Now she felt bad. “I didn’t . . . I mean—”

“I wouldn’t expect you to get me anything. If that’s what you were about to say.”

She sighed. “I guess that means you’re in town.”

“Yup. Just did a Home Depot run and was about to get dirty.”

“Doing what?”

“Scraping off the popcorn ceilings.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yup,” he said. “They’re nasty and stained. I think the owner smoked.”

She hadn’t noticed. “Seems like a lot of effort for a place you’re going to eventually tear down.”

“It’s honest work and I could use the exercise.”

“You don’t appear unfit.”

“Checking me out, are you?”

She grinned. “Maybe.”

“I like that. So, what do you say? I can stop by later?”

“Tell ya what. I’ll come to you. Five thirty?”

“I’ll be here.”

They said their goodbyes, and Grace smiled at the phone.

A noise outside her door had her looking up.

Richard walked by and stared as he did.

Her breath caught. How much had he heard?

She ignored the pounding in her chest and ducked back to the work in front of her.

The last task of her day was finishing up her expense report for the month. She sent the file through the office e-mail system to Richard’s desk. They were always due before the first, and he preferred them early.

Grace shut down her computer and tucked her files away with the next morning’s workload on top.

Most of the staff that had shown up had left early or were walking out as she closed her office door behind her.

Three steps later she heard her name.

“Hudson.”

She paused, gritted her teeth, and turned toward her boss. “Yes?”

“A word?” He stood in his office doorway and motioned for her to come in.

What now?

“Close the door,” he said as she walked in.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

He sat behind his desk and motioned to the chair.

“Can this wait for tomorrow? I have somewhere to be.” And as she saw it, he had all day to ask for a meeting instead of 5:01 in the afternoon.

“This won’t take long.”

She sat with her purse in her lap.

“I received your expense report for December.” He looked at her like he had a problem.

“Okay.”

“It’s a bit extravagant, don’t you think?”

“Extravagant? What do you mean?”

“Your mileage is up fifteen percent from last month. You logged in overtime that wasn’t approved.”

Was he really bitching about the mileage on her car? “Every mile is accounted for. You added to my caseload twice this month, and field meetings were necessary. And if you’re talking about the late request for me to meet Mr. Sokolov—”

“You’re on salary. Overtime needs approval.”

“You sent me at the end of the day.”

“Then you should have come in late the next day, not request overtime compensation.”

She bit her lip to keep the profanity she wanted to spew inside her head. Grace glanced at the clock in the room. “So you’d like me to come in ten minutes late tomorrow to make up for today?”

He handed her the expense report. “I expect a revised version of this tomorrow.”

It took all her willpower to gently take the report from him and stand without storming off.

In her car, Grace gripped the steering wheel and called Richard every name in the book. It took five minutes for her to calm down enough to pull out of the parking lot.

Halfway home, she remembered that she had an impromptu date with Dameon. She cussed Richard again and pulled a U-turn.

She stopped at the home improvement store on her way and picked up a welcome mat as a last-minute gift before texting Dameon to tell him she’d be a little late.

By the time she pulled into the dark driveway and parked behind his truck, it was almost six.

The porch light brightened her path, and Dameon stood in the open doorway wearing jeans, a sweater, and a smile.

Just looking at him pushed away the anger that simmered in her blood. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said as she walked up. Their eyes met and his smile fell. “Someone is stressed.”

She didn’t bother denying it. “My boss is a dick.”

“I have vodka.”

She wanted to weep. “God, I love you. Yes and please.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized what they were.

Dameon, on the other hand, took them in. “I could get used to that.”

Grace brushed it off. “Don’t let it go to your head, Locke . . . that’s the vodka I’m talking to.”

He laughed, and Grace sighed in relief that he bought her excuse as they walked in the house.

The first thing she noticed was the warmth.

The fireplace crackled and popped and a three-foot Christmas tree sat in one corner of the room. Tiny lights illuminated the branches, and glass bulbs dangled from its limbs.

“When did you have time to do this?”

“Last week.” Dameon closed the door behind her. “I thought about what you said about fireplaces and Christmas trees and felt inspired.”

The grandma couch had been moved to the center of the room, and from the looks of it, cleaned. A tablecloth covered something that worked as a coffee table in front of it. The out-of-date track lighting brightened the corners of the room that the fire and tree didn’t reach.

“I’m not sure how you managed to make a room cozy with one couch, but you did.” She placed the bag in her hand down by the tree and turned to find Dameon looking at her.

“I’m glad you like it.”

She dropped her purse on the sofa and shrugged to remove her coat.

Dameon was there to help.

“About that—” Grace swallowed the word drink when Dameon turned her around and lowered his lips to hers.

He was as warm as the fire and tasted faintly like whiskey. Maybe it was the scent of pine and firewood, but Dameon felt one hundred percent man. She’d kissed enough boys to know the difference.

She closed her eyes and settled into the moment.

His arms closed her in and she grasped his sweater, enjoyed the feeling of his chest under her hands. His tongue swept briefly at her lips before playing with hers.

She was pretty sure she moaned.

Like before, he broke it off before she forgot where she was.

The more he did that, the more she wanted to forget. “Hello to you, too,” she said.

Dameon wiped his thumb over her bottom lip. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Oh, she was hungry all right. That’s when she smelled it.

“I’m warming up. I wouldn’t call it cooking.”

It smelled familiar. “Roast?”

He led her into the kitchen. He’d brought in two barstools and a small dinette set. “Sit. Tell me about your day.”

Grace followed his advice and watched as he moved around the out-of-date kitchen. “My boss is a dick.”

He laughed. “You already mentioned that.”