I always hated him. I can read people and his asshole needle has always been in the red with me even though he thinks he hides it well.

  He’s threatens her and that means he’s threatening me. And I’ve got the red haze so fucking bad it’s making me want to sink my hand right through the goddamned drywall.

  CHAPTER 3

  Mike

  It’s been a whole week and nothing has changed. I grind my teeth together holding my head in my hands.

  One, I can’t stop thinking about her. Not for a second. Not for an instant. She’s the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I think of at night. I’ve even stolen a photo of her from Sam’s bulletin board to keep in my bedside table. Her face. Her body. Her eyes. Her scent. It’s locked in and I can’t do a fucking thing to change it.

  She’s in my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment. Even though I haven’t seen her for a week, that shows no signs of calming down. If anything, the obsession is getting worse.

  And worse. And worse.

  Two. My rage and death wish for that fucker Markham is worse than ever. If anything, the more I think about her feeling threatened, the more protective I feel. And the more I want to poke that fucker right in the eye with his goddamned conducting baton. Dickhead.

  I might not be able to do a goddamned thing about the lust I feel for her. But as for the red haze, that is something I can fix.

  The day after I overheard her talking to Sam, I made a few calls. Moved some money around. Pulled a few strings. Hired a guy to hack into a few emails. And now, as the newly minted top doner to the North Carolina Junior Symphony Orchestra, I’m sitting on the board of directors. And thanks to my generous donations, the board was very happy to hear my thoughts on Markham. HR was very interested in his reputation. And very happy to terminate his contract effective immediately especially when I danged another six-figure donation in front of them.

  I’m sitting in the board room right now. I sit on many boards. Work has been my only focus outside of Sam and it’s served me well. My degree in criminal law didn’t take me in the direction I thought I wanted being a cop. That wasn’t the life for a single dad so I found my first job as a marketing rep for a medical supply company.

  It sucked balls but I learned in the trenches about business and sales and using every skill to turn people to your side. I took those skills and started my own company. We sold medical supplies to start then, merged with a up and coming medical equipment manufacturer that needed some good marketing and sales representation.

  They ended up taking over the market and I sold off my part of that business when Sam was five and bulked up my bank account into the nine figures. From there, I took over other businesses, turned them around and sold them or took shares in trade.

  It’s been a ride and I don’t need to worry about money ever again but the thrill of the chase is still there.

  And now, on a different sort of board I sit with Markham iacross from me, looking hungover. He’s lost access to his beloved conductorjerrymarkham@ncyso.org email, he’s been removed from the programs, and his picture has been taken down from the “Conductors: Past and Present” display in the hallway outside the practice rooms.

  He’s also had zero opportunity to see or be in the same air space as Jess again. I made sure of that. He missed Thursday practice due to a blown motor on his pretentious as fuck Hummer as well, he had a serious case of the shits from a gift of gourmet brownies delivered from a secret admirer.

  I’ve never been so fucking happy to make a person miserable.

  And today, on his last official day on the payroll, I’ve made him come in to turn over his building keys, like a disgraced cop handing over their badge and gun.

  “Keys,” I say to Markham. I tap the table like I’m asking for another card in poker. “Right now.”

  He looks like a beaten man. “But Mr. Hawthorn, I never, I didn’t…”

  Blah blah fucking blah. Jess doesn’t lie. That’s all I know and all that matters. He should be fucking dead but I held back my urge to un-alive him only because there was a chance that I’d be caught and convicted which would take me away from Jess and Sam. “I said, keys.”

  Markham sheepishly fishes them out of his pocket. He struggles to get them off his key ring before finally handing them over. “Just tell me this. Who’s going to replace me? Who’s going to conduct them through the Schubert? Hmmm?”

  He thinks he’s got me there, but he doesn’t. Time to ante up. “We’ve poached Miriam DeWitt from Duke not that it’s any of your fucking business but wanted you to know because she’s a whole fucking flight of stairs up from your sorry ass. She starts tonight. But I suppose you didn’t read that in this afternoon’s email newsletter, did you?”

