Sawyer might be a womanizer, and he might even be an asshole most of the time, but he had no problem with transparency. Kept at arm’s length, Sawyer could actually be an asset and maybe even a friend.

I pointed to the kitchen. “Let’s start there.”

Chapter Seven

I WOKE UP TO A NEARLY CLEAN BEDROOM. All my clothes were either hanging in the closet or folded and put away in the dresser drawers. Sawyer and I had managed to unpack every box and even clean up most of our mess—aside from some packing nuts and empty boxes that we’d torn down and stacked by the front door.

Wearing a gray sweatshirt and navy lounge pants, I wrapped my fuzzy white robe around me and then opened my bedroom door, looking out into the kitchen and living room. They were one in the same, separated only by the kitchen counter that doubled as an island and possibly a breakfast bar.

My condo was small, but I didn’t need much room. The thought of having a whole space to myself made me want to take in a deep breath and spin around like Maria in The Sound of Music—until I remembered that I wasn’t alone.

Sawyer was lying on my couch, still asleep. We’d blazed through two and a half bottles of wine before he passed out. One of his arms was draped over his face, covering his eyes. One socked foot was on the floor, likely to keep the room from spinning. I smiled. Even drunk, he’d kept his promise not to make a pass at me, and he’d earned an infinite amount of respect by the time I left him on the couch for my room.

Poking through my pathetically stocked cabinets, I was trying to find something to eat that wouldn’t offend my hangover. Just as I reached up for the box of saltine crackers, someone knocked on the door.

I padded over in my pink-and-white gingham slippers—a Christmas present from my mother the year before. Damn, I thought. Need to call her today.

Releasing the chain lock and dead bolt, I turned the knob and peeked through the crack in the door.

“Thomas,” I said, surprised.

“Hey. I’m sorry for ditching you last night.”

“You didn’t ditch me.”

“You’re just waking up?” he said, his eyes pouring over my robe.

I pulled the belt tighter. “Yeah. I kept the party going while I unpacked.”

“Need some help?” he asked.

“No, I’m finished.”

His eyes danced around a bit, his investigator senses kicking in. I’d seen that expression so many times before.

“You finished all that unpacking by yourself?”

My hesitation to answer prompted him to touch his hand to the door and slowly push it open.

His anger was instant. “What the fuck is he doing here?”