Some Like It Hotter. Isabel Sharpe

and black microskirt under a stylish wrapped coat with big leather fastenings, then to top it off, a wide-brimmed black hat. The epitome of fashion chic. She and Chris must turn every head in New York when they went out together.

      “You meditating or something?”

      “Yes.” Eva smiled. “It keeps me centered and calm. You might want to—”

      “Uh-huh.” Natalie didn’t smile back. “My stuff in the refrigerator is marked, and I need the bathroom from five to six a.m. every morning.”

      “Not a problem.” Eva bunched her mouth to keep from smirking. Nice to meet you, too. “So you work for an interior design place?”

      “Oh. Yeah.” She said it as if it was the most boring job in the world. “I guess.”

      “How’s that?”

      “It’s okay.” She glanced at her watch, obviously anxious to move on.

      Perversely, this made Eva want to keep her talking. “How long have you lived in New York?”

      “Forever.”

      “Your parents, too? What did they do here?”

      Her demeanor thawed a tiny bit. “Mom was a Broadway chorister. Dad is a music professor at Juilliard.”

      “Wow! Cool family. Are you musical?”

      Natalie leaned against the doorjamb, though her body stayed stiff. “I played clarinet for a bunch of years and took dance lessons. Had a few parts in school plays and musicals, nothing big. I still love going to shows. I probably saw all of them growing up.”

      “That’s great.” Eva studied her new roommate, wondering how much further she could pry. “So I’m sorry about the awkward conversation with Edward.”

      “He’s a jerk. They’re all jerks.” Natalie shoved away from the door. “I gotta go get ready. I have a date.”

      “Oh.” Eva frowned in confusion. “Not with Edward...”

      Natalie gave her a withering stare. “As. If.”

      “Ah. Well, okay, then.” Eva waved cheerfully. “Have fun with whoever.”

      Natalie stalked off.

      Eva was pretty sure they’d never be best friends.

      And it was a little hard to continue her meditation with her new not-best-friend crashing and muttering around the apartment, but Eva did the best she could. At least when she stood again, she felt more centered, less scattered, though still eager to get to NYEspresso.

      Just under an hour later, Eva was standing outside her sister’s shop on Tenth Avenue and West Forty-Third Street in the up-and-coming neighborhood of Hudson Yards. Yes, she’d misjudged how long it took to get there, but the store didn’t close for an hour yet, and what a smorgasbord of faces and auras and interactions to keep her entertained during the walk and subway rides!

      Around her was a population in suits, jeans and office casual, mostly denim and black, practically everyone in dark shades, and her in her wild flowery skirt and magenta hoodie. Not that anyone gave her a second glance. You could get away with pretty much any look in this town.

      She pushed open the front door and was immediately hit by her favorite smell in the world—second only to the aroma of roasting beans—freshly brewed coffee.

      NYEspresso was different than she remembered, though it had been over a year since she’d visited. Chris had obviously put her own stamp on the place after buying it from the previous owners with the money she and Eva had come into at age twenty-five from wealthy grandparents on their mom’s side. The space was sparer than it had been, more efficiently organized, with snappy clear plastic seats and bright white oval tables with chrome supports. The counter was also bright white, a long, sharp rectangle with ordering and cashier service at the far end and pastry behind a glass case closer to the entrance. The walls had been painted deep red and left bare except for white glass sconces surrounded by black iron cages that looked like chain mail.

      Chic. Edgy. Not the most relaxing space. But this wasn’t Carmia, this was Manhattan.

      Eva approached the counter with a smile, held out her hand to the barista on duty, a handsome kid with three eyebrow rings and a necklace tattoo, whom she vaguely remembered had a weird nickname. “Hey, there. I’m Eva. Chris’s sister.”

      “Yeah, hey. How are you?” Only with his thick New York accent it sounded like Ha-wa-ya? “I’m Jinx.”

      “Jinx, right. Just stopping in to say hi tonight. I’ll be on the bar officially in the morning.”

      “Cool. Glad to have you. It’s cool what you and Chris worked out.” He looked toward the door and rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother, here we go.”

      Eva swung around. A large bouquet of flