Page 3 of No Headlines Please

Yeah, right. I couldn't even afford a basic black coffee.

But honestly, this wasn't my fault. Just today, I'd discovered that my previously healthy bank account had been drained while I wasn't looking.

Worst of all, I knew exactly who'd done it.

Long story there.

Regardless, the surprise withdrawal had triggered a whole cascade of financial doom, leaving me with no cash, no working credit cards, and enough anger to ruin Thanksgiving.

Again.

But right now, Thanksgiving was months away, and I was still trapped between two strangers – a guy brandishing a six-pack and another sporting a six-pack under his shirt.

I didn't need to see it to know it was there.

But forget his abs. I was still standing here with exactly zero dollars and no easy escape. I hitched the hydrangea higher and gave Suit Guy a pleading look. "Look, I really am sorry. I just…this wasn't supposed to happen."

I hesitated. Maybe I could fix it? Letting the suitcase rest against my leg, I reached out and brushed at the front of his shirt.

The dirt smeared. My stomach growled. And behind me, the other guy cleared his throat so loud, it was a wonder he didn't hack up a bag of pretzels to go with his beer.

I refused to look, but I did stop brushing. My hand hovered uselessly in midair as I mumbled, "Nope. That's…um, worse actually."

Behind me, Beer Guy asked, "Do you mind?"

Oh, for God's sake. I glared back over my shoulder, not bothering to hide my annoyance. "Oh, I'm sorry. Was this whole situation inconvenient for you?"

There was a beat of silence before he replied, "Yeah." His eyebrows furrowed. "You're just noticing now?"

I opened my mouth to say something rude, but the guy actually had a point. I would be angry, too, if I were in his shoes.

I turned back to Suit Guy. "Can we just…step inside and settle this without blocking the door?"

Finally, he stepped back, giving me just enough room to clear the doorway.

With Beer Guy close on my heels, I moved forward, catching a faint, clean scent that made my stomach dip in ways that had nothing to do with hunger. Even worse, the scent was coming from him – the guy I'd just assaulted.

Terrific. He even smelled expensive, which of course made me feel even grubbier in the upscale lobby.

The space was quiet and well-kept, with a tasteful seating area off to the side. It wasn't a big seating area – just a sofa and a pair of armchairs arranged around a low coffee table.

Regardless, the whole vibe was clean and polished, like the place had standards and a full staff to keep it gleaming.

Meanwhile, my suitcase bumped and scraped as I hauled it deeper into the lobby. When I'd almost reached the coffee table, I let my suitcase thump awkwardly to the floor and turned to watch as Suit Guy moved toward me at an easy pace. And of course, he looked stupidly sexy doing it, like one of those slow-motion movie scenes where the hero looks hotter than sin just walking across a room.

He stopped just beyond arm's reach – probably to avoid getting sullied.

My gaze shifted to the petals and dirt scattered near the entrance, and I couldn't help but cringe. I would need to clean that up.

I was still eyeing the mess when Beer Guy reached the pair of elevators and called out, "Guess it's your lucky day, huh?" And then, as if to drive the point home, he lifted the six-pack in a mock toast.

I only stared. Lucky?

Not hardly.

I turned back to Suit Guy and gave his shirt a worried glance. "So…maybe you could send me the bill after you clean it?" No, that wasn't right. "I mean…after you have someone else clean it?"

Because let's be real. There was no way this guy did his own laundry.