LITMIR.BIZ

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as she made her way from business to business, she found herself grateful for the monotonous busywork.

      Making sure that the accounting firm two blocks from her rented kitchen had the correct assortment of cinnamon raisin, multigrain and jalapeño cheddar bagels in their twice-weekly breakfast order kept her from focusing on the way John’s hand had felt as it curved around her thigh, holding her open to him. Delivering a platter of beautifully cut tropical fruit to a local spa helped her keep her mind on something other than how good it had felt to have his rock-solid erection rocking against her damp cleft. And ensuring that she had vegan, paleo, Whole30-and keto-friendly lunch options for a big law firm helped calm the nerves she felt when she thought about the fact that she’d offered herself up on a giant silver platter to a man with wicked intentions in his eyes.

      Her feet stumbled as she carried an empty cooler through a revolving door and back to her van. Stowing it inside, she took a moment to perch on the bumper, drawing deeply from her water bottle.

      Five more hours. Was she insane?

      She contemplated that for a long moment as she wiped sweat from her brow and let the cool water soothe her dry throat.

      Theo liked to talk, and while part of his warning about John had simply been to let Meg know that his friend was a player and wouldn’t stick around, the other part...

      The other had been meant as a cautionary tale, a story of how John was into control, dominance, being on top, however you wanted to put it.

      While she was still irritated with him for presuming that she wanted his opinion on the matter, Theo had, in his weird but loving way, meant to demonstrate that John was not someone Meg would be interested in.

      Theo had been wrong.

      Yes, she was nervous about what would happen tonight, but more than that, she was excited. She certainly wasn’t going to chicken out, not when she knew, knew right down to her soul, that this next week was going to be something she looked back on when she was eighty and cackled over with glee.

      Screwing the cap back on her water bottle, Meg’s certainty faltered for a second as she tried to picture John as a senior citizen, charming all the ladies as he stomped around with his walker. Would he look back on this week with the same warm memories? Would he even remember?

      “Doesn’t matter,” she reminded herself as she swung out the back of the van. Closing the doors firmly behind her, she circled the vehicle, then lifted herself up into the driver’s seat.

      She might just be the next in John’s line of women, but the spark between them was real. Why shouldn’t she act on it, sow some wild oats before they went their separate ways next week?

      Busywork complete, Meg couldn’t hold back the tsunami of reflection as she pulled out into traffic. Downtown Boston was hideous to navigate at any time of day, but driving her massive van was like steering the Titanic, and cars tended to get the hell out of the way when they saw her coming, leaving her with plenty of time—too much time—to think.

      She was twenty-seven. Most women her age had already gone a little wild, usually right after high school or during their years in college. College hadn’t been a financial possibility for her or any of her sisters, and she hadn’t had much time to party, either.

      Beth had been sick, and medical bills were like quicksand, pulling them all down into the mire. Mamesie, a single mom, had needed help supporting the household and raising the girls, and as the eldest, that responsibility had fallen to Meg.

      She didn’t begrudge any of the years she’d spent helping, but she was maybe a little wistful when she thought of the ways her sisters had gotten to be young, ways in which she hadn’t because she’d been the normal daughter, the one who held it all together—the one who could be relied on, the one who never made a fuss.

      But now...now her family had some breathing room, and she wanted to gulp in great mouthfuls of air. She had a healthy libido, and she liked sex, even though, in her experience at least, most men tended to be greedy lovers. Greedy, or willfully ignorant. The last man she’d dated had insisted that it was impossible for a man to find the clitoris since he didn’t have one. The day she’d broken up with him, she’d helpfully printed out a diagram for him, coloring the area in question in with a highlighter.

      She snorted at the memory.

      “You’ve earned this.” Checking the clock, she saw that her countdown was now four hours, and a small shudder of anticipation ran through her.

      Something told her she wasn’t going to have to print out a diagram for John. Hell, she’d been on edge last night, just from having him between her thighs as they talked about what they were going to do.

      She’d have been lying, too, if she said she wasn’t feeling a little bit smug to be the one he was focusing on right now. She’d seen how other women reacted to him, but he’d chosen her.

      Of course, the sheer number of women who noticed him was why Theo had been warning her in the first place. But ultimately...did it matter? They’d set limits. One week and done. Of course, he’d move on to someone else after. She would, too—she’d make sure of it.

      She liked John—really, truly liked him as a person. But that didn’t mean she planned to join the ranks of women mooning around after he’d left them. Yes, she would move on after.

      Move on with a clearer understanding of what she wanted. She was the good girl, the good daughter, and she bet that Theo would never have been able to imagine what she had planned for tonight. Not that she’d want him to, because ew. But still. It felt good to have a dirty little secret even if she could hardly believe it herself.

      Her phone rang. It was routed through the Bluetooth on the dashboard, and she should have been used to the noise, but it made her jump all the same.

      “Hello? I mean, A Moveable Feast Catering.” She still wasn’t used to the fact that the company was hers.

      “Please hold for Gavin Aronson.” A woman trying to suppress the Southie in her voice and not succeeding burst through the van’s speakers, followed by a beep sharp enough to make Meg wince. She quickly turned the volume down, but the next voice that came over the line was pitched so low that she had to turn it back up.

      “Is this Meg Marchande?” No Southie in this voice. No, unless she was very much mistaken, the man now on the line had the nasal sound that came from someone raised in the Long Island area. “The Meg Marchande who catered the art show at Fifth Central Gallery last week?”

      “That’s me.” She immediately felt herself sitting up straighter, as though she were about to be interviewed. In her line of work, a phone call often was the interview, two minutes in which to convince a potential customer why they should trust their event to her and not the competition.

      “Well, Meg, my name is Gavin. I’m the director of a little company called Hyde Park Entertainment. You’ve heard of us?”

      She hadn’t, but she certainly wasn’t about to say that, so she simply hummed, noncommittal.

      “Hyde Park produces all kinds of ventures—concerts, festivals, films, award shows.” He paused, as though waiting for applause, so Meg hummed again encouragingly. “I was intrigued by the food at the gallery show. Those things are usually cheap wine and grocery-store cheese. Your offerings added a bit of flair.”

      A bolt of excitement made Meg’s blood sizzle. Concerts? Festivals? She was so on board.

      “People who simply do what is expected of them rarely get ahead,” she commented mildly, trying to keep the elation out of her voice.

      “Interesting.” His voice was thoughtful. “We have several events coming up that I think you’d be a good match for.”

      “Really?” Her voice squeaked, and she coughed to cover it. “I mean, that sounds very interesting.”

      “We’re hosting a banquet for the mayor’s office this Friday,” he continued, and she sucked

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