  He pinches up his face. “What newsletter?”

  I nod, letting him see all my cocky arrogance. “The one you didn’t get. Because you’ve been permanently unsubscribed from the newsletter mailing list.”

  Markham slaps his key on the table and stands up, fixing the mother of all wedgies as he does. “Fine. Fine. I know when I’m outmatched. I hereby tender my resignation.”

  I laugh in his face. “You can’t resign after you’ve been fired, man. Now get the hell out of here. And good luck on finding another line of work. Because I’m going to personally guaran-fucking-tee that you never work in this business ever, ever again.”

  Markham walks out mumbling some grumpy, woe-is-me shit, leaving the smell of gin thick behind him. When the door swings shut, I lean back in the big board room chair and stretch, then stand up to get a glass of water from the table by the window.

  And there, down in the parking lot, is Jess.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen her in a week and it sets my body on fucking fire. I get hard instantly. My focus narrows, my balls ache. She looks amazing. Her red hair is loose and long. She’s wearing dark green leggings that hug her perfect ass, and a modest, white lace top that accentuates all her tits.

  One of the big upsides to being the top donor is now I get to move freely around the concert hall—they even gave me a fucking office—and I might, might, have picked the lock on her practice locker two nights ago when the orchestra was practicing Schubert on their own due to the conductor’s sudden illness and car trouble, and spent as long as I possibly could with my face buried in her little black cardigan. I figured out the scent—lilac lotion, which she keeps in her locker, and which I might have bought a bottle of for myself and used almost all of it already fucking my fist using the lotion as lube.

  But it’s not just the lilacs that makes me crazy. It’s also the scent of her skin, her warmth. Fucking magic.

  Once I get my fucking head out of my pants and back to reality, I realize it’s not just a happy conversation between her and her parents down in the parking lot. She’s got her hands on her hips, her violin case sitting at her feet and she’s looking furious.

  Her mom is looking stern and angry as well. Her dad, Ben, my oldest buddy, is looking completely unsure how to handle whatever it is that’s going on between the two women in his life.

  Like a shot, I’m booking it down the back stairs, out the side door, and around the corner. I try to look nonchalant about it, but I’m laser-focused on her. Because nobody, not even her fucking parents, has the right to make her upset. Not on my watch.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” Jess roars. “I’m eighteen! Do I look like I need a nanny when you go out of town?”

  And just like that, I’m right up to speed. Ben is standing off to one side, and that’s how I make my approach. Best way to deal with Janet is to flank her. “Everything okay, man?”

  He rubs his knuckles into his eyes. “Christ,” he mutters. “I don’t know. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t right now.”

  Now Janet puts her hands on her hips and gets right up in Jess’ face. “You most certainly do, young lady! You have no discipline. No willpower. There’s absolutely no way we’d leave you alone for an entire week, unsupervised. If this issue with your father’s tax situation wasn’t urgent, trust me we would not be leaving but with your father’s messy bookkeeping, we could very well land in jail if we don’t take this meeting with the IRS agent and his attorney.” She spits the words toward Ben and I hate her for making my friend feel so inadequate and airing her dirty laundry in front of her own daughter.

  Jess spins away, her sandals scratching the gravel. “I am not a child anymore, Mother. I can cook, I can clean, I can feed the cat. I don’t need you to be here micromanaging every little last thing I do and say and eat and think!”

  I sniff hard. Obviously, Jess is totally fucking right. But there’s a way to handle this that won’t piss off Janet more than she is already. No reason to upset the dragon ore than she is. “Why doesn’t she stay with Sam and me?” I ask trying to keep the bitter, anger out of my voice.

  Janet’s Botox-frozen face turns to me. She blinks a few times, like she’s not quite sure how to react.

  I’ve known Janet a long time, and I know she doesn’t like someone having a better plan than she does. But she’s not stupid. And she knows this would be the right answer.

  I lean into it, but not too firmly. That’s another thing Janet doesn’t like—men telling her what they think is best.

