“Don’t make me avada kedavra you,” I threaten as I swish and flick a double dose of my red-painted middle fingers through the air, ending with a solid fuck you. A very Muggle magic wand, but it definitely works.

  He grins as he brags, “At least I’ll die remembering the warmth of a good orgasm with another person.”

  I huff in annoyance because he’s right, which means he wins this round. I haven’t had a non-self-induced orgasm in so long I’ve forgotten what they feel like. Hell, I’m beginning to think they don’t actually exist and were simply a figment of my admittedly skilled imagination.

  Completely oblivious to our sibling jests, Harper comes back to the dining table, leaning into Ace’s side. Her arm wraps around his shoulders and his arm goes to her waist. “Hey, baby, dishes are done. You want to take Kev out for a walk?”

  “Then dessert?” Ace asks, his hand dipping down to cup her ass, and Harper blushes. Their connection is palpable, and I suddenly feel as though I’m intruding on a private moment between them, third-wheel style.

  “I think I’m going to head out, guys. Ace seems to have some plans for you that should not involve putting your face in those couch cushions,” I tell Harper with a crinkle of my face. “Dessert. Ugh.”

  Harper gawks and pushes on Ace’s shoulder, as if it’s not obvious what we’re talking about. “Ace! What did you tell her?” To me, she says, “He’s talking out of his tooshie, whatever he was saying. I was just going to ask if you wanted another glass of adult juice.”

  Her usage of random kid lingo is one of the things that always makes me smile. She’ll pop off with things like ‘luncheteria’ and ‘wear-unders’ that I have to stop and translate into grown-up language.

  She points over her shoulder to the bottle on the spotless kitchen counter, giving credence to her claim, and I’m touched. Harper is many things—sweet, patient, and as bubbly as you would expect a kindergarten teacher to be, which is appropriate considering that’s exactly what she is. She is also a miracle worker, magically getting people, both big and little, to fall in line, and I’m no different. So usually, I’d politely accept another glass, but I think I should pass this time or Ace might start things with Harper while I’m still here.

  “Thank you, really. But I need to call it done at one because I’m driving, and Cammie tends to go faster than she should if I’m not paying close attention.”

  Cammie is the Camaro I inherited from Elle on a ‘long-term borrow’, a gearhead’s wet dream of an automotive beast that has more horsepower than anything I’d ever typically drive. Cammie’s one high-strung rock star bitch who wants to live fast and die in a blaze of glory to go on to rock ‘n’ roll heaven. It’s the driver’s responsibility to hold her back, something I do better than Elle ever did.

  Harper leaves Ace’s side to give me a hug as I stand and head toward the door. “Thank you for coming over!” Her voice is full of excitement, like my mere presence was an actual gift. “You always make it fun!”

  “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

  She pushes her blonde hair behind her ear, pleased with the compliment but shy about accepting it. “Thank my grandmother. She taught me.”

  “I will when I get to meet her.” Panic tightens my full belly as I realize that might tip Harper off, and I correct myself. “I mean, if I get to.”

  Ace joins Harper, patting me on the shoulder a little too hard as punishment for my misspeak. “Let me walk you down, Tiff. I do need to take Kevin out for a stretch, anyway.”

  He grabs Kevin’s leash, and the goblin version of the now-sweet dog returns as Kevin goes crazy, running around and through our feet, nearly knocking Harper down. She cries out in surprise, reaching at empty air to catch herself, and Ace reacts quickly, making a weird noise that makes us all freeze in place, even Harper, who’s found her balance. It sounds sort of like a belch, a whistle, and a heavy metal scream all wrapped up together, without his opening his mouth that widely.

  Thankfully, Kevin freezes too at the sound of my brother’s demon-bark.

  “I need to practice making that sound if it works like that. Yaernt . . . yarrt . . . uh, yerrrnt?”

  Kevin looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language . . . badly. Fine, maybe he’s right, but I can’t be expected to learn dog-speak on the first try. Ace laughs, shaking his head. “No, it’s more yehrt! Sharp, at the roof of your mouth.”

