The Hotter You Burn (The Original Heartbreakers 2)

Indignation had struck. “Keep your example to yourself. I know where it’s been.”

He’d glowered at her. “Careful, sweetheart. You sound jealous.”

“Your mom is jealous,” she’d snapped. Like a child. But he’d called her sweetheart. What happened to her special nicknames?

Eyes narrowing, he’d flicked his tongue over an incisor. “You’re seriously going with a mom joke right now? You need to get laid, Harlow.”

She’d gasped at his crudeness.

“But here’s the good news,” he’d added. “I’m willing to help you out.”

It was the first full-on let’s-have-sex advance he’d ever made toward her, and she’d sputtered in response, “Get over yourself! You’ve been crowdsourced far too often for my taste. Besides, I told you. I want a relationship.”

“A relationship?” Beck had scoffed. “You mean extended pain and suffering?”

“Because pain and suffering is all I bring to the table?” She’d thrown her notes on his desk, gathered her letters and lunch and stomped out of the office. And okay, yes, she’d abandoned ship at midpoint her first day on the job. Not exactly appropriate employee behavior. She sucked as bad as Beck.

The whole way home, she’d wondered why she’d been so upset with him. He’d done nothing wrong. Not really. He was her boss. Her friend. The only friend she had. They weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, and she had no right to castigate him for his life choices, no matter how bad they were.

Her fingers twitched, and suddenly she ached to pick up a brush, to pour her emotions into her art. In the past, no matter her riotous state of mind, the task of creating something from nothing had soothed her. But she had no supplies. Only pen and paper. The papers on which she’d written her letters to West. Whatever. They would do.

She sat at the kitchenette, flipped a page to its blank side, and grabbed a pen. As she allowed her imagination to guide her, she wasn’t sure what she was drawing...until she recognized the square curve of Beck’s jaw.

Made sense, she supposed. He was a beautiful subject and in the past few days—despite her better judgment—he’d taken over her thoughts and utterly consumed her desires.

When she finished, she surveyed her handiwork with a critical eye. Not to pat herself on the back, but yeah, she was totally going to pat herself on the back. She’d nailed every detail. From the fall of his hair, to the arch of his brow, to the fiery, determined expression he revealed whenever his affability was stripped away.

A knock sounded at her door, startling her. She jolted upright, thrusting the incriminating picture behind her back.

“Harlow?” Brook Lynn called. “You in there?”

Not Beck, she realized, releasing a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. I’m not disappointed.

“Just a minute.” She stuffed the picture in a cabinet and hurried to the door, opening it to sunlight—and more than just Brook Lynn. Jessie Kay and Daphne, the woman Jase used to date, flanked the girl’s sides. All three women held multiple bags of...clothing?

“Hobo chic might be good for a Saturday-night barbecue, or not—yeah, probably not—but it definitely isn’t good for the office.” Jessie Kay pushed her way inside, forcing Harlow to back up or be mowed down. “It’s time for a makeover, Dillon style.”

Hobo chic? I’ll cut a bitch!

Whoa. Calm down. Why was she so defensive? Jessie Kay was right. The only way Harlow would be further from office-appropriate would be if she took Beck’s suggestion and showed more skin.

Wait. Backtracking. They’d come to help her?

Harlow flattened a hand over her heart, touched in a way she wasn’t sure she could articulate.

The others followed Jessie Kay in.

“Beck told us not to go inside,” Brook Lynn said to her sister. “To just hand over the clothes and leave.”

“Beck ain’t my boss. Not that he couldn’t be for the discount price of a million dollars a year.”

“That’s quite some discount,” Daphne said. “Last week it was two million.”

“Economy,” Jessie Kay said, as if the single word explained everything. “By the way.” She focused on Harlow with laser-sharp intensity. “Dillon style means by force if necessary, so do yourself a favor and get to moving.”

Brook Lynn hit her sister on the arm. “Rude!”

“The way she’s keeping us waiting?” Jessie Kay said with a nod. “I know.”

The disdain Harlow heard caused her spine to stiffen. The trio might be here to help her, but they weren’t here willingly. “If you’re going to insult me,” she said, a little of her old spirit returning, “you can leave.”

“We’re not here to cause trouble, I promise.” Daphne, a beautiful brunette with kind eyes and a welcoming demeanor, smiled at her. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m—”

“Oh, I know who you are.” The mother of Jase’s nine-year-old daughter. For weeks, all anyone in town had talked about was how she’d run out on Jase without telling him she was pregnant, how he’d only found out about his child recently. But Daphne had since done everything she could to right the wrongs of her past, and she’d succeeded, which was why Harlow admired her. “I’m happy to meet you. And, uh, was Beck the one who picked the clothing you brought?” Would she find nothing but bras and panties in the bags?