LITMIR.BIZ

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you go to Settings...” He leaned in toward her and she could smell his musky citrus cologne. She didn’t dare make eye contact with him again—not when they were this close. Instead, she stared intently at the screen as her fingers keyed in all the appropriate commands to effectively silence his phone.

      “Then how do I turn it back on? You know, like next week when my dad calms down a little and finally accepts the fact that I want to live my own life and not follow in his footsteps?”

      Yep, this guy definitely had daddy issues. But really, who was she to judge?

      “Well, if he’s anything like my mom—” she couldn’t stop the shudder that raised bumps on her bare arms “—I doubt it will only take a week.”

      “You don’t know the half of it. But I do need this phone for work, so as tempting as it might be, I can’t stay off the grid forever.”

      She nodded at his true statement. As much as Mia had tried to hide out these past couple of years, it was impossible to disappear completely. At least not without losing a part of herself. And if she lost any more of herself, she wondered what would be left.

      “In that case, you can just block his number like this, but still get calls from everyone else.” She tapped away at his screen. “Of course, this will only work until he catches on and tries calling from an unblocked number.”

      “Hmm. Sneaky. But my father’s pretty resourceful, so I wouldn’t put it past him.”

      “My mother learned to call me from my great-aunt Nonnie’s rest home, knowing I couldn’t not answer. I’m sure your dad will figure out a way eventually. I find it’s best to just take the call, let them lecture you for exactly two and half minutes and then pretend you have a UPS delivery at the door that you need to sign for and disconnect the call.”

      The man who’d been called GP laughed loudly enough to draw the attention of the piano player and the bartender. If she thought his smile made her insides all bubbly, his laughter made her want to melt.

      Seriously, what kind of person made jokes about wacky family members with someone she’d never even met? Apparently, the same person who was still sitting here grinning like a giddy schoolgirl at the good-looking man.

      He slipped his phone back inside his inner jacket pocket and when he did so, his hand rooted around before pulling out something else. He tossed a velvet-covered box on the bar and then looked up to the ceiling before running his hand over his forehead. The case looked like something that would hold jewelry—an engagement ring perhaps. The thought that this man was walking around with such an item, yet appeared to be so frustrated and let down, made her wonder what exactly had happened to him earlier this evening.

      “That’s a pretty swanky-looking box,” Mia said.

      “My father thought so when he gave them to me.” The man opened the case to reveal a set of black onyx cuff links, the initials GPM embossed in gold over each one.

      “They’re very nice.” Mia forced a polite smile, wondering why the man had such a wry look on his face.

      “He said they’re to remind me of who I am and where I came from.” GP, whose last name must begin with an M, took another drink of his scotch. “The irony of the gift is that my father detests cuff links. In fact, he hates the way I dress altogether.”

      Mia leaned back so she could get a better look at his suit. As far as she could see, the man was dressed impeccably. Sure, maybe it was a little too tailored, a bit too metropolitan chic for Idaho standards. After all, this was Boise. Who wore such luxurious accessories in this part of the country?

      Bolo ties, yes, but cuff links, no.

      Maybe his father was some potato farmer who thought his son had gotten a little too fancy for his britches. Her own mother was the exact opposite. Every time she saw Mia, she chastised her for wearing her workout clothes around town and told her she had the potential of landing the coveted position of trophy wife, if only she’d put in some effort with her appearance.

      “I take it your father isn’t a suit man?”

      “You could say that. Dad likes to describe himself as anti-establishment. He’s what you’d call a free spirit and prefers to dress like he’s just been eighty-sixed from a Beach Boys concert. Which never made sense to me, considering his education and what he does for a living. He calls me his rebel child.”

      “You don’t look like much of a rebel,” she said. He looked like an international businessman about to close a multibillion-dollar deal.

      “I’ll tell him you said so next time he calls.” He gave the jewelry case a slight tap and it slid down the smooth bar a couple of inches. “So two and a half minutes, huh?”

      He took another sip of the single malt scotch that was the exact shade of his eyes. Sheesh. Why did she have to look at those eyes of his again?

      “Yep. I’ve got it down to a science. Anything less and they’ll feel like they were short-changed and will only call back later. Anything more and it becomes the snowball effect, picking up speed and intensity and then there’s no interrupting them once the full sermon gets going about all the sacrifices they made for you and how you’re throwing away opportunities.”

      “I feel like I should be taking notes. Please, let me buy you a drink. You can tell me the top five best excuses for getting out of Thanksgiving family dinners.”

      She should’ve politely refused, grabbed her jacket and purse, and walked as quickly to the elevator bank as she could. But she thought of her own prospects for the holiday that was only a couple of months around the corner, and the hard, familiar lump of loneliness wedged in her throat. When was the last time she’d talked with a man who wasn’t a well-known neighbor or hadn’t been vetted by her two closest friends?

      He must have sensed her vacillating because he shot her that boyish smile. “What are you having?”

      Her nerve endings fizzled again and, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Champagne.”

      He looked doubtfully at the glass sitting in front of her—the one containing clear liquid and the remnants of a lime—and then raised his perfectly arched brown brows at her before asking the bartender to bring a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

      A whole bottle? What had she been thinking?

      Maxine and Kylie would’ve told her she’d been thinking with her lady parts. Then they’d have high-fived her for double downing on their dare and told her it was about time she tested the waters of the romance pond. It had been so long, it wouldn’t hurt to just dip her toe in.

      Hopefully, she wasn’t already in way over her head.

      * * *

      Garrett McCormick had been having the most frustrating evening of his life when he’d aimlessly wandered into the deserted lounge at the upper-class hotel. And that was saying something considering he’d been a battlefield surgeon in some of the hottest combat zones in the world. When he’d stormed out of the five-star restaurant down the street, leaving his argumentative and overbearing father at the table, he’d wanted a stiff drink and the kind of solitude he knew he couldn’t get from the downtown college bar scene or from the officer’s club near the Shadowview Military Hospital, where he was on staff.

      He’d been so angry and so intent on downing something that would steady his nerves, he hadn’t even noticed the petite raven-haired beauty sitting at the bar. If he had, his internal warning bells would’ve gone off and he’d have found another place to sit.

      When his cell phone rang, he’d been startled and his embarrassment had forced him to take in his surroundings. What he’d told her was true—he hated people who were so self-important they answered their phones in public places, forcing strangers to have to listen to their private calls.

      Yet, he wasn’t sorry if his obnoxious telephone etiquette was the reason he now sat talking with her. She was wearing a strapless sequined top, and a black satin jacket hung

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