Chapter 1
Paige Parker did not need a man.
She’d just told her assistant as much, but that didn’t stop him from swiping through the photos he’d prescreened for her on some app that promised to find a date for even the loneliest of spinsters. Okay, maybe they didn’t word it exactly like that. But the home page featured a slightly overweight woman, typing on her computer while a cat sat perched on her lap. If Paige hadn’t known better, she’d have thought they snuck into her apartment to take the photo. Even the woman’s hair color was the same shade of auburn as hers. Of course, she would never have seen the site if it weren’t for her assistant, let alone opened an account. One of the hazards of having an employee with access to your driver’s license and credit card who also happened to be your meddling, though well-intentioned, best friend.
Speak of the devil…
He said nothing in reply to her proclamation. Instead, he merely pursed his lips into a frown.
“Present company excluded,” she added. And it was true. If there was anything or anyone Paige couldn’t live without, it was Samuel Lee, her assistant since the first day she’d opened Chaos Control. Although she hated to admit it, her dream of running a successful life-organization company would never have been possible without his hard work and dedication. If only he would stop trying to apply those same skills to resuscitating her long-dead social life.
Sammy sat a little taller in his chair.
“While I appreciate the exception, what if you wanted a man with more to offer than an uncanny ability to anticipate your every need? What if you wanted a little S-E-X?” He cocked his head to one side so dramatically, his jet-black hair would have fallen across his forehead had it not been gelled to perfection. “Come to think of it, that talent would be quite handy in the bedroom. But don’t be getting any ideas.” He waved his hand in the air as if to wipe the thought from her head. “This handsome exception plays for the other team.” He tapped a few images, then swiped right. “Which leaves Mr. Rochester as the only other long-term relationship in your life, and last time I checked, dating your cat is frowned upon in most states.”
“Thanks for clarifying.” Paige rolled her eyes even though she knew he wouldn’t see. He was far too busy humming over the next batch of men who had appeared on the screen.
“Well?” he said without looking up.
“I can have meaningless sex without being in a relationship. Men do it all the time.” Except she wasn’t. And she hadn’t. Not for a long time.
He laughed a little too hard for her liking. “Right. And how’s that working out for you?”
She straightened. “Fine.”
“Fine?” Sammy knew the long hours she put in at the office, which didn’t leave much time for life’s more, um, carnal pleasures. Not unless she wanted a quickie at midnight, and to be honest, most nights she just wanted her fuzzy slippers and a glass of wine. Still, she didn’t need him to shine a light on it.
Paige picked a nonexistent piece of lint off the sleeve of her ivory silk blouse. “Yes. Fine.”
“What if you want more than fine? What if instead of a glass of wine and a tub of ice cream, you wanted a big O?”
She felt a warm flush creep across her cheeks. What in the world was wrong with her? It wasn’t like she was a teenager. She was thirty flipping years old, and her assistant had made her blush just referencing an orgasm.
He grew serious, and all at once she knew what was coming.
“What if you wanted a family?”
“I don’t,” she said matter-of-factly. Why was it that people assumed every woman in her thirties was pining for kids? Was it so hard to believe that someone was happy with her work and her friends? Not that she had time for many of those, come to think of it. But she had her career and Mr. Rochester, and he was always happy to see her. Well, mostly. In fact, usually only if he was hungry, but still.
“Hypothetically, what if you did? Those eggs aren’t getting any younger, you know.”
She frowned. Lack of desire to trade in her pencil skirts for mom jeans aside, no woman liked to be reminded of her ticking clock. Ever since her birthday, it had rolled around in her brain like a grenade with the pin pulled out. Even if she felt no urge to use her ovaries, the thought of them shriveling up into prunes wasn’t a pleasant one. There was still plenty of time to change her mind, and if she was suddenly hit with an inexplicable change of heart, she didn’t need a man to procreate. Well, she did, but not in the way Sammy was implying. “Hypothetically,” she said, leveling the full weight of her I’m-a-badass-businesswoman stare at him, “I could go to a sperm bank.”
He raised one brow. “Uptight much?”
“I just don’t need to be harassed into a dating life I neither want nor need.” It wasn’t like she didn’t know what she was missing. She’d had all that and more. Hell, three years ago she’d even had a ring and a wedding date. But then she came home early one night to find her boss/best friend riding her betrothed like a bronco at the state fair. It was one of those moments in life where you can either wither up and die or come out swinging. Paige chose the latter. She tossed him out, quit her job, opened her own company, and never looked back. Problem was, she never slowed down either.
“What you need is a vacation. Someplace where you can let your hair down out of that supertight bun and cut loose a little.”
Cutting loose was not in Paige’s vocabulary. Order and control were the keys to happiness. They were the principles that had guided her through life and the ones that led her to becoming a certified organization professional.
“You do realize my entire existence is about the opposite?” She glanced around her immaculate office. From the bleached oak floors to the white, midcentury-modern sofa to the glossy white filing cabinets lining the wall beneath rows of glass shelves, everything was clean lines and clean space. Not that she didn’t enjoy color and texture. Colorful blown glass dotted the shelves, and strategically placed throw pillows in various hues of red flanked both ends of the couch. But the overall look was simple. She had certainly worked with clients who preferred things a bit more shabby chic, but when it came to her own personal taste, the expression “Less is more” fit her to a T. Less clutter, less hoarding, less crap.
She reached for the mug of tea sitting on a coaster atop her desk. Like the rest of her furniture, the desk was minimalist in design, comprised only of a single piece of beveled-edge glass supported by polished chrome legs. Some might say it was impractical, but it suited her just fine. Drawers served as a means to stash items that really didn’t need to be that accessible. Her desk was a place for action items, not to stockpile Post-it notes and paper clips.
“Oh!” Sammy’s exuberance should have served as a warning, but to be honest, nothing could have prepared Paige for what came out of his mouth next. “I once read this book where a woman went to a secret sex island.”