They’re yours. I don’t want to hear any shit about it either. Take ‘em. Use ‘em. Or return ‘em and get what you like. And I texted Heather for your sizes. Hope everything fits.

The man was possibly, certifiably insane.

I found the card taped to one of the Neiman Marcus boxes while I brought the smaller boxes up to the bedroom. I doubted it was his handwriting, but I memorized it before I opened a single package. Now, it was lost beneath the massive pile of clothes on the bed…

Shopping was my favorite hobby, but I’d never been able to do this much damage in a weekend, much less in the minuscule time Kane had to do all this.

I’d opened the golf clubs first. Even if I thought he went overboard, curiosity won out on that one. Not only were they Calloways, one of their top-of-the-line models, but he was maybe crazier than I thought. Return them? I salivated over those clubs the first time I tried them in a store. There wasn’t just a bag, either. Golf balls, tees, ball markers. Visors and hats, three different pairs of shoes, towels, and club covers. There was even a cute necklace with a magnetic ball marker attached to it. An umbrella, which made me laugh considering we were in the desert. Every possible accessory I could ever use and some I probably never would were stacked on the floor next to the bed, and none of that included the clothes.

Pretty sure the call Kane made went something like, “Yeah, I got a size 10 woman who loves to golf and swim and play tennis. I need four of everything in your store in her size. Yep. Every fucking item of clothing you have. Pants, skirts, shorts, long sleeves, sweats, short sleeves, tanks, sports bras, you name it I want it.”

Hopefully the workers were paid on commission. Kane probably made their yearly salary with a phone call.

It was way too much, in both generosity and amount.

I wouldn’t wear all these clothes over the course of a year. At least he wouldn’t be pissed if I returned some. Or most of them. Who in the hell needed sweatpants and sweatshirts in Vegas when it was still over a hundred degrees outside?

Not this girl.

On the other hand… the pile of clothes was tempting. Grabbing the first golf dress I saw, I riffled through the pile to find the matching shorts that went beneath with pockets and small slits for tees to slide into. Perfect for a golf course with a dress code, which I assumed his had, the dress had a flip collar, modest V-neck, and thick shoulder sleeves. It’d be perfect for playing tennis, too. Minty green in color, I figured it’d look good on me, so I tore off the tank top and shorts I’d climbed into after my shower and pulled on the dress. And…

“Holy crap,” I whispered and hurried to the attached bathroom. It felt like silk on my skin, cool, and even though it was skintight, it didn’t feel clingy or like it’d suction to me once I got hot in the sun. I tugged at it and swiveled back and forth in the mirror. “I could live in this thing.”