  I try again, and Ace shakes his head, so it must not be much better. “Keep trying. It’s a good skill. You’ll need it.”

  Harper tilts her head. “Are you thinking of getting a dog?”

  I inhale sharply, realizing that we’re dangerously close to ruining Ace’s big surprise. I force a ‘silly me’ grin to my face, laughing at the very idea of my having time to take care of a dog with my crazy busy schedule. “Oh, no, I was thinking it’d come in handy for the people at the office. Try to cut in line for copies? Yehrt! Don’t answer my email? Yehrt!” I add a harshly pointed finger to emphasize that I’m effectively planning to use dog obedience tricks on my coworkers. “So, yeah… no dogs for me. And there’s no way I’m ever getting a cat. I am not going to become the crazy cat lady. I’d never date again.”

  Bless her sweet, good-hearted self, Harper believes me and laughs as though that’s a funny joke. “Oh, please. Your perfect man’s just around the corner, I bet. You’ll find him soon, or maybe . . . he’ll find you.” She glances at Ace, talking more about them than any imaginary boyfriend I might get.

  Phew! Foot in mouth crisis averted.

  Ace decides to get out while the getting’s good. “Be right back, babe. Why don’t you load up some Netflix? We can watch something before bed?”

  Harper’s eyes go wide, eager. “Anything I want?”

  Ace’s answering smile does wonders to soothe a worried sister’s concerns. “Yeah, I’m game for whatever.”

  On the way downstairs, Ace confides, “She keeps making me watch these competition shows. Baking, fashion, makeup, flowers . . . even welding. I don’t get it. Why does baking have to be competitive? If it tastes good, aren’t we all winners?”

  I laugh but ask, “Who’s your favorite baker?”

  Ace snarls at me, a tiny peek of his grumpiness shining through. But when I growl right back, he melts. “Asher. He makes these tiny figurines out of fondant and creates scenes on top of the cakes. It’s like a whole sculpture every time.”

  I make a whipping sound, easily getting that to come through clear and distinct.

  Ace though doesn’t mind in the least. “Happily whipped, Sis. And so is Harper.”

  He winks, definitely meaning something different and naughtier. I push his chest. “Ew. I do not need to know that about my brother. And Sweet Harper? I don’t believe it.”

  Ace smirks, and I’m truly not sure if he’s kidding or not. I mean, ‘good girls gone wild’ is a thing for a reason. But Harper?

  He walks me out to my car as Kevin sniffs a nearby tree. As Kevin lifts his leg, Ace reaches into his pocket. “Here.” He holds out a keyring with two silver keys on it. “This one is for the front door. And this one is for the supply closet where the food and treats are. These are the literal keys to my kingdom. Don’t fuck this up, Tiff.”

  I tilt my head, looking down my nose at my little brother even though he’s taller than me. “Seriously? Of the two of us, only one of us would have a greater than fifty percent chance of fucking something up. And to note . . . it’s not me.”

  “Noted,” Ace agrees with an eye roll I swear I can actually hear. “Promise to be there early on Saturday? I want to make sure everything is ready when the dogs show up at ten.”

  I give him a wry lift of my brows, knowing he’s well aware that in my work life, a ten o’clock arrival would mean I’m being a lazy bum. “Yes, of course, I’ll be there early to roll out the red carpet.”

  Ace blinks, seeming to search his mind for anything else he wants to tell me or any other promises he wants to extort from me. “Okay, I’ll leave everything ready when I close on Friday night. The last dog gets picked up at six, and Harper and Kevin and I will be on the road by six-oh-one.”

  “Perfect. Just one last thing.”

  Ace looks at me expectantly, and I consider extorting some promises of my own. But I grin, joking, “I’ll be charging you for a manicure on Sunday if the little demon dogs mess mine up. I can’t go to work on Monday with chipped polish. Oh, and a reward dinner on Saturday. It’s not only the dogs that need treats for good behavior.”

  Ace pats my head like I’m one of his daycare doggies, chuckling. “Of course. Anything for you, Sis. You deserve it.”

  “Damn straight, I do.”

