She walked in the house and barely managed not to slam the door.

Yes, sure, there was a slim possibility that had been an actual emergency. But he’d just patted her on the fucking shoulder and jumped back in his car. Not a kiss on the lips, or even on the cheek, not a lingering glance, not a long clasp of her hand, and definitely not a “let’s do this again.” Just a pat on the fucking shoulder!

She was pretty sure that had been the Max Powell version of when she’d been on a bad date and had secretly texted a friend to call her with an “emergency.”

Why had he even flirted with her all night if he was going to do that? And kept up all the little shoulder touches and back touches and “accidental” brushes of her legs with his, under the table? Was it all just some act?

She dropped her keys in the bowl by her front door and walked into the bathroom to start her bathwater. You know what, this was fine. She could get into the bathtub and read her book and drink a glass of wine and have a nice cozy Saturday night, and that would be better than sex with Max could possibly be.

She knew that was a lie as soon as she thought it.

She pulled her clothes off, wrapped a scarf around her hair, and got in the tub.

Oh God. She could not believe she was sitting here in the bathtub with a glass of wine in her hand feeling sorry for herself after a disappointing end to a date. She felt like a single-woman-in-the-city parody—all she needed was a sheet mask and a box of chocolates to really make it perfect.

She couldn’t concentrate on her book, so she leaned over the side of the tub and reached for the stack of magazines she always kept nearby. That glossy pamphlet from the community center luncheon was in this pile, so she flipped through it. While she knew she couldn’t spare the money to be on the board, she did want to stay involved with the center. Huh, they had a food pantry and community kitchen there … and they were looking for volunteers. Plus, it would only be to her benefit to keep herself and her firm in the forefront of Bruce’s mind. He knew everyone in the tech community in L.A., and a referral from him would be gold.

This was a great idea. She’d volunteer at the food pantry, and get some networking and do-gooding in all at the same time. And tomorrow, she’d do something wild like go for a walk in her new neighborhood. Maybe she’d find that bakery Alexa had told her about. And she was definitely not going to think about Max Powell.