LITMIR.BIZ

      Prologue

       Columbus Day

      “DO YOU KNOW WHAT your problem is?”

      Reese Campbell didn’t even look up as the door to his office burst open and the familiar voice of his extremely nosy, bossy great-aunt intruded on what had been a relatively quiet October morning. Because that was one hell of a loaded question.

      Hmm. Problem? What problem? Did he have a problem?

      Being thrust into a job he hadn’t been ready for, hadn’t planned on, hadn’t even wanted? That was kind of a problem.

      Being thrust into that job because his father had died unexpectedly, at the age of fifty-five? Aside from being an utter tragedy, that was absolutely a problem.

      Battling competitors who’d figured him to be a pushover when he’d stepped in to run a large brewery while only in his mid-twenties? Problem.

      Dealing with longtime employees who didn’t like the changes he was implementing in the family business? Problem.

      Ending a relationship because the woman didn’t appreciate that he—a good-time guy—now had so many responsibilities? Problem.

      Walking a tightrope with family members who went from begging him to keep everything the way it was, to resenting his every effort to fill his father’s shoes? Big effing problem.

      “Did you hear me?”

      He finally gave his full attention to his great-aunt Jean, who had never seen a closed door she hadn’t wanted to fling wide open. He had to smile as he beheld her red hat and flashy sequined jacket. Going into old age gracefully had never entered his aunt’s mind. Keeping her opinions to herself hadn’t, either.

      “I heard,” he replied.

      “Well, do you know?”

      What he didn’t know was why she was asking. Because she didn’t want an answer. Rhetorical questions like that one were always the opening volley in the elderly woman’s none-of-your-damn-business assaults on everyone else’s private life.

      He leaned back in his chair. “Whatever it is, I am quite sure you’re about to tell me.”

      “Cheeky,” she said, closing the door. “You’re bored.”

      No kidding.

      “You’re twenty-nine years old and you’re suffocating. For two years, you haven’t drawn one free, unencumbered breath.”

      He remained still, silent. Wary. Because so far, his eccentric, opinionated great-aunt was absolutely, one hundred percent correct.

      Suffocating. That was a good word to describe his life these days. An appropriate adjective for the frequent sensation that an unbearable weight had landed on his chest and was holding him in place, unable to move.

      As Aunt Jean said, his breath had been stolen, his momentum stopped. All forward thought frozen in place, glued to that moment in time when a slick road and a blind curve had changed everything he and his family had known about their former lives.

      “You need some excitement. An adventure. How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”

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