With a deep, calming breath, Brooke went back to her conference call, where the L.A. guys were waiting. The call lasted just under a half hour, ending with a promise from the other lawyers to get her the revised employment agreements by Monday afternoon.

Afterward, she wrapped up a few loose ends, and then packed up her briefcase. Before shutting down her computer, she checked her work e-mail and saw, with relief, that no emergencies had popped up in the last half hour.

She was good to go.

It was a gorgeous evening, perfect for the five-block walk to her high-rise. She strolled along Michigan Avenue, thinking about her elevator ride with Cade the other night—and more important, that kiss at her front door.

Perhaps, per the rules, she should add in an eighty percent naked clause to his dinner offer. She smiled, thinking that certainly would make for an interesting evening.

As Brooke entered her building, she nodded hello to the lobby security guard before stepping into the elevator with five other people. Seeing that they had three stops to make before her floor, she pulled out her cell phone to check her e-mail.

She had fifty-two new messages to her personal e-mail account.

That was odd. Especially since every message was a notification that someone had posted a comment on her Facebook wall.

Quickly, Brooke began clicking through the messages. All from men.

I’M GAME IF YOU ARE, BABE!

LIKE! LIKE! LIKE!

TEN RULES EVERY WOMAN SHOULD LIVE BY!

PICK ME!!!!!!!!

Brooke’s stomach hit the floor of the elevator.

Oh. My. God. She clicked over to her Facebook profile and saw the link right there in black-and-white on her wall, generously shared with all five hundred and twenty-nine of her closest “friends.”

She’d favorited the damn “Ten Rules of Casual Sex.”

Thirteen

FORD HAD ACTUAL tears in his eyes.

He was laughing so hard, he could barely get the words out. “‘Brooke Parker shared a link. Ten Rules of Casual Sex,’” he said, repeating the update that he had received on his Facebook home page last night, along with her five hundred and twenty-eight other “friends.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s soooo funny.”

“I should thank you for the advice,” he said. “Because all along I’d only been spending seventy percent of my time naked when hooking up. Sounds like I need to start bare-assing it more often around the ladies.”

Brooke gestured with a French fry. “Just so I know, how long can I expect the comedy routine to go on?” They were halfway through their lunch already and there’d been no sign that things were letting up anytime soon.

“Oh, you’ll be hearing about this until we’re old and gray.” Ford went right back to it. “Brooke Parker wants everyone to know that you should never take a bath with a man unless you’re ready to take his last name. Showers only, girls!”

“That’s clever. Take a bath, take his name. I like how you strung that all together.” Brooke spread more mustard on her club sandwich. “You know, I didn’t actually write the stupid rules.”

“No, you just recommended them to everyone and their mother.”

Yes, she was painfully aware of that. “I told you already, I hit ‘cancel.’”

“All that means is that you posted the link without leaving a comment,” he informed her, most belatedly. “But you still needed to go in and delete it if you wanted to remove it from your wall.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tech Support. I realize that now.” Last night, as soon as she’d gotten out of the elevator, she’d taken down the article. Unfortunately, that hadn’t been soon enough, and her Facebook account had been hopping all night and morning. “Do you realize that I’ve gotten two hundred and thirty-seven friend requests since last night? All from men.” Because the lascivious schmoes on her page had naturally “liked” her status, which meant that all of their other lascivious schmoe friends could see her original link and wanted in on the action. “I’ve been asked out on more dates in the last eighteen hours than I have in the last eighteen years.”

“I can’t fathom why.”

She threw Ford a look when he started laughing again. “It really isn’t funny.”

“It really is.” He smiled at her glare. “If I break out a few bare-chested pictures of Ryan Gosling on my phone, will that help take the sting off?”

Brooke thought that over. “It might.”

“That was supposed to be sarcastic.” Ford picked up his cheeseburger. “Why were you reading about the rules of casual sex, anyway?”

“I’d planned to ask you for some advice, but when you didn’t pick up your cell I decided to kill some time on the Internet before a conference call.”

“Advice on what?” Ford gave her a sly look, putting it together. “Wait a second . . . Brooke Parker, are you having sex with somebody?”

“A little louder, Ford. I’m not sure the people all the way in the back of the bar heard you.” Luckily, the place was crowded and noisy, and half of the people there were already tipsy in advance of the big game. She lowered her voice. “And no, I’m not having sex with anyone.”

“Ah. But there’s someone you want to be having sex with.”

“Let’s say that I’m entertaining the possibility.”

“Really?” Ford appeared intrigued. “Tell me more. Who’s the guy?”