Hudson’s eyes went wide at the sudden assault. His mouth dropped open. She brought the Nerf gun down and, almost of its own accord, her finger pulled the trigger again, the righteous urge to put another foam dart in his open mouth too strong to resist. Unfortunately, instead of smiting her enemy a second time, the Nerf gun only produced an empty clicking sound.

Dammit.

Hudson’s gaze held hers for a long second. His face was a landscape of emotions: Annika saw surprise, confusion, maybe even a sliver of hurt or anger, though she had no idea what those were about. But before she could puzzle it out, he dropped the mallet, pressed both hands to his right eye, and began yelling, “Oh my god, my eye!”

Annika’s stomach flipped. Immediate, flaming guilt lit up her body. This was what happened when she lost her temper. This was why she did yoga. She was a pacifist … until she wasn’t. Underneath her calm exterior lurked a hideous, deranged, Nerf-dart murderer. “Oh, shit,” she whispered, dropping the Nerf gun with a plastic clatter.

Hudson’s two employees froze. “Jesus, my eye,” he groaned again, leaning like he was about to keel over dead.

And then pandemonium broke out once more.

The redhead scrabbled to turn off the music and the woman said, “Oh no—oh, Hudson!” before turning to Annika. Her brown eyes flashed as she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. “I’m calling the police. This is assault.”

Annika’s pulse beat a sickening rhythm. Assault. The police. She was done for. Who would ever want to hire a relationship expert who had a criminal record? She’d known Hudson Craft would be the death of her one day.

Suddenly, there was a muffled snort of laughter, and then Hudson spoke cheerfully to the now-silent room. “There’s no need for that, Blaire. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“I’m sure.”

Still glaring at Annika, Blaire put her phone away and crossed her arms, positioning herself in front of Hudson Craft like she was his personal bodyguard or something. The redhead was staring at Annika, unabashed. Annika could feel the waves of hostility in the room crashing over her, but she was too busy feeling relieved that she wouldn’t be going to jail to care.

Hudson, his eye amazingly enough now totally recovered, folded his big, lumpy arms (some might say “muscular,” but whatever) over his chest. “Well, well, well,” he said slowly. “Annika Dev.” He said it like he was pronouncing the name of an exotic bird species he hadn’t expected to find in LA. Weirdo.

She narrowed her eyes. “Hudson Craft.” She said his like it was the name of an oozing, highly infectious disease. “I see your eye is perfectly fine, so you were just lying. Why does that not surprise me at all?”