In the morning, she would spend an hour working on the puzzle of the key. Then she would dress, very carefully, very professionally. A suit, she decided. The dove gray with the white shell. No, no, the red. Yes, the red suit. Powerful and professional.

She raced to the closet, scanned her wardrobe, which was arranged precisely according to function and color. With the red suit in hand, she danced back to the mirror, held it in front of her.

“James,” she began, trying out a sympathetic yet aloof expression, “I’m so sorry to hear that The Gallery is going to hell in a handbasket without me. Come back? Well, I don’t know if that’s possible. I have several other offers. Oh, please, please, don’t grovel. It’s embarrassing.”

She fluffed her hair. “Yes, I know Pamela is the devil. We all know that. Well, I suppose if things are that bad, I’ll have to help you out. Now, now, don’t cry. Everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be perfect again. Just as it should be.”

She snickered and, pleased that all would soon be right with her world again, turned away to prepare for bed.

She undressed and lectured herself into putting her clothes away instead of just throwing them around the room. When she heard the knock on her front door, she was wearing only a white silk sleep shirt. Assuming it was one of her friends who’d forgotten something, she turned off the locks and opened the door.

And blinked at a grim-faced Flynn.

“I want to talk to you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” she responded, trying to enunciate each word instead of slurring them together.

“We need to work this out if we’re going to . . .” He took a good look at her, the wonderfully tumbled hair, the glowing face, the slim curves under clingy white silk. And the vague and glassy look of her eyes.

“What? You’re drunk?”

“I’m only half drunk, which is completely my business and my right. Your sister is fully drunk, but you’ve no cause for concern as Zoe, who is not in any way drunk, is driving her home.”

“It takes countless beers or an entire bottle of wine to get Dana completely drunk.”

“That seems to be correct, and in this case it was wine. Now that we’ve established that, I’ll remind you I’m only half drunk. Come in and take advantage of me.”

He let out what might’ve been a laugh and decided the best place for his hands—well, not the best but the smartest—was his pockets. “That’s a delightful invitation, sweetie, but—”

She solved the problem by gripping his shirt firmly and giving a good yank. “Come on in,” she repeated, then fixed her mouth on his.

Chapter Eleven

FLYNN found himself shoved back against the door, tripping over his own feet as it swung shut behind him. Most of the blood had drained out of his head by the time she’d gone to work on his throat with lips and teeth.