She gave Ferris another quick hug and went to her desk to clean out her stuff. The whole process seemed surreal. She wouldn’t be back here. All her current clients were no longer hers. She had no job. Soon, she’d have no place to live.

How the hell had she gotten here? Shades of her past loomed over her like dark specters. She’d promised herself to never end up like anything resembling her mother. Yet somehow, she was now unemployed and, soon, without a place to live because of sleeping with the wrong man.

This was not happening.

It only took a few minutes to pack up her things, but before she carried her stuff out, she fished her phone out of her purse and dialed.

Bethany answered on the second ring. “Talk to me, Kincaid. Tell me what I want to hear.”

Kincaid looked up at the ceiling, her throat tight. “Ten thousand over appraisal price for a quick sale. You can move into the house in a month.”

Bethany squealed on the phone. “Sold! Yay, best day ever.”

Kincaid ended the call, tightened her ponytail, and carried her box of stuff out the door.

Officially homeless.

Eighteen

Ash loaded the last of the groceries into the small fridge in the apartment and put a bottle of Chardonnay inside to chill. A knock on the door had his lips curving. He’d expected Kincaid earlier, but she’d texted him that she had a few things to take care of before coming over.

He crossed the kitchen and opened the front door. “Hey, I—” But his words cut off when he saw Kincaid standing there looking like a stranger. Her ponytail was crooked, her eye makeup smudged, and the flat expression on her face made it seem as if some pod person had overtaken his normally perky friend.

“Hey.” She stepped past him and dropped a duffel bag near the door. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No problem. Is everything all right?” He shut the door and turned to face her. She was already unbuttoning her blouse.

“It’s fine.” She slid the silky navy-blue top off her shoulders. “Can we just not talk right now? It’s been a long day.”

Ash blinked. Kincaid didn’t want to talk? That was a sign of the apocalypse. He opened his mouth to point that out, but her shirt fell to the floor, revealing a lacy black bra. His gaze traced over the plump curves of her breasts, his blood going hot, and his former thought got lost before it made its way to words. “KC…” She unzipped her skirt and wiggled it down over her hips. A barely there pair of black panties had his eye drawing downward. His brain short-circuited. “Uh…”

She smiled at his lack of language and let the skirt drop. “Sounds like you’re not up for talking either.”

She stepped out of the puddle of fabric, keeping her heels on as she bent to move the clothes out of the way. The back of her panties had even less material than the front—a thong. Fucking hell. Every male cell in his body was high-fiving the others at the fantasy on display. He’d seen women in lingerie, but he’d never seen a more erotic sight than Kincaid in lingerie. Seeing his high school crush like this made his mind go hazy. Maybe he’d knocked his head on the fridge earlier and was currently passed out on the floor. His mind was going to a happy, dirty place while the paramedics got him into the ambulance.