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twenty-five-percent of the first box? I’m going to be scanning and filing for weeks.
    But this is real life. And I’m an adult – a realistic adult – and I’m going to do what I have to do.
    Besides, if I’m lucky, one of these days I might have the chance to rub elbows with the powers that be, and they might realize Maren Greene, temp, is a whole hell of a lot more competent than Keegan What’s-Her-Name, HR Director.

Chapter 6
    D ante

    “ Y ou should’ve told me your place was being renovated.” My younger brother, Cristiano, stands outside my hotel room at Noir, a loaded duffel bag hanging from his shoulders. “How goes it, fratellone ?”
    “Cristiano, good to see you. Looking well traveled these days.” I lean in, giving my kid brother a one-armed hug. “Come on in, kid. Kick your feet up. You want a drink?”
    He spent the better part of this year backpacking through various parts of the world after finishing law school and deciding then and there that he didn’t want to be an attorney after all.
    “Still taking Fridays off, I see,” my brother teases, dropping his bag at my feet and moving toward the mini bar to help himself. His hair is longer than it was the last time I saw him, and his skin is a darker shade of bronze than the one he was born with.
    “Still couch surfing, I see.”
    “Touché. It’s the best way to see the world,” he says, uncapping a tiny bottle of whiskey and lifting it to his nose. “Whew. Strong stuff.”
    I hook a thumb over my shoulder, pointing toward the door. “I’m on my way to the gym. Meeting a guy for racquetball. You want to come?”
    Cristiano shakes his head and kicks off his dusty sneakers, climbing into my bed and slipping his hands beneath his head. “Nah. I’m going to stay here for a bit. Relax. Maybe take a nap on a real bed. Been traveling all day. Want to go out later?”
    “Yeah.” I grab my wallet and keys from the valet on the dresser and check my phone for the fifteenth time today. “We can do that.”
    I keep getting this urge to text Maren back. To keep it going. To pick up where we left off. But part of me thinks that ship has sailed. Opportunity knocked and Maren answered with a resounding “No.”
    Honestly, I don’t know what happened next.
    The truth is anything could’ve happened next.
    We’ll never know.
    A few minutes later, I’m standing in front of Hotel Noir dressed for the gym, under the midnight-black awning and waiting for the valet driver to come around with my car. I’m not normally a fan of valet, but parking in downtown Seattle is a pain, and it’s a complimentary service so I’ll make an exception.
    The driver parks my car in front of the valet stand, and I slip him a tip before climbing into the driver’s seat. My phone buzzes in the moments before I’m about to shift into drive, and my heart skips for one illogical second.
    YOU COMING OR WHAT?
    It’s from my racquetball partner, Ridley.
    Of course it is.
    I scoff at myself. No, I laugh. It’s quite humorous that I’d even assume for a fraction of a second that Maren might be texting me again. What reason would she have? I blew her off like a jackass who just had to get the last word in.
    I text Ridley that I’m on my way, pull out of the parking lot, and veer west. I need a good solid hour of sweating and grunting and hitting balls – which sounds dirty – but some of my most favorite things in the world involve getting sweaty and breathless, even if it’s not in a sexual way. There’s something about pushing yourself that cleanses the body and spirit. that, I’m going to come home, hit the shower, and then go out for drinks with the kid brother I only see once a year. If I play my cards right, I might not think about Maren the rest of today.
    For some insane reason, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head all day.
    But it needs to stop.
    Now.
    There’s no good reason for her to be there taking up valuable space when she wants nothing to do