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I’m scrolling when I see it.

My eyes narrow. Who the fuck is that?

I tap the picture. Then immediately wonder why the hell I care.

He’s tall. Good-looking. Has his arm around her like it belongs there.

I read the caption.

Happy birthday to my favorite cousin.

My shoulders relax.

Jesus Christ.

I lock my phone and stare at the TV, pretending to watch it.

Thirty seconds later, I unlock it again.

15

CALLIE

I’ve read the same caption seven times.

It’s fourteen words. This shouldn’t be that difficult. I wrote the damn thing, after all.

But somewhere between preorder now and available November twenty-third, my brain replaces the hero’s face with Roman’s. Again.

I groan and drop my forehead onto my desk. “This is ridiculous.”

Mr. Pickles looks up at me from the chair beside my desk. I'm watching him for Ivy while she and Sebastian deal with renovations to their house.

“Don’t judge me.”

He blinks.

“It’s been eleven days since he disappeared.”

His tail twitches.

Eleven days of searching half of Hollow Creek for a six-foot-four emotionally unavailable man with murder in his eyes.

Nothing. Not one sighting.

Hot Hitman has vanished.

I lift my head, square my shoulders, and focus.

I don’t get distracted when I’m working. Ever.

Violet calls me obsessive about deadlines. She’s not wrong.

Clients trust me with their businesses. I've worked through vacations, migraines, and Violet's full-blown crisis three hours before a launch.

I don’t miss deadlines.

Especially not because some man gave me multiple orgasms before disappearing.