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Amy looked over at the wall next to her bathroom door. She remembered when she used to have 2x4 cards with self-affirmations written on them and stuck there so she would see them every morning. You’re Worthy was always the top one. She was worthy. She was worthy of taking a chance.

She stripped fast and dove into the shower.

“Damn!” She got out before she’d turned on the water and rummaged under her sink for her expensive peach shampoo and conditioner set, then she hopped back into the shower. Her bathroom was so foggy, by the time she was done, it was a wonder that she could even see the floor, let alone the mirror. Luckily, she knew how to handle her hair with her eyes closed. First the blow-dryer with the diffuser. With her blow-dryer and the good product, her hair should come out looking good.

Amy looked at her nails. They were plain and short, but that’s what she needed at the restaurant, so that’s how they’d remain. While she was blow-drying her hair, she started thinking about what she had in her wardrobe. Something that she could wear with strappy shoes, since her feet wouldn’t fit into another pair of closed-toe stilettos.

By the time she was done, Amy looked at herself in the mirror and gave herself a satisfied wave goodbye, and ran out the door to grab her Uber. She texted Ryker that she was on her way and that she would meet him in the bar. She immediately got a thumbs-up back.

He was such a guy.

“Here’s an extra five on top of the tip on the credit card,” Amy said as she handed over the bill to the driver. “Thanks for the lift.”

“Thanks, Miss.”

The doorman opened her car door for her. She stepped out and headed toward the lobby. She’d been to this bar once before. It was old-school fancy.

As soon as the lobby door closed behind her, Ryker was standing in front of her.

In a suit.

Clean shaven.

A smile that reached his eyes was on his face, a smile that touched her heart.

He held out his hands to her. She hid her disappointment as she reached out and grabbed his hands. What she really wanted was a hug.

“We have a problem,” he said as he propelled her to a comfortable bench in the lobby.

“What?”

“It’s Sunday and the bar closed two hours ago. I checked, and room service shut down an hour ago, so what would you like to do?”

Amy found it hard to meet his eyes. She was too busy looking at his hands holding hers. It felt good. His thumb was tracing circles over the top of her right hand and that little touch was sending lighting sparks throughout her body.

“Amy?” Ryker said again softly.

“I really would like to talk to you, Ryker. Someplace quiet. Preferably not a room with a bed in it.”

His eyes lit up. “I have a suite. The bed is in a totally different room than the living room. Would that work? And there’s a mini-bar. Think of it—Toblerone chocolate, a soda pop, peanuts, and a private place to talk.”

Amy laughed. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“Do you know of any restaurants that would be open at eleven o’clock on a Sunday night, besides Denny’s?”

“I vote against Denny’s,” Amy said.

“Does that mean you’re considering my suite?”

“Well, it would mean we wouldn’t have to walk far, so that would be a plus,” Amy admitted.

He looked down at her shoes. “Hell, those have to be five-inch heels, Amy. If your feet are hurting, why are you wearing them?”

“I’m short, remember? But actually, these shoes don’t hurt my feet, it was the closed-toe shoes from the restaurant that did me in. That’s why I’m wearing strappy sandals.”

Ryker shook his head. “Yeah, that chick logic totally makes sense.”

“Just go with it and stop making snarky comments.”