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“Yeah, right. You need to have more crazy ideas as far as I’m concerned,” she quipped.

“Don’t start with me. I’m perfectly fine being alone. I don’t need a relationship or sex to be happy. Besides, I’ll probably never see Alexander Stone again anyway. And even if I do, he prefers tall and curvy redheads.”

In an attempt to change the subject, I told her about my internet findings on the wealthy Alexander Stone and his history with gingers.

“So, what? If anyone can persuade him to change his mind about redheads, it would be you.”

“No, Ally,” I said, a warning tone evident in my voice.

“I can just see the headlines now. ‘Ridiculously Rich Alexander Stone Chooses Chestnut Brown Over Dull Red Head.’ It could happen,” she stated matter-of-factly with a devilish smile.

“Ugh—you’re relentless!”

Through the loud noise of the pub, I heard the familiar clanking of metal on metal. I looked over my shoulder and saw William standing next to the bar tapping two spoons against his knee in time with the music, a favorite pastime for the regulars at Murphy’s. A distraction was definitely needed if I wanted Allyson to drop the subject.

“Come on—Will is playing the spoons.” I stood up, threw my napkin on the table, and grabbed her hand.

The subject was bound to come up again, but I was finished with it for now. The past was the past. Rehashing it never ended well. Tonight, I just wanted to have fun.

Chapter Five

Krystina

Iawoke to the sound of an alarm going off, shrill and piercing in my ears. I groaned as I reached over to shut it off, wishing I could hit the snooze button again. I had stayed out entirely too late, and I regretted giving in to Allyson’s ”just one more drink” plea.

I was exhausted.

When I had gone to bed the night before, I was sure sleep would come quickly, the effects of dancing and a little too much alcohol helping me along. Unfortunately, I had no such luck. Instead, I had tossed and turned most of the night, the sandman evading me for hours until I eventually drifted off sometime after three in the morning.

I forced myself to roll out of bed and get ready for the interview. Groggy and fuzzy with exhaustion, I shuffled into the bathroom and started the shower–full force and blistering hot.

I chanced a look in the mirror. My eyes showed little signs of rest. The dark smudges under them would be difficult to disguise with makeup, on top of trying to cover the yellowing remnants of my bruise.

I climbed into the scalding shower and leaned my head against the tiled wall. I allowed the steam to envelop me and thought about the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed me during the night.

My history with Trevor had come back to the forefront of my mind, and I cursed Allyson for bringing him up. I had tried to force the depressing memories of him from my head, only to find my thoughts slowly evolve into visions of Alexander Stone and the feelings he stirred deep inside me—feelings I didn’t want to feel and had kept buried for so long. For the first time in years, I was physically attracted to a man. It pained me to admit it, even to myself.

I got out of the shower and towel-dried my hair. I had to stop thinking about all this nonsense, especially since the probability of seeing Alexander again was slim to none.

I’m acting ridiculous. It’s time to screw my head back on and focus my energies on the interview.

Moving to my bedroom, I turned on the stereo. Music was my personal therapy. I couldn’t play an instrument—and I could barely carry a tune—but I could feel music. The right melody had the power to change my mood in an instant, and that’s exactly what I needed right now to help rein in the desolate memories and unwelcomed thoughts.

I perused my phone for the right song and finally settled on “Stompa.” The catchy toe-tapping tune was the perfect solution to get my body moving. I pressed play, closed my eyes, and allowed the singer’s deep, melodious voice to wash over me. As the song’s beat began to pick up, a gradual smile formed on my lips, and my head started bopping in time to the ascending bass line. Already feeling an upshift in mood, I made my way to the closet and looked for something to wear.

When I finished dressing, I spun slowly in the full-length mirror, taking in all of my five-feet-six inches. I had chosen a simple knee-length navy blue skirt and a matching suit jacket over a cream-colored blouse. Low pumps on my feet and pearl teardrop earrings for my ears completed the classic look. I had styled my hair up in a loose twist, praying it would stay put until my interview was over. My makeup was subtle, with just a hint of kohl on my eyes and a touch of pink gloss. I thought my overall appearance looked smart without seeming presumptuous.

I checked the time on my nightstand clock.

Crap!

I had taken too long to get ready, and I couldn’t be late. I needed to land this job. As it was, I’d slept in later than I had intended and didn’t leave myself any time to research Turning Stone Advertising. I was going into the interview blind.

I turned off the music, sent a silent thanks to Serena Ryder for fixing my mental state, and dashed out the door.

When I reached the main lobby of my building, Philip, the doorman, greeted me.

“Good morning, Miss Cole,” he said, his jolly face crinkling with a smile.