Prologue

Will Bryant looked around at the elegance of the Pfister Hotel. Okay, so he hadn't expected anything like this, but the lobby's opulence didn't change a thing.

Why did I ever agree to this harebrained scheme?

Except he knew why. Becca had pouted, and he couldn't say no.

What am I saying? She did more than pout — she lost her mind, and I did what every best friend would do in the circumstances—I caved .

He wasn't proud of that, not now he was standing in the lobby, holding Becca's hand as though he couldn't bear to be separated from her for even a second, while she chatted amiably with—Michael? Mikey?—some childhood friend or other.

Then someone shouted "Watch out!"

Oof . Something slammed into his back, propelling him through the lobby of the four-star, four-diamond hotel.

His only thought as he sailed through the air was that he must appear pretty stupid, his limbs in a tangle, and— hey, I wonder if anyone has noticed that stain in the carpet before or did they have to be flying ass over teakettle to see it? —and even though his inaugural flight hadn't been graceful, his first landing was worse.

Thud .

Expletive.

Expletive.

Expletive.

Thump .

Finally, he came to rest at the base of a statue of a cute young guy holding a spear. Or a halberd. He'd never paid much attention to weapon types when they'd played D & D. The next thing he knew, he was surrounded by people who—

Wait.

No.

If he was going to tell this story, it was probably better to start at the beginning.

Damn it, Becca.