“Do you want to spend the night in Jason’s apartment tonight?”

“I’m a good cuddler,” I say. “I’ll make sure you feel the love, but I do sleep naked, so it’s up to you.”

Knox rolls his eyes and pulls Emory into his chest, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “You know I’m kidding.”

“I want to know more about this date,” Carson says. “Are you really going to go out with a stranger?”

“Not by myself.” I shake my head. “I’m taking Natalie.”

“Smart.” Carson nods his head.

“For many reasons. First of all, who knows if this person is a psychopath? I need to make sure I have someone with me in case the winner tries to steal me and take me off to their organ harvesting den. And second of all, what if it’s a girl? My sister will be my chaperone so she can’t pull a fast one on me, like a ‘he touched me without my consent’ kind of thing.”

“Very smart.” Carson nods.

Knox asks, “Organ harvesting den? Is that something you’re really concerned about?”

“Yep.” I bite down on a chip. “I’m always concerned about my organs being harvested. You can never be too sure these days.”

“You’re insane,” Knox says while standing and picking up everyone’s garbage.

I clap my hands together. “Okay, who’s ready to help me unpack?”

Without another word, my friends stand and quickly make their way out of my apartment, the door shutting with their retreat.

Huh, I’m going to take that as no one.

Chapter Two

DOTTIE

Emory: What are you doing?

To tell the truth or not.

My best friend isn’t here right now. She can’t see me, so there’s no need to get her mother hen feathers all ruffled by revisiting the rabbit trail of my failed relationships. That’s the last thing I want. Picking up my phone, I type out a curt response.

Dottie: Working.

Taking a deep breath, I give myself one more look at the memory Facebook decided to share with me today. Happy as can be, I’m smiling at the camera as Nick kisses my cheek. We’re standing in front of The Bean, Chicago’s iconic Cloud Gate, winter hats decorating our heads, and rosy cheeks from spending the day outside, sightseeing like tourists and enjoying every moment of it.

I thought he was it. I didn’t think I’d ever meet a more kind, caring, or empathetic man than Nick. He gave me a sense of confidence to be the killer in the boardroom that I am. He encouraged me, and he made me feel sexy when we were home, sharing a bed. And in those moments when I was weak, didn’t think I could stand up to the other tycoons I had to face daily, he stood behind me, rubbed my shoulders, and told me how intelligent I was, how ruthless, and how I could score any deal I put my mind to.

And I believed him.

I fell for him.

Head over heels.

I told my dad I was going to marry Nick one day. One day soon.

And then, I found out the true man he was. I wasn’t his love, I didn’t matter to him, and I wasn’t all the things he told me I was. And he wasn’t the things I thought he was. Instead, he was embezzling money from me, using me for my connections, and planning to be with me for a few more months before meeting up with his longtime girlfriend, where they’d ride off into the sunset together . . . rather than be with me.

I’ve never felt more foolish in my life.

More used.

Not only did I lose my self-confidence, I also jeopardized the biggest deal to date for my dad’s company. He salvaged that, thank God. Being new in my position as the president of business relations, making such a colossal mistake made every board member doubt my dad’s choice to put me in such a prestigious position. It made them question his decision-making and ever since then, it’s been an uphill battle to prove that not only do I deserve the position I’m in, but I was meant to hold it.

I stare at the picture, letting it brand my brain, reminding me that I will never let this happen to me again.

Ever.

Once I feel satisfied with the reminder, I close Facebook and turn back to the group text between my two best friends, Emory and Lindsay.

Emory: You’re always working.

Lindsay: Why did you even ask? I think we both know what she’s doing.

Leaning back in my white office chair, I glance out the window of my high-rise office, taking in the morning skyline before typing back to them.

Dottie: It’s nine in the morning on a Thursday. I think we all should be working.

Lindsay: The kids are taking a spelling test.

Emory: Cora is handling story time while I pretend to check in books.

Lindsay and Emory both work at Cedar Pine Elementary. Lindsay is a third grade teacher with a penchant to slip up with a swear word here and there—how she hasn’t been fired yet, I have no idea—and Emory is the librarian who seems to wear inappropriate-length dresses since she’s been called into the principal’s office a few times for dress code. Despite that, they’re the best educators I know, and I would be honored to have either one of them teach my imaginary children.

I say imaginary, because that’s as close to children as I’ll ever get.

I’m all set on the baby coming out of my vagina thing. Not really interested in that form of torture. Now, if you’d like to tie me to my bedposts and run your tongue over my body for an hour, making me cry out from carnal need, then yes, I’m interested in that form of erotic torture.