she wanted to use Finn as a model for the adjacent pet store’s upcoming ad for training classes, too.
Finn, while undeniably lovable, was only seven months old. And a rascally mutt. He needed to be in a doggie training class; he in no way exemplified the ideal canine graduate. But Natasha had agreed anyway. Finn would be compensated for his work in the form of free veterinary checkups and dog treats, and maybe he’d pick up a few obedience tips while he was being photographed, too. It was sort of a win-win, even if it was unexpected.
Natasha’s date with the neurosurgeon, Lance, had gone without a hitch. Her suggestions to Carol regarding the duplex’s exterior repainting job were met with enthusiasm and agreement. When she went out, men smiled at her and turned flirty; when she saw her friends, they laughed at all her jokes and hugged her warmly and complimented her effusively on every outfit she wore.
Upon learning that Natasha had left Torrance Chocolates, headhunters called her with tantalizing offers of new employment. They wooed her with lavish expense-account meals and promised her unbelievable perks. Her page on LinkToMe, the online corporate networking site, practically brought down the server with constant activity from people trying to reach her.
“Wow.” Natasha gaped at her laptop’s screen, blinking at the dozens of requests for new associations. “I should have left Torrance Chocolates years ago. Who knew I’d be in so much demand? I was afraid to take that leap and risk giving up my income, but I could accept any one of these new jobs and start tomorrow—with my own office, more authority, and identical pay.”
“ I knew you should have left,” Carol told her warmly. “You should have done it as soon as you met Demon Damon. You always deserved better than the crummy way that man treated you.”
Demon Damon . Yes, he’d been that, at times. But he’d also been so much more, especially to her. Which only brought Natasha around to the one lingeringly painful truth: no matter how terrific things had seemed lately, she still missed Damon.
She missed feeling the energy crackling from him as he arrived in the office—usually running late after having had some adventure or other—and greeted her with his special smile. She missed hearing the good humor in his voice as he confided in her about some grandiose plan he was hatching. She missed seeing his winning smile, feeling his casual touch as he held doors open for her and escorted her through, and knowing he was only a phone call away at any moment. She missed him . Period.
“You didn’t know him,” Natasha said in her former boss’s defense. She raised her chin. “Damon wasn’t that bad.”
“Not ‘that bad’?” Her mother-in-law stared at her in disbelief. “He made you buy flowers for the women he broke up with. He made you come up with the cards. How many of those ‘sorry I broke your heart’ bouquets did you send, anyway?”
“Too many to count. But at least he sent them!”
Carol gave a dismissive snort. “Yes, he’s a real prince.”
“If you ever met him—”
“That will never happen,” Carol said, “and I’m glad.”
But Natasha wasn’t glad. Because despite her own recent good fortune, she couldn’t help wondering: If she was experiencing an unprecedented streak of good luck (and she was), what exactly was happening with Damon these days?
Standing in the middle of his formerly posh living room, Damon gazed with dismay at the wreckage before him. He stood calf deep in murky water. Sandy grit clung to his furniture, revealing the yellowed places where the water had risen during the flood that had made his oceanfront home uninhabitable.
Despairingly, he sloshed through the brackish water to the other side of the room. He retrieved a picture frame that had been floating in the floodwaters. He wiped its cracked glass front with his shirtsleeve, then peered at it. A ruined photo of Jimmy and Debbie
Finn, while undeniably lovable, was only seven months old. And a rascally mutt. He needed to be in a doggie training class; he in no way exemplified the ideal canine graduate. But Natasha had agreed anyway. Finn would be compensated for his work in the form of free veterinary checkups and dog treats, and maybe he’d pick up a few obedience tips while he was being photographed, too. It was sort of a win-win, even if it was unexpected.
Natasha’s date with the neurosurgeon, Lance, had gone without a hitch. Her suggestions to Carol regarding the duplex’s exterior repainting job were met with enthusiasm and agreement. When she went out, men smiled at her and turned flirty; when she saw her friends, they laughed at all her jokes and hugged her warmly and complimented her effusively on every outfit she wore.
Upon learning that Natasha had left Torrance Chocolates, headhunters called her with tantalizing offers of new employment. They wooed her with lavish expense-account meals and promised her unbelievable perks. Her page on LinkToMe, the online corporate networking site, practically brought down the server with constant activity from people trying to reach her.
“Wow.” Natasha gaped at her laptop’s screen, blinking at the dozens of requests for new associations. “I should have left Torrance Chocolates years ago. Who knew I’d be in so much demand? I was afraid to take that leap and risk giving up my income, but I could accept any one of these new jobs and start tomorrow—with my own office, more authority, and identical pay.”
“ I knew you should have left,” Carol told her warmly. “You should have done it as soon as you met Demon Damon. You always deserved better than the crummy way that man treated you.”
Demon Damon . Yes, he’d been that, at times. But he’d also been so much more, especially to her. Which only brought Natasha around to the one lingeringly painful truth: no matter how terrific things had seemed lately, she still missed Damon.
She missed feeling the energy crackling from him as he arrived in the office—usually running late after having had some adventure or other—and greeted her with his special smile. She missed hearing the good humor in his voice as he confided in her about some grandiose plan he was hatching. She missed seeing his winning smile, feeling his casual touch as he held doors open for her and escorted her through, and knowing he was only a phone call away at any moment. She missed him . Period.
“You didn’t know him,” Natasha said in her former boss’s defense. She raised her chin. “Damon wasn’t that bad.”
“Not ‘that bad’?” Her mother-in-law stared at her in disbelief. “He made you buy flowers for the women he broke up with. He made you come up with the cards. How many of those ‘sorry I broke your heart’ bouquets did you send, anyway?”
“Too many to count. But at least he sent them!”
Carol gave a dismissive snort. “Yes, he’s a real prince.”
“If you ever met him—”
“That will never happen,” Carol said, “and I’m glad.”
But Natasha wasn’t glad. Because despite her own recent good fortune, she couldn’t help wondering: If she was experiencing an unprecedented streak of good luck (and she was), what exactly was happening with Damon these days?
Standing in the middle of his formerly posh living room, Damon gazed with dismay at the wreckage before him. He stood calf deep in murky water. Sandy grit clung to his furniture, revealing the yellowed places where the water had risen during the flood that had made his oceanfront home uninhabitable.
Despairingly, he sloshed through the brackish water to the other side of the room. He retrieved a picture frame that had been floating in the floodwaters. He wiped its cracked glass front with his shirtsleeve, then peered at it. A ruined photo of Jimmy and Debbie
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