My first thought was Robin. If she had seen me with Grant, making out with her husband, maybe tires wouldn’t be the only thing she’d slash. Maybe the admin mistakes were intentional—an underhanded tactic to bring down my business. But throughout the rest of the baseball game she had acted nothing but normal around me—chatty with gossip, annoyingly occupied with Lucas and Collette, bursting with excitement over working together. Robin couldn’t fake happy if she tried, wearing her emotions like a scarf that either adorned her or swallowed her, which led me to eliminate her from the list.

Slashing tires seemed pretty juvenile, which put Willow under the spotlight. Plus she knew what kind of car I drove. But sweet little Willow wreaking havoc on my car didn’t sound like her at all. Plus, after Willow tracked down Ryan’s biological father, Robin had kept the poor girl on a very short leash.

Who else was there? And what had I done to deserve it? There was only one client I could think of who would have motive to get back at me. Irving was a typical grade-A asshole with unrealistic demands and a penchant for threats. After two months of working with him on his diet and exercise regimen, when he didn’t get the results he wanted and demanded a full refund, I told him where he could shove it. He didn’t like that too much and threatened legal action. Fortunately for me and unfortunately for him, my contract was pretty clear-cut . . . along with his threats of getting back at me.

I ignored his calls and texts until he huffed off, tail between his legs, never to be heard from until his most recent legal threat last week, to which I told him to have his lawyer talk to my lawyer. Rather absurd, since neither of us actually had lawyers. It would be just like Irving to resort to this kind of childish vindictiveness, just to boast he had gotten the last word.

My brain hurt from going in circles, but I had vowed not to take my drug of choice to ease the symptoms, no matter how good half a bottle of painkillers washed down with Jack Daniel’s and Coke sounded. I’d be a trouper and suck it up like a good little addict in recovery.

Cold sweat soaked my T-shirt, but I was shaking too much to strip it off. Grabbing the damp edge of the bedspread, I pulled it up over my head and curled my knees to my chest.

Another chime from my phone. Then a knock at the door.

I threw a pillow at the bedroom door in anger. “Dammit, Robin, go the fuck away!” I screamed at nothing, at every-thing. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, but I wasn’t about to invite Robin’s drama into my home.

“Liliana, it’s me, Tony. Please let me in.”