  So I keep my tone even and calm. “I’ll make sure she practices, make sure she gets everything done. You know I’m good for it, Janet.”

  Janet’s eyes dart over to Ben, who lifts his hands to say, The man’s got a point.

  So I push harder. “You know she’ll be safe at our house. And anyway, isn’t her old nanny like 85 now? That’s a lot of responsibility, Janet. What if she breaks a hip? Then I’d probably be the one to come help anyway. So let’s just make it simpler and have Jess stay with me.”

  Now I finally let my eyes slide over to Jess’ face. Her expression has completely changed. She isn’t angry anymore. Now she’s soft, and wide-eyed, and almost smiling. Fuck, yeah. I’d do anything to see that smile.

  She holds back a smirk and leans into the game with me. “We wouldn’t want Nanny to break a hip. That’s true.”

  The wind picks up and catches her hair. She scoops it up in her hand, and as she adjusts it over her shoulder, the curly ends tickle her cleavage, and her nipples tighten into beautiful little knots under her lace shirt.

  For one fucking millisecond, it dawns on me that this might be a very bad idea. Her. With me. Under my roof. Showering in my guest bathroom, using my towels, sitting across from me at every meal. With these fucking feelings sitting between us all the goddamned time.

  I’ll have an unrelenting permanent hard-on. For my best friend’s daughter.

  But for the moment, I drag my eyes away from her. The most important thing to me is that she’s happy. I’ve got a pitch to sell and I can’t let her sweet ass distract me. “I’ll make sure she checks in with you twice a day.”

  “And what about what she eats?”

  Here we go. This thing with the food pisses me right off. So much so that I’ve instructed the maintenance guy at the concert hall to make sure all the M&Ms and pretzels magically come out of the vending machine for free from now on. Because if it’s up to me, she’s gonna eat exactly what she wants, exactly when she wants it.

  But for the sake of keeping the peace, I play along and lie right to Janet’s face. “I’m eating the Mediterranean diet for the next six months, Janet. So you’ve got nothing to worry about there, either. Tonight I’m having salmon with mixed greens. And I’ll make sure that she has the same.”

  Jess isn’t keen on that, and her eyes narrow. But I meet her gaze with a wink. Double cheeseburgers with onion rings then chocolate brownie ice cream for dessert, baby.

  Janet huffs and she crosses her arms, like she’s trying to think of some other objection. But finally she sighs and nods. “Alright. Fine. We’ll bring her over after practice tonight. We’ll be gone for probably five days. But if she starts giving you any trouble, Mike…”

  I shift my eyes to Jess. She’s looking up at me, with that same sugar and spice she had on her face when she asked if there was something going on between us at the sink. And now, she’s stone cold sober. It’s just her and me and no wine-a-rita haze clouding her judgements.

  She wants it.

  And so do I.

  If this is trouble, bring it the fuck on.

  “It’s no trouble at all, Janet,” I answer, without taking my eyes off of Jess. “I’ll take good care of her. You have my word.”

  I turn to head back into the concert hall, and Jess trails after me.

  I fight the urge to grab her hand and pull her next to me when she says, “A little birdie tells me you’re now the top donor here.”

  I give her a lift of my chin. “Yeah. And?”

  She smiles a little, flashing a cute little dimple. “And I guess maybe that means that you can make sure I get first chair.”

  You little vixen. “You think you’ve paid your dues enough to make that happen?” I ask before I think, then run my fingers over my forehead on a grunt and re-group. “Have a good rehearsal, Jess,” I say, and book it back up the stairs to my office without another word.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jess

  My parents bring me to Mike’s, and the approach to the house feels a lot like being dropped off at school or orchestra practice. Mom telling me that celery really is the best choice for a snack. Dad asking if I have all my chargers and my computer.

  As we near the front door, Mike steps out. He’s wearing worn cargo pants, low around his waist, a well-worn Tar Heels tee-shirt, and a perfectly fitting EAT LOCAL hipster trucker’s hat from the farmer’s market that makes him look just…

  I cough and try desperately to stop myself from doubling over into the rippling arousal deep in my center. “Celery, check. Chargers, check.”

