“Lost in Jacksonland again, are we?” She snorts and heads into my room. “You got it bad.”

“Shut up. I do not!”

“Really?” Ashton tilts her head up and taps her finger on her chin as if she’s debating something. “Well if that’s true, then where’s his business card? I could always call him since I’m single.” She shrugs, gauging my reaction.

I glare at her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Hmmm. You said he’s hot though, right?” She grins before continuing, “I really would like to see for myself. Who knows? Maybe we’ll hit it off.”

“You’re so full of shit. You wouldn’t do that to me.” I turn and look in my drawer for the damn black dress that’s not in my closet.

“If you’re not interested, why should it matter?” In the mirror I see her raise an eyebrow, goading me.

“I’m not interested, but that doesn’t mean I want him hanging around here.” I know she’ll never buy it, but that’s all I’ve got.

“I’ll make sure not to bring him around. I know he’s your client and all.” I turn and look at her smiling face. She’s waiting for me to either have an epic tantrum or call her on it.

Fine. Two can play at this game. “The card is on the dresser,” I walk over to the card Jackson placed in my hand last week. “Go ahead and give him a call. I’ll be right here.” I hold it out to Ashton, willing her to take it, hoping she doesn’t.

She grabs the card and reaches for the phone. She types the numbers and smiles the whole time as I gape at her. I can’t believe she’s calling him. I know what I said, but I never thought she’d actually do it. She knows me better than that. I’m about to say something when I look closer and realize she has my phone in her hand. I leap over the pile of clothes on the floor and lunge for the phone. She falls back on the bed, laughing hysterically as I claw my way up and rip it out of her hand. “You bitch!” I try to contain my laughter as I scroll through the call log to see if she dialed. “I’m gonna kill you! Thank God you didn’t freaking call him!”

“Nope, I wouldn’t call him. That would be sooo embarrassing.” She stands and heads into my closet.

Just as I’m about to go back to packing, my phone vibrates in my hand. I look down and open the text message from a number I don’t recognize.

Unknown: Can’t wait to see you either.

Dread seeps through my veins as I grab the business card and check the number. Sure enough, it’s Jackson. She’s dead!

“Ashton! You’ve got to be kidding me! You texted him?” I exclaim.

She peeks her head out from the closet, smiling. “I said I didn’t call him. Never said anything about other forms of communication.” She giggles and goes back into the closet.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. Okay, I can handle this. I won’t respond, and I’ll play it off when I see him—although, I might be in a jail cell instead of meeting Jackson tomorrow. I think a judge would understand why I had to murder my best friend. I sink onto my bed and put my pillow over my head, groaning.

Ashton comes over and nudges my leg. I pull the pillow down and glare at her in response. “You’re being a drama queen. Look at the message I sent him before you get all stabby.” She starts folding clothes and putting them in my suitcase.

I look at the outgoing text message.

Me: Ready for the trip. See you at 8.

Whatever. She should have never sent him a damn text message. Now he probably thinks I sit around thinking about him. He wouldn’t be far off in that assumption, but I don’t exactly want him to know that. Damn Ashton and her stupid interfering. I look over to find her rummaging through my underwear drawer. I snap at her, “What the hell are you doing in there?” I rush over to close the drawer.

“If you’re getting naked, you need proper panties.” She smiles mischievously.

“There will be no naked!” I sigh and grab out a few pairs of underwear.

“Sure, Cat. Keep telling yourself that. This guy wants in your pants and you can’t even try to tell me you’re not dying to get in his. So embrace your inner temptress, get some cute panties, and get on it … or under it.” She winks and runs out of my room before I can throw something at her.

Not even ten seconds later she pops her head in my room, giggling. “Oh, your black dress is in the bag. You can thank me later,” she says. Then she runs out again.

Sure enough, I look in the suitcase and find my black dress along with one of my negligées. Ashton!

My suitcase is bouncing noisily down the foyer stairs at our apartment complex. I’m exhausted and crabby after being completely unhappy with pretty much anything I had in my closet. Since I have absolutely no idea what we’re going to be doing in Virginia, I packed for any scenario. Trying to pick the perfect travel clothes for today, I went for comfortable and cute. I’m wearing a black and white sundress with my black flats. I don’t know why I thought a dress would be a good option for being on a plane and going through security, but it doesn’t matter now. I’m ten minutes late and don’t have time to change. As I make my way outside, my eyes widen in surprise. Jackson is in front of my building, leaning against the door of a black town car sedan and smiling at my reaction.

He walks forward, takes the handle of my bag, and leans toward me, handing me a cup of coffee. “Good morning, Catherine. You look happy to see me.”

I groan and roll my eyes, taking the coffee out of his hand. He lets out a deep chuckle at my reaction and hands my bag to the driver.

“Good morning, Jackson.” I turn and walk to the other side of the car, open the door, and whisper under my breath, “Yeah, oh so happy.” I hear him exhale in a short burst, almost like he’s laughing. I look back to see him smiling from ear to ear. Of course he heard me.

He slides his big body into the seat next to me, taking over all the space in the car. We’re close. So close that his warmth radiates into me and his cologne fills my nose. He leans down, reaching for something in his bag, and his fingers brush the bare skin of my leg. Tingles shoot up my thighs at the contact. It’s too much for me.

I scoot over a little more toward the window. Even though I’d love nothing more than to sit on his lap, I try to avoid touching him. My walls are going to come crumbling down really fast if I don’t keep some distance. I look out the window and sip my coffee. Smiling, I glance at him, surprised that he somehow managed to make it the way I like it. I was prepared for it to be black, not light and sweet.

“How did you know?” I lift the cup.

“I have my ways.” He grins and turns his attention to the file folder on his lap.

I’m sure he does. I smile reply, “Well, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He doesn’t glance up and I’m a little disappointed. He has this uncanny way of knowing my thoughts—maybe he’s trying to keep his distance so I’m not uncomfortable?

I grab my iPhone and go through my alerts. We have about a thirty-minute drive to the airport.

I notice the voicemail that I’ve been avoiding—my mother’s. She’s called eight times, but I keep putting off returning the call. She frustrates me, and lately I don’t have the patience to deal with it. I glance at Jackson. He’s engrossed in whatever he’s reading, so I decide to listen to it.