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Now, we’re skipping right past that. Kane just took care of it. The party favor of all party favors.

I lift one hand to my swollen lips.

Bad choice. My mouth is transported back to that closet before the rest of me is prepared.

Heat rolls through me, thoroughly inappropriate for a woman wearing Target pajama bottoms with a hole near the crotch.

I kissed him back. Enthusiastically. There was tongue participation. My hands combed through his hair… And did I moan?

Oh, God, I did, didn’t I?

I moaned.

Loudly.

Repeatedly.

If the champagne headache doesn’t kill me, the shame certainly will.

Something knocks against the front of the bakery.

I sit up too fast and nearly detach my brain stem.

“Jesus fucking holy mother goddamn shit ow.”

The knock comes again.

I have no idea who it is. Nobody should be here for another forty-five minutes.

Priya has keys. Cameron usually shows up late carrying Dunkin’ and yet another story about the R train.

I stagger out of the office, wearing my cardigan and a hangover severe enough to qualify for workers’ comp.

As I waddle through the kitchen, I pass the wine-colored dress hanging on the back of the office door on a wire hanger. Even after Kane dropped me off here at three in the morning, I was sober enough to know that if I left it on the floor, I’d never forgive myself.

Below it, on the seat of my desk chair, is the envelope containing the settlement.

We’ll come back to that later.

First, I need to see who’s trying to break down my door.

The bakery is dark except for the emergency lights over the ovens. Snow presses gray against the front windows.

A huge figure shadows the glass. At first, before my eyes clear, I get a lurch of fear in my stomach. I’m extremely grateful that Kane sent that repair guy to install the most insane lock I’ve ever seen in my life.

Then my vision resolves and I realize that no lock in the history of humanity would keep out this morning’s unexpected visitor.

Because Kane Makov is here.

He looks offensively put together. I’m basically a cave troll, but he’s bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wearing a clean black suit with a black shirt underneath, a rose gold chain looped around his throat, and matching rings.

I unlock the door. “Do you know what time it is?”

“I own a watch, so, yes.”

“Okay, good. Follow-up question: Do you not sleep? Wait, wait, let me guess: You’re one of those ‘sleep is for the weak’ macho men, aren’t you?”

He suppresses a smile. “You don’t make a billion dollars before thirty by staying cozy in your bed.”