  My dad shoots me a sympathetic glance in the rearview mirror. “You’re sure this is okay, sweetheart?”

  My heart thaws a little. I do love my dad, henpecked and all. “It’s perfect. I’ll be fine.” I hold up the Hunger Games sign to him, in our secret code from when I was younger. It was one of the few things that was just ours. Sam and I went with Mike and Dad. It was awesome and it totally became our thing. Mom refused to watch it—"too violent, too crazy!” But that was okay. Because no matter how insane my mom gets, the odds are ever in our favor.

  Dad smiles, giving me Katniss’ signal back. “You call if you need us, okay?”

  “I will,” I answer on a smile, and slip out the door.

  But my mom won’t let me go that easily. She pops out of the passenger’s side, fussing and checking and babbling to Mike. “You’re sure this is no trouble, Mike?” she asks like letting me stay is such a dreadful imposition. “She can be a real handful.”

  Now even he looks a little annoyed. The cool-as-a-cucumber and sexy-as-sin vibe wavers just a little. His eyes slide over to me under the bill of his hat, like he’s sick of her shit.

  I blink at him. Tell me about it.

  “No worries about anything, Janet. I’ve got her. No problem.”

  I distract myself from the sudden pulsing between my legs by grabbing my stuff out of the trunk. Mike takes my bag from me but lets me hang onto my violin. It’s a little thing, but I appreciate it. It shows trust. And it’s so different from my mom who acts like at any minute I could toss it in front of a bus by accident.

  I lean in to give my mom a kiss on the cheek but she stops me, putting her finger in her mouth and rubbing hard on something on my cheek.

  “Mother, gross and it’s a freckle. I have hundreds you should recognize them by now.”

  “It is?” Her finger is hot and unpleasant on my skin.

  “It is. It’s a freckle. Mom. Leave it.” I swat her hand away.

  She squints then I hear Mike add in allow mutter so only I can hear, “Two-hundred and six to be exact. That one is named Lily.”

  “You’re sure you remembered everything? Claritin? Nighttime retainer? Antacids? Your acne cream?” She leans forward and puts the cherry on top, “Your girl-time products?”

  I swear I feel Mike chuckle next to me, but I don’t turn to look because I’m so stinking embarrassed. “Mom.”

  “Nose strip in case you snore?”

  Oh, for crying out loud.

  I wrap my arms around her and give her a squeeze more to stop her from speaking than to impart any affection. Though, she does drive me bananas, I still love her. She’s still my mom. “Have fun. Relax. Don’t worry about me.”

  She is rigid through the hug, but I do get a kiss on the cheek. I let go and turn to walk toward the front door. Mike is walking beside me, and I let my eyes fall on the massive muscles that line his forearms. Those snaking veins. That scent of man and sex.

  If I knew what sex smelled like but I’m sure it’s part of his natural make-up.

  “Thank you again, Mike,” Mom says from behind us. “And apologies in advance. She’s been very willful the last few days.”

  I spin around with on hand on my hip. “Willful? What am I? A Jack Russell terrier?”

  Now Mike really does chuckle. “Have a good time, Janet. See you when you get back.” Mike tips his head toward my parent’s car and raises the Hunger Games signal himself. My dad acknowledges it with a friendly beep of the horn.

  I love Mike’s house. It’s so different than my parent’s house which is a complete McMansion with no soul or originality or design. Mike designed this place himself. It’s what I’d call mid-century modern meets arts and crafts. It’s warm with sleek lines and tons of glass but rich with comfort and utility.

  The walls are bright with paintings Sam has done throughout his life and a few of mine as well when we used to finger paint together as kids when I would come over. It’s alive where my house just feels staged and on life support.

  We watch my parents drive slowly and sensibly down the tree-lined drive and then we turn to walk inside the house. Sam comes out in swim trunks with a kombucha with a little umbrella just in time to meet us, with Lagerfeld looking fab in a black tutu in toe. But before Sam gets close enough to hear, Mike says, “Willful, huh?”