"Alright, now just swallow it down," I teased into the phone, my grin twisting as I styled my hair back in front of the bathroom mirror. The handset perched on the marble counter, catching the morning light.

"Sounds like someone's having a blast," I taunted, voice dripping with smug amusement.

"Blake?" I called out, hearing shuffling on the other end.

"Yeah—oh," came his groan, the kind of sound that immediately told me he was knee-deep in some kind of disaster.

A smug smirk spread across my lips. "If you’re busy, we can skip the business talk," I offered, amused.

"Wait, no—hang on." Silence stretched, and I wondered if he was still on the line.

Suddenly, his voice exploded, "What the hell, Sinclair!"

Laughter bubbled up from me. "Seriously, Andrews, you sound swamped."

"Damn right. Try feeding cereal to a toddler sometime."

I frowned, curiosity piqued. "Oh. That's your challenge?"

My mind briefly flashed to a more entertaining alternative, but nope—this was Blake’s reality.

Hormones or not, last night’s reckless escapades still teased at my thoughts—smudged red lipstick, heated nights, the kind of flashes that made me grin and groan all at once.

"Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m doing, Nick. Though, honestly, I wouldn’t have minded the alternative. Not everyone wakes up feeling like a million bucks."

"Of course," I chuckled, picturing my friend’s frazzled expression.

Blake had been my loyal sidekick since middle school—the guy I rescued from a pack of bullies and who’d repaid me with a gigantic box of M&M’s. Sweet tooths unite.

"Whose kid is the cereal crisis victim?" I asked, stepping out of the shower and into my closet to pick out the day’s armor.

Living alone in a sprawling penthouse had its perks—like roaming free without a stitch on, which I was taking full advantage of this morning.

"Cousin Kyla's in town," Blake answered wearily.

"And you’re stuck babysitting?" I prodded, adjusting the cuffs on my shirt and straightening the tie.

"Apparently," he sighed. "Because Rebekah’s clearly failing at the job."

Rebekah, Blake’s little sister and my dorm mate, had made it abundantly clear that she hated me—or at least pretended to. I suspected a secret crush under all that icy blonde exterior and sharp wit. If she wasn’t Blake’s sister, maybe I’d have asked her out, though my reputation as a manwhore wasn’t exactly the best selling point.

"By the way, Nick, I gotta check some shipment data before we move forward. Since I can’t swing by your office today, I’ve sent someone else to grab the files."

"Got it. I’ll let Penny know."

My voice carried a teasing edge. "The hot assistant?"

"I don’t do office romances," I said. "Besides, I’m not oblivious to her flirting. But it’s professional."

I’d learned the hard way not to mix business with pleasure. Hooking up with a temp secretary during my early days at Sinclair Enterprises had turned into a disaster my old man was furious about.

"Heh, that rule might need some revision before the manwhore runs out of chicks and has to beg his secretary to go out with him," Blake teased.

Funny, but not likely.

"Watch the cereal, Andrews," I warned, amused, as I heard the clatter of a spoon slipping.

He laughed, then finally ended the call.

I headed downstairs, where Mrs. Hawkins was setting the table with her usual calm efficiency, the warm scent of cinnamon and melted cheese wrapping around the room like a cozy hug.

Mrs. Hawkins, my steadfast cook since childhood, was a steady force amid my chaotic life. She had followed me here from my parents’ mansion—thank god, because my mom’s cooking was, well, a bit of a hazard zone. One night she almost caused a kitchen fire by burning dinner so badly the ceiling turned black. Dad was not amused. Mom was banned from cooking forever after that.

"Good morning, Nick," Mrs. Hawkins greeted me with a gentle smile.

"Morning, Mrs. Hawkins," I replied, returning the warmth.

She’d prepared my favorites: a fluffy cheese omelette and golden cinnamon pancakes stacked invitingly.

Halfway through my breakfast, my phone buzzed—an unknown number flashing on the screen.

"Hello?"

A sultry voice purred through the speaker. "Hi, baby."

I stared, eyebrows knitting. "Who is this?"

There was a teasing sigh and a soft chuckle that made me wince.

"Name’s Cassandra. Since you never asked last night."

Oh right. The brunette from the club—absolutely stunning in that little black dress, but last night was a blur of shots and bad decisions. I barely remembered her name until now.

"I was too wasted to ask," I muttered, recalling how she’d practically thrown herself at me.

"I know," she giggled, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

God, those giggles. They grated on me more than anything.

"So, what are you up to tonight, Nick Sinclair?" Her voice dripped with playful menace.

"Sleeping," I answered, stuffing a bite of pancake into my mouth.

That just earned me another round of her obnoxious giggling. Honestly, Chandler Bing had nothing on this.

How she got my number was a mystery until I remembered—she’d borrowed my phone to make an emergency call last night. Rookie mistake.

"I hate to say it, but I was pretty disappointed when I woke up and you were gone," she whispered, tone low and husky. "I was expecting some early morning fun."

That... I might have been interested in.

"Look, Cassandra, I’m running late for work—"

"And I saw your interview in that magazine last week," she interrupted, voice dripping with faux innocence. "Didn’t think those blue eyes would be so damn sexy in person."

Flattering? Maybe. But pointless. I was already losing patience.

"Thanks, but I gotta go." I cut the call before she could launch into another tirade and turned back to my meal.

As I finished breakfast, my mind swirled with the usual blend of chaos and charm that was my life—friends, family drama, and of course, the women who seemed to fall into my orbit like moths to a flame.

Today, like every day, promised a tangle of trouble—and I wasn’t even close to ready for it.