I finally broke the silence. “So…this whole situation is awkward.”

Bennett came out from behind his desk. “Jonas is right. It’s been a long day. Why don’t I show you where I set you up? I think I’m gonna call it an early night for a change.”

“That would be great. Thank you.”

I followed him down the long hall until we came to a closed door. There was one of those nameplate holders on the door, but the name had been slipped out.

Bennett nodded his head toward it. “I’ll call down to purchasing and get them to order you a new sign for your office before I go tonight.”

Well, that was nice of him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so awkward between us after all.

“Thank you.”

He smiled and opened the door, stepping aside for me to enter first. “No problem. Here you go. Home sweet home.”

I took a step in, just as Bennett flicked on the lights.

What the hell?

The room had a folding table and a chair set up, but it was definitely not an office. It was a small supply closet at best—and not even the nice kind with organized chrome shelves where office supplies were stored. This was a janitor’s closet, one that smelled like bathroom cleaner and day-old, musty water, most likely because of the yellow bucket and wet mop sitting beside my new makeshift desk.

I turned to Bennett. “You expect me to work in here? Like this?”

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “Well, you’ll also be needing paper, of course.”

My brow furrowed. Is he joking?

Reaching into his pocket, he walked to the folding table and slapped a lone piece of paper down at the center of it. Turning to exit, he stopped directly in front of me and winked.

“You have a good night. I’m going to go get my car fixed now.”

Stunned, I was still standing just inside the closet when the door slammed behind him. The whoosh of air from its closing caused the paper he’d left to fly into the air. It floated for a few seconds, then settled at my feet.

I stared at it blankly at first.

Squinting as it came into focus, I realized something was written on it.

He left me a note? I bent and picked it up for a closer look.

What the hell?

The paper Bennett had left wasn’t a note at all—it was a parking ticket.

And not any parking ticket.

My parking ticket.

The same damn one I’d left on someone’s windshield this morning.

Chapter 3

* * *

Annalise

“I need a drink like you wouldn’t believe.” I pulled out a chair and looked around for a waiter before I’d even sat down.

“And here I thought you wanted to hang out with me because of my winning personality, not the free meal you get every week.”

My best friend, Madison, had the best job in the world—a food critic for the San Francisco Observer. Four nights a week, she went to a different restaurant for a meal that would eventually turn into a review. On Thursdays, I joined her. Basically she was my free meal ticket. More often than not, it was the only day I left the office before nine and the only decent meal I ate all week because of the sixty-hour workweeks I tended to put in.

A lot of good that’s done me.

The waiter walked over and extended the wine menu. Madison waved him off. “We’ll have two merlots…whatever you recommend is fine.”

The order was her standard answer, and I knew it was the first step in reviewing the restaurant’s service. She liked to evaluate what the waiter brought. Would he ask her questions about her taste so he could make a good choice? Or go for the most expensive glass on the menu for the sole purpose of maximizing his tip?

“No problem. I’ll pick something out.”

“Actually.” I held up a finger. “Can I change that order, please? Make that one merlot and one Tito’s and seltzer with lime.”

“Of course.”

Madison barely waited until the waiter was out of earshot. “Uh-oh. Vodka seltzer. What happened? Is Andrew seeing someone?”

I shook my head. “No. Worse.”

Her eyes widened. “Worse than Andrew seeing someone? You had a car accident again?”

Well, maybe I exaggerated a little. Finding out my boyfriend of eight years was dating another woman would definitely devastate me. Three months ago, he’d told me he needed a break. Not exactly the three little words I had expected him to say at the end of our night out for Valentine’s Day dinner. But I’d tried to be understanding. He’d had a lot of change over the last year—his second novel had tanked, his sixty-year-old father was diagnosed with liver cancer and died three weeks to the day after the diagnosis, and his mother decided to remarry only nine months after becoming a widow.

So I agreed to the temporary separation, even though his idea of a break was more Ross than Rachel—we were both free to see other people, if we wanted to. He’d sworn there was no one else, and it wasn’t his intention to go out and sleep around. But he also felt an agreement not to see other people would keep us tethered and not allow him the freedom he felt he needed.

And when it came to driving… I’d hated it ever since the first month I got my license because of a pretty bad accident that had turned me into a nervous driver. I’d never gotten over it. Just last year I’d had a small fender bender in a parking lot, and any of my fear that had been quelled reared its ugly head. Another accident so soon might push me over the edge.

“Maybe not as bad as that,” I said. “But it’s up there.”

“What happened? Bad first day at the new office? And here I was thinking I’d get to hear about all the hot guys at the new place of employment.”

Madison didn’t understand Andrew’s need for a break, and she’d been encouraging me to get back out in the dating world and move on.

The waiter arrived with our drinks, and Madison told him we weren’t ready to order. She asked him to give us ten minutes to decide.

I sipped my vodka. It burned going down. “Actually, there was one hot guy.”

She put her elbows on the table and rested her head atop her hands. “Details. Give me details about him. The story about your bad day can wait.”

“Well…he’s tall, has bone structure a sculptor would envy, and reeks of confidence.”

“How does he smell?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get close enough to sniff him.” I plucked the lime from the rim of my glass and squeezed the juice into my drink. “Well, that’s not true. I did. But when he was that close, we were in a supply closet, and all I could smell was cleaning supplies and musty water.” I sipped.

Madison’s eyes lit up. “You didn’t! The two of you…in the supply closet on your first day at the new office?”

“I did. But it’s not what you think.”

“Start from the beginning.”

I smirked. “Alright.”

She definitely thought this story was going to have a different ending.

“I had a trunk full of last-minute boxes with files and junk from my old office that had to be moved into the new space. I tried to find a parking spot, but there was nothing for blocks…so I parked illegally and made a few trips up to the office with my stuff. On my next-to-last trip down, there was a ticket on my windshield.”

“That sucks.”

“Tell me about it. Almost two-hundred bucks for those these days.”

“Crappy start to the day,” she said. “But it could have been worse, I suppose, with you and cars.”

I had to laugh. “Oh, it got worse. That was the best part of my day.”

“What else happened?”

“The meter maid was a few cars away from mine, still giving out tickets. I figured I’d already gotten the ticket, so I might as well finish my unloading. I carried the last of my boxes up to my new office, and when I came back downstairs, every car had a ticket to match mine. Except one. The car parked right in front of me.”

“So the car arrived after the cop left, evading the ticket?”

“Nope. I’m positive it was there before me. She just skipped that one. The reason I’m certain is that it was the same make and model Audi I have, only a newer year. The first time I passed it, I peeked inside to see if they had changed anything in the interior on the newer edition. I noticed there was a pair of driving gloves with the Porsche logo on the front seat. So I know it was the same car that had been parked there for more than an hour because the gloves were still there.”

Madison sipped her wine and scrunched up her face.

“The wine’s not good?”

“No, it’s fine. But driving gloves? Only race car drivers and pompous jerks wear driving gloves.”

I tipped my drink to her before bringing it to my lips. “Exactly! That’s exactly what I thought when I saw them. So I re-gifted my parking ticket to the pompous jerk. My car was the same make, model, and color. Why should I have been out two-hundred bucks when Mr. Porsche gloves hadn’t gotten a fine? The ticket didn’t have a name, only the make, model, and VIN number of the car, and the license plate on my carbon copy was barely legible. I figured he wouldn’t know his VIN and would probably pay it—he was parked illegally, after all.”

My best friend smiled from ear to ear. “You’re my hero.”