A beat of silence. “Well, okay, just me. Mom and Dad loved James. And Gray says he’s ‘upstanding,’ although if that’s not a condemnation, then I don’t know what is.”

“Yeah, it’s really upstanding to leave your girlfriend for another woman,” Brynn grumbled.

“I am sorry about that part,” Sophie said in a softer voice. “That must have stung.”

“Yeah. But…not as much as you might think, you know? Mostly I just can’t figure out why he went for someone so completely wrong for him. This woman’s a total train wreck. I mean, he won’t even let people drink water in his car, and this woman has fruit punch in a flask.”

“Fruit punch? Who let her out of the penitentiary?”

Brynn wandered over to the window. “You know what I mean. They just don’t…match.”

“That’s the way it works sometimes, Dalton. But that doesn’t mean that you cut out your family.”

“I know,” Brynn said, her eyes inadvertently scanning the windows in Will’s house for any sign of movement. “I’m sorry. Drinks on Friday?”

“Definitely. I’ll come over there since you live in a boy-free zone.”

Not as boy-free as you might think.

For a crushing second, Brynn had the urge to tell Sophie everything. And by everything, she meant Will. About that night three years ago. About the multiple nights recently. But, most important, about the nights that weren’t about sex and that weren’t about fighting.

But there was always the risk that Soph would slip up and say something disastrous to Will that would give him the wrong idea and send him running. Some things were simply destined to be secrets. She and Will were one of them.

Realizing that staring at his windows wouldn’t reveal anything going on inside Will’s head, she started to turn away from the window when her eye caught on movement in his driveway. Brynn frowned at the unfamiliar vehicle. She didn’t know the first thing about cars, but this one was dark red and unremarkable. Rental-car variety.

It definitely wasn’t Will’s car and neither was it a delivery truck. Will had a visitor.

Brynn made the requisite mm-hmm noise as Sophie chirped on about some gloriously cheesy dip she would bring over on Friday, but her eyes were locked on that car.

Correction. Her eyes were locked on who was getting out of the car.

Will didn’t just have a visitor. He had a gorgeous, twentysomething, leggy, big-boobed brunette visitor.

Brynn had been in enough yoga classes to know a good female butt when she saw one, and this woman had cornered the market on tight and curvy. The slim gray pencil skirt and fuck-me heels didn’t hurt either.

The woman moved toward the trunk of the car, and Brynn shifted to the other window to get a better view, just like any stalker worth her salt would do.

Brynn’s jaw dropped.

The woman had a suitcase.

“Soph, I gotta go,” Brynn said abruptly.

“Um, okay?”

“Sorry, I’ll call you later. Actually, I probably won’t. But come over around seven on Friday.”

“But, Brynn—”

Brynn hung up, tossing the phone on her perfectly made bed before dashing to the closet. She didn’t know what the plan was, but when she did figure it out, she needed to look…well, better.

For the first time since the start of her whole identity crisis, Brynn felt totally at a loss as to what to wear. On one side of the closet she had her massive collection of old-Brynn clothes. Classic cuts, cardigans. Lots of taupe.

On the other side of the closet was her smaller collection of off-the-deep-end attire. The leather pants. A skirt that looked like ripped ribbons. A bustier that could have qualified as another layer of epidermis. She chewed her lip and slowly eyed one option after the next.

Compared to Will’s supermodel houseguest, she’d either look like a teenager going through a “phase,” or Pollyanna.

Worst of all, she wasn’t even sure that it mattered. He’d stopped calling even before the brunette had shown up.

Letting out a growl of frustration, Brynn grabbed a pair of tennis shoes and stormed out of the walk-in closet.

The ratty shorts and T-shirt she was wearing were fine. Will Thatcher didn’t deserve anything better.

Halfway through tying the laces on the second shoe, Brynn’s fingers faltered. What business did she have charging over there? She certainly hadn’t been invited. And she didn’t technically have a reason to go over.

What’s the plan, Brynn?

The smart option was to let him be. He’d moved on to the next piece of ass, exactly as she’d known he would. Exactly as she’d hoped he would. Eventually.

And yet…

Brynn gave a slow smile as a plan began to formulate.

It was time to give Will Thatcher some of his own medicine.

* * *

“What can I get you?” Will asked. “Water? Iced tea? Beer?”

“Water for now,” Jenna said, plopping onto his bar stool and pulling her long dark hair into a messy ponytail. “Planes always dry me out.”

Will poured a glass of water for Jenna before helping himself to a beer. Sure, it was barely past noon on a Sunday, but when dealing with Brynn Dalton—or in his case, not dealing with her—a few vices were allowed.

“Rough day?” Jenna asked, jerking a chin at the beer.

“Rough week,” Will said, taking the stool next to her. “But you didn’t fly across the country to hear about me.”

He gave her what he thought was a winning smile, but Jenna leveled him with a direct gray stare. “It’s like I told you that weekend in New York. Don’t even try to use your charms on me. I have no qualms about crushing your balls if you annoy me.”

“Ah, I’d forgotten. No charm, then,” he agreed. This is what he liked about Jenna. She was reliably bullshit-free. She didn’t dish it out, didn’t accept it.

She was the poster child for what you see is what you get.

And what he was seeing was a whole lot of hotness. It had surprised him not at all when he’d learned that Jenna had spent a few years as a model, followed by a lounge singer, followed by any other assortment of jobs, all of which mostly required her to look good.

She should have been his dream woman.

Except she wasn’t.

“Rumor has it you’ve decided to start using your brain instead of your boobs to make a living?” Will asked, easily adapting to the candid conversation she tended to favor.

She lifted a shoulder. “Had to do a little winking and wiggling to get there, but yeah, I landed an editorial position at GQ. Mostly it’s just a lot of telling other people when their shit sucks.”

“So…your dream job.”

Jenna shot him her slow cat smile. “Precisely. What about you? Still cranking out new business ideas faster than you can crap?”

Will fidgeted with the bottle. “Taking a little break from the creative side for now. Letting the existing projects ride.”

Jenna’s gray eyes narrowed on him. “You don’t seem the type to let anything ride.”

Will hesitated. Just because they’d grabbed dinner a couple times while he was in Manhattan or she was in Boston didn’t exactly make them confidantes.

Still, a little female advice wouldn’t hurt.

Jenna let out the tiniest of sighs. “Oooooh boy. Listen, I have two brothers—one being a twin—and way too many ex-boyfriends. I know when a guy has woman troubles. Out with it.”

But before Will could open his mouth, there was god-awful noise coming from his backdoor.

“Um. Is that ‘Jingle Bells’?” Jenna asked in confusion.

Will couldn’t hide his smile, even as he told himself to be annoyed.

Apparently a certain neighbor had spotted Jenna.

“Yeah, that’s ‘Jingle Bells,’” he said. “Or at least it’s trying to be.”

“….OH WHAT FUN, IT IS TO RIDE…”

“Ignore it,” Will said, his smile turning into a full-out grin. “It’ll be more entertaining this way.”

He felt a surge of relief that he’d pulled the blinds on the glass door earlier. Brynn wouldn’t be able to see in, and it would drive her absolutely up the wall.