“Couldn’t be happier for you.”

“I’m seeing her again tonight,” he added as a new text message flashed across Nate’s screen. He sat up straight. His pulse raced when he saw the text had a paperclip icon on it. Casey had sent him a photo. He tapped quickly on the paperclip to open it.

“I’m going to have to advertise my matchmaking services soon.”

“Or your kick-a-man-in-the-ass-to-get-him-moving services,” Ethan said as the picture filled Nate’s screen.

“Yeah, that too,” he said, and that quickening pulse went into overdrive when he saw the image. The gorgeous, stunning image of the woman he wanted desperately to see tonight.

But there was one big problem.

One huge problem, as a matter of fact.

The note that came with the picture.

His fists clenched as he read it. His jaw tightened. No way was she wearing that dress for Grant. No way was she wearing that dress for any other man.

Seconds later, her name popped up on the screen—incoming call.

“Hey, Ethan. I gotta go. I have Casey on the other line.”

“Joy Delivered Casey?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah, that’s her,” he said, eager to end the call.

“You doing business with her? I emailed her a few days ago.”

Business. Yes, he had business with her. He absolutely had business with her. “You could say that,” he said, and then hung up.

He clicked over to Casey.

“I don’t like that dress,” he said through gritted teeth. Those were his first words.

“You don’t?” she asked, surprise in her voice.

“No. I don’t like it at all.”

“Oh. I thought it was pretty.” Now she sounded crestfallen. Shit. He hated upsetting her, but not as much as he loathed the idea of her looking that edible with another man. He grabbed a sheet of paper on his desk, crumpled it up and threw it across the room.

“Sorry. But I don’t think it’s a first date dress.”

“Okay,” she said, measured and cautious, like she was distancing herself from him. “Why do you sound so angry?”

“I’m not angry,” he said, but he could hear the lie in the bitterness of his tone.

“But you sound angry,” she said softly. Traffic hummed behind her. She was probably out shopping in the Village, having fun, and he was ruining it for her. But that dress . . . fuck. He couldn’t take it. He dropped his forehead into his hand. “And you didn’t send me a picture last night either,” she added.

He sighed heavily. Everything had gone to hell, and on top of it all, Joanna had reared her head. “I’m sorry. I had a ton of fires to put out. I had to fly to D.C. in the middle of the night,” he said, but he stopped there. He didn’t feel like breathing his ex’s name. “And I tried to send you a text to tell you I can’t make the game tonight. I have to take my property manager out to dinner to make sure he can take over the New Zealand hotel.”