"This is why women shouldn't work full-time. I've always said no wife of mine will work. How will you have energy for me if you work all day?"

"How will you have energy for me if you work all day?" I counter. Not that I give a damn, but I'm interested in his answer.

"Well, if I worked all day and you didn't, it's up to you to see to my needs. That's how it's supposed to work."

Pretty much the answer I expected.

It's going to be a long night.