At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)

I ignore her as I continue making a mess of my kitchen, dumping an entire canister of confectioner’s sugar in the middle of the floor, mesmerized by the way the fluffy powder puffs up in a white cloud as it flutters to the ground.

“I’m making foot snow angels in powdered sugar on our Italian porcelain-tile floor that cost eighty-two dollars a square foot, and I’m pretty sure I just nicked half of them. Brian would be so mad right now,” I tell her with a giggle. “This is what rock bottom looks like, Ariel.”

“It’s not rock bottom unless you get down on your knees and start snorting that shit,” she replies. “Fuck. Do NOT get down on your knees and start snorting that shit, Cindy. At least not until I get there with a fully charged cell phone battery so I can record it.”

Grabbing one of the dirty dishes from the sink, I lift it above my head and then hurl it across the room, watching it smack against the far wall and shatter into a million pieces.

“OPA!” I shout.

“Sweet Jesus, you’re not Greek. You’re a WASPy woman losing her shit. At least scream some obscenities, so I can be proud to know you,” Ariel sighs.

The chiming of the doorbell makes me freeze with my hand hovering over the sink, fully prepared to grab another plate and launch it against the wall. Still holding the phone to my ear, I hustle through the kitchen and into the foyer.

“I told you not to come over. I’m fine,” I complain to Ariel, looking back over my shoulder at the mess of my kitchen, realizing I’m really not all that fine, but at least my hands are no longer shaking, and I don’t feel so angry and ashamed.

The doorbell chimes again as I turn my head away from the kitchen doorway and reach for the door handle.

“Uh, I didn’t come over,” Ariel says as I fling open the front door.

My eyes widen in shock and the phone slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor.

“Is this a bad time?” PJ asks with a raise of his eyebrows as he looks me over from head to toe.

I don’t even need to look in the mirror hanging on the foyer wall next to me to know what he’s looking at right now. I’m still wearing the navy-and-white tweed suit from Ann Taylor that he saw me in at the club earlier, minus the jacket. The white, button-down silk blouse I wore under the jacket is sticking to me like a second skin after all the sweating I did during my kitchen tirade, and it’s now a wrinkled mess. My previously neat-and-tidy bun has come loose, and out of the corner of my eyes I can see strands of hair falling down around my face and sticking out all over the place, not to mention the powdered sugar that currently coats both my feet and goes halfway up my bare legs.

“Hello?” PJ speaks again, waving his hand in front of my face, since I’m just standing in my doorway staring at him with my mouth wide open, unable to move or speak.

Of course he still looks as good as he did when I saw him at the club. He’s still wearing the same jeans and dress shirt, not a wrinkle or sweat stain in sight. “Do you need to finish that call?”

He points to the phone I dropped, and the sound of his voice pulls me out of my shocked daze. I quickly squat and grab the phone, cutting off Ariel’s shouting and screaming as soon as I bring it back up to my ear.

“PJ’s here, I have to go. I’ll call you back later. Don’t come over,” I speak in a rush as I stand back up, my eyes landing on his gorgeous blue ones, drilling a hole right through me with the way he’s quietly studying me.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING M—”

I end the call in the middle of Ariel’s disbelieving shout and toss my phone onto the foyer table, crossing my arms in front of me as I take a few deep breaths and concentrate on not being embarrassed that this man is seeing me at my absolute worst.

“Go home to your husbands and bake something. Find another hobby to fill up your bored little lives, and get out of my club.”

The last words he said to me at the club before he stormed away play on a loop in my head until I forget all about being embarrassed and move right on to anger.

“What are you doing here?” I ask in annoyance, not caring one bit about manners or inviting him in with a polite smile. The time for niceties is long gone.

“I thought we should talk. I called John and had him look out his front window to see if you were home,” he replies with a shrug and a sheepish smile that I refuse to think is in any way adorable.