Page 7 of The Upgrade

“Love you, too, asshole.” She laughs. “Go bang my bestie into another galaxy.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re a stuffy butthead. Lighten up, Mister?—”

I switch off my phone, silencing whatever cheery taunt she’d planned to toss my way. Hardly the first time someone’s accused me of taking things too seriously.

If only she knew what I’m doing next week.

Checking the mirror by my hotel room door, I smooth down my shirt and make sure there’s nothing in my teeth. All good. My hair’s a bit rumpled and a little too long, but the new bosses asked me to leave it like this.Sex hair, they called it, and who am I to argue?

Drawing a breath, I fling open the door.

Holy fucking shit.

“Eve?”

The striking brunette in a strapless black dress looks nothing like the pictures I’ve seen. The last time we crossed paths, she was maybe a sophomore in college.

This woman is shapely and sexy, with forest-green eyes and sleek, glossy waves falling over slim shoulders. There’s a spark in her eyes that says she’s more than just pretty.

Eve is fuckingstunning.

“Yes,” she says, licking her lips as my dick jerks awake. “I’m Eve. You’re Kit?”

“K—Chr—yeah.” Jesus Christ, I’ve forgotten my name. “Come in.”

God, she even smells great. Like vanilla and oranges. I have to bite down on my tongue to keep from licking her like a creamsicle.

“I hope I’m not overdressed.” She does a self-conscious twirl and laughs. “Camille said to wear what I would for a cocktail party. I should have checked with you first to make sure I’m?—”

“No, you’re great. Beautiful. Stunning. Perfection.”Stop spewing words at her, dumbass. “Let me grab my jacket and tie and we’re set.”

“Take your time.” She rests a hand on the desk by the door. “I got here a couple minutes early because Camille said you like to be prompt.”

“That’s normally true.” I’ve been trying to ease up a little. “Can’t say I’m in a rush to hang with my ex.”

“I hear you on that one.” She scans the room as I move to the dresser. “Sounds awkward.”

“I’m mostly used to it in professional settings.” I pick up my gray silk necktie and turn to the mirror. “But I appreciate you being there. Saves us the awkwardness of Miranda fielding questions about the psychology of intimate relationships while her new lover makes awkward small talk with her ex-lover.” I’m oversharing, aren’t I? I’m also drawing a blank on how to tie a Windsor knot. What’s wrong with this fucking tie? “I’m the ex-lover in that scenario, by the way. Maybe there’s a chapter in her new book about how to have those conversations.”

“You haven’t read it?”

“Nope.” I’m fumbling with the damn necktie, trying to recall if the tail goes over or under. “I contributed a metric fuck-ton of research. What Miranda did with it is her business. She’s the writer. I’m the data guy.”

I’m being a dick, and I’d normally care more about books with my name in the credits, but this one’s an exception. And this tie is a pain in my?—

“Let me help.” Eve shoves off the desk, moving to stand right in front of me. She drags a hand up my chest, untwisting the tie, and something unspools in my core. “You’ve got this all crooked.”

“Oh. Thanks.” My body responds to the delicate brush of her fingers at my throat. Fuck, that feels good.

Swallowing hard, I order myself not to get hard. That’s the last thing we need right now. “Guess we should do some quick get-to-know-you questions,” I manage. “Have a story ready in case someone asks how we met.”

“That’s easy enough.” Her eyes meet mine and Eve runs her palm down the length of gray silk. She stops short of my belt, but my dick responds like she’s just unfastened my fly. “We met through your sister.”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t we know more than each other’s first names? Personal details and such.”

“Oh. Sure.” She takes a step back as I pull on my jacket. “I’m Eve Goodrich and I just got out of what I now recognize as an unhealthy relationship. I’m working through childhood shame, embracing my sexual self, and recognizing the patriarchal constructs of matrimony as inherently flawed and damaging.”

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