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“Crap, I’m late,” I say as I slide out of bed. It looks like we both fell back to sleep.
Yawning, Jamie sits up and runs his fingers through his tousled auburn hair. “I’ll start on breakfast while you get ready.”
On impulse, I kneel on the bed and lean in to kiss him. I’m tempted to skip work today and stay home with him but I’ve got a big commission due later this week. I can’t afford to take a day off.
I indulge myself a moment as I watch him get out of bed, pull on a pair of gray sweats—commando style—and a US Navy T-shirt from his days in the SEALs. The T-shirt molds itself to his lean, muscular torso. I could stare at him for hours and never get bored.
Jamie locates his sneakers on the floor beside the bed. “Tick-tock. You’d better get moving.”
“I’m going,” I say with a chuckle, loathe to leave him. But duty calls.
After quickly showering and dressing, I make it to the kitchen just as Jamie is plating the food. He’s made our typical breakfast—scrambled eggs and toast with butter and strawberry jam. And coffee, of course. He drinks his black. He puts sugar and cream on the table for me.
“Do you want me to walk with you to the studio?” he asks as we eat.
I swallow a bite of food and take a sip of my coffee. “Thank you, but no. You should stay and work.” I know he’s running up against a deadline of his own. He’s supposed to turn in the new manuscript to his New York editor next month.
I knock back the last of my coffee, stand, and lean over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for a delicious breakfast. And thanks for the coffee. I’ve got to run.”
I grab my purse and jacket, and I’m halfway to the door when he asks, “How about I bring you some lunch? How about Chinese?”
I pause to glance back at him, wondering how I got so lucky. “I would love that but only if you can spare the time.”
He smiles. “I always have time for you. Orange chicken and fried rice?”
“Yes, please. And cream cheese rangoons?”
He smiles. “Of course.”
I leave our apartment, lock the door behind me, and then race down the stairs to the foyer. My friend Chloe Montoya, who lives in one of the two downstairs apartments, is just coming in from her morning run, looking disheveled and gorgeous as always. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail.
“Hey!” I say, stopping to give her a quick hug.
“Yesterday was a lot of fun,” she says, referring to the bachelorette party.
“It was. Sorry, can’t talk. I’ve got to run.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes, fine. I’m just late for work. We overslept this morning.”
Chloe laughs. “I’d have a hard time getting out of bed, too, if I were you.”
Laughing, I wave back at her as I hustle down the street to my art studio, which is just a few blocks away. I can walk it in six minutes if I really put my mind to it. When I arrive, the lights are already on inside.
My assistant, Christy Maitland, is standing behind the sales counter opening a roll of quarters and pouring them into the cash drawer. “Good morning, boss,” she says with a welcoming smile.
“Sorry, I overslept,” I say a bit breathlessly as I step inside. I don’t mention the fact that I cried myself back to sleep this morning.
“Not a problem.” Christy glances at the clock on the wall. “You’re only fifteen minutes late. I can manage the shop on my own.”
“You look cute,” I say. “I love your curls.”
Smiling self-consciously, she pats her riot of blonde, chin-length curls. “I thought I’d let my hair goau naturaltoday. Mostly I’m tired of straightening it. You like?”
“I love it.”
Christy has been working for me for about six months now. She’s petite and curvy, with a sweet round face and big blue eyes.
