June (Calendar Girl #6) by Audrey Carlan Page A

should have sent an extra twenty-five thousand. “We didn’t sleep together. I have no idea why he sent it. Maybe it was a mistake?”
    A bunch of clacking noises could be heard in the background as I gripped the cellphone so hard in my hand it ached where the side dug into my palm. “Nope. Ah here we go. It’s a bonus.”
    “A bonus? I don’t get it.”
    “The fine print does state that if the client is exceptionally happy and wants to send additional monies by way of a bonus for services rendered they may.” She laughed. “Usually that’s how we track the money you receive when you have relations with them but he clearly states in his email that the extra is to be given to you because of some account you single-handedly secured.”
    “The Benoits,” I whispered.
    “What’s that, dear?”
    “Oh, I...um...hit it off with one of the young wives. The woman got her husband to agree to the use of something that my client really needed in order for his project to be successful. I didn’t know it was so important that he’d send me a twenty-five thousand dollar bonus.”
    Immediately, I knew exactly what a huge chunk of that money was going toward. My baby sister’s wedding to her dream man. I’d save at least ten or fifteen of it and make sure she’d get the wedding of a lifetime, paid for by her own family, not his. The Rains were amazing people and obviously loved the idea of adding my sister to their growing family, but she was my sister. My responsibility until that ring was on her finger. I couldn’t wait to tell her!
    “Anyway, doll-face you’re going to get a kick out of your next client.”
    I crossed my fingers. “Please tell me he’s a hottie and somewhere warm?”
    “Oh honey, only a picture is going to do justice. Emailing now.” I heard the sound of her nails hitting the keys again. “His name is Anton Santiago but get this…he goes by Latin Lov-ah.” She snickered and must have tried to cover her mouth because the noise turned muffled.
    “Latin Lov-ah? Why the hell would he go by that name?”
    “Did you pull up the image?”
    Looking at the display, I hit speaker. “Okay, you’re on speaker; let me check my email.” I clicked a few buttons and brought up my Gmail account and clicked on her message. A picture filled the screen. You know how people say that a picture is worth a thousand words? Right then, no truer words had ever been spoken. “Oh my, lickable Latino. That’s my client? Isn’t he…”
    “A famous hip-hop artist, yes,” she said bluntly, but it really didn’t resonate. I was too busy mentally licking my cellphone screen.
    The image was a svelte man wearing sagging black jeans that showed a solid inch wide bit of fabric that was obviously his underwear. The stark red band with black writing that said “M&S” which I now knew was Mark & Spencer fashion out of the UK. Hector, my BFF—Boy Friend Forever as he claimed it meant—taught me enough about the designers to get by. The lovely cotton hugged Anton’s enticingly trim waistline. I traveled up the stairway of one helluva cut abdomen that was slick with sweat up to the pair of square outlines that boasted seriously tight pecs. His neck was corded as he leaned up against what seemed to be a push-up bar. His wrists were wrapped in that white tape that boxers used to protect their wrists as he gripped the bar.
    All of this was absolutely delicious, but nothing prepared me for the face. Angels could have wept at a face like that. Mocha-colored skin with fierce black hair and pale hazel eyes stared back at me. The eye color was a cross between green and brown but light enough against that dark skin to stand out as uniquely as my own. And I wasn’t being conceited. I’d heard my eyes were incredible since birth. If I’m out and about, I’m told every day by random strangers how amazing, or cool, or neat they thought the pale green color was. This guy, my next client, Mr. Latin Lov-ah himself, had eyes that