  Ace gives me a side hug, and I’m struck with a deep sense of gratitude. Not too long ago, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to save Ace, even from himself. But it turned out, he saved himself when he was done mourning a woman who didn’t deserve his love.

  Ace turns to go back inside, Kevin trotting along happily at his side. I call out, “Hey, Ace?”

  He turns back. “Yeah?”

  “I like to give you shit, but you deserve the best things too.”

  “Thanks, Tiff. I’ve already got them. You, Mom and Dad, Kevin, and after this weekend . . . Harper.”

  Chapter 2

  Tiffany

  “Megan, make sure those boxes are ready to roll. Arnold will be here in twenty.” I point at the boxes piled up in the floor and then the line-up of clocks on the wall, specifically noting the one with our time zone.

  The front desk area at Fox Industries HQ is more than your average greeting area. Or at least it is now. Once upon a time, it was old-school, with one pretty face in a professionally tight blouse, set right inside the door, whose sole function was to greet people with a friendly smile and direct them to the elevator.

  But those days are long gone.

  Now, I supervise a two-woman team at the front desk, Megan and her cohort Stephanie, who are my right and left hands, plus a floating crew of clerical staff who rotate projects throughout the company depending on needs.

  Speaking of needs, we need to get a move on. Megan, Stephanie, and I are a well-oiled machine that runs like clockwork, but this huge stack of outgoing mail won’t prep itself.

  I have the ‘back room’ laid out into different work zones, all intended to make sure nothing gets lost, misplaced, slowed down, or in any other way messed up, and the three of us dance around the mail area in a well-practiced choreography to meet our deadline. Though ‘deadline’ is a moving target.

  Our FedEx guy, Arnold, is notorious for being early for our scheduled pick-up time and doesn’t like to delay even a second. He usually comes in sporting a deep frown, his arms pumping as he speed-walks his way in the front door and to the mailroom, his blue shorts swish-swish-swishing with every step like one of those grannies at the park.

  He’ll make a single sweep over the packages on the table with his scanner. No more, no less. If something doesn’t register, too bad, so sad, drop it off at a store or wait until tomorrow.

  Everything that scans, he grabs and stacks with manic speed in his cart, and he’s out the door in under sixty seconds. And yes, we actually have timed him.

  Normally, I let him go. Live and let live, and I can run a letter to the FedEx store in a strip mall nearby on my way home if need be. But if necessary, I’ve been known to literally stand in front of Arnold as a blockade and demand that he wait until our scheduled time. Especially if it’s a big or heavy item. But that’s a move I try to save for desperate days because Arnold always spends a solid week acting a little extra snippy after I pull that card out of my arsenal.

  “Yes ma’am,” Megan responds crisply. “Twenty minutes, on it.”

  Stephanie has more to say, and a lot more sass to her response. “We’ll get it out today, even if Asshole Arnie has to wait. Don’t you worry, Boss.”

  I’m still not used to that label, even though I’ve held it for a while now. It feels good to succeed, and I’m proud of myself, especially since I never would’ve thought this would be my life. I had to fight to get to college. Not because of my grades, which were fine. My parents didn’t have money, so I had to scratch, claw, beg, and borrow to get tuition every semester.

  Once in, I struggled my way through school, trying to magically find an extra hour in every day to help me balance a job and studying, and then I followed Elle to Fox Industries. And as the previous generation of front desk staffers now represented by Megan and Stephanie, Elle and I made the front desk duties our bitch and had a blast doing it.

  But while Elle eventually found her way to her happily ever after—in London, of all places—and I could’ve gone home to be closer to my parents, I felt at home here and never left. Besides, I’m carving out my own future now in a way that I wouldn’t if I’d left Fox Industries.

  And now, sneaking up on thirty, I know I’ve earned and worked for every bit of success I have.

  But ‘Boss’ still sits awkwardly on my shoulders. Boss should feel like a superwoman cape, giving me a boost of power, but instead, it feels more like a sheet I stole out of the clean laundry basket and tied around my neck like when I was a kid. But damn if it didn’t feel awesome flying out behind me as I ran around the house.

  So, doing my best, I flip my hair back over my shoulders in place of the invisible cape and remind myself that I’ve got this, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

  With Megan and Stephanie given their marching orders, I look around to see what else needs to be done before the end of the day. There’s only one thing, and I’ve been bullishly putting it off.

  But since it’s Friday, the time for delaying is up, so I stop at ‘station two’, getting the cart with boxes of prepared binders, and head for the elevator. Upstairs, I push the cart into the outer office of an executive’s suite.

  “Hey, Miranda, I’ve got your presentation materials for Tuesday’s meeting.”

  Miranda is my former boss who decided she’d rather specialize and work for one executive. Her move is what allowed me to fill my present role, and she never lets me forget it. Actually, it’s not that bad. I suspect she sees me as her ‘protege’ and is giving me her version of tough love in an attempt to make me ‘better’. But it could be a lot less abrasive and still be effective, if you ask me.

  Miranda gets up and comes over, picking up a binder to flip through it. Her red lips purse, and her matching red fingertip slides along the page as she reads to herself. After a moment, she snaps the binder closed. “Looks good.”

  That’s high praise from Miranda. She’s not a monster, and I can empathize with the tight positions Elle and I often put her in with our antics, but she wasn’t the best boss, either. She rode my ass.

  And I’m not looking for a repeat ride, so I’m already halfway out the door when I call back, “Thanks. Have a good weekend.”

  As I ride the elevator back down, I think about the way Miranda supervised compared to the way I do and realize that my team needs a reward for all the hard work they’ve put in lately. Some morale boosting and team building would do us all good.

  Hitting the front desk, I put on my best smile. “Hey, Megan, Stephanie? Happy hour tonight? Drinks are on me in appreciation for everything you’ve done lately. I know those binders were a bitch to pull together.”

  Stephanie lets out a loud whoop of excitement, already nodding her head vigorously. “Yes! There’s a new place on Main Street that I’ve been dying to try. I’m in!”

  Megan smiles sweetly, agreeing quickly, though less enthusiastically. “Okay. I’ll let Davis know.”

  Davis is Megan’s boyfriend, who is equally polite and . . . beige. Together, they’re the equivalent of plain cream cheese on a rice cake. But they seem deeply in love, something I can’t fault them for.

  “May I begin sexual intercourse with you, dear?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  “Of course. As always. In, two, three, out, two, three.”

  “Ooh, you’re being frisky tonight. A three-beat, you wild man.”

  That’s what I imagine Megan and Davis’s sex life is like. I just hope for something more . . . exciting when I eventually find my Mr. Right.

  I’m looking for something more like . . .

  “Lie back and hold on.” The faceless, nameless man slams inside me, instantly stretching me in that way that hurts so good, not real pain but that incredible sense of complete fullness and utter surrender. “Fuck, you feel good. I can feel you clamping down on me already, but we’re just getting started. I’m gonna make you come until you beg me to stop.”

  I sigh wistfully, wishing I could find my dirty-talking, take-charge sex god who’s actually a good man outside the bedroom too.

  Is that too much to ask? Probably.

  Stephanie’s suggestion of the new bar was a good one. The Den isn’t the craziest or most innovative bar. There are no go-go dancers in cages or mechanical bulls or speakeasy passwords to get the imported private-label vodka. But there’s no way I could get Megan to agree to go to some of the real night spots that I used to haunt in my wilder days. Hell, I’m slightly surprised she agreed to go anywhere but TGI Friday’s. So I’ll count The Den as a win.

  Especially with the music pumping, clear and sharp enough to make us wiggle in our seats without being so loud that we can’t hear each other without screaming. And I have to admit, since this is a post-work sort of place at this hour, it’s a lot easier to come in wearing the day’s skirts and blouses rather than spending the day getting dressed up for a night on the town. Best of all, we’re here with ‘our tribe’, and that helps anywhere be better.

  Our waitress comes up in her purple Den shirt, the cut tailored to best show off her tip generators without looking too skanky. “Evenin’, ladies, I’m your server tonight,” she says, sticking a left shoulder forward to show off the name tag of Jasmine that’s pinned there. “Want to hear the specials?”

  “Sure,” I reply. “What’s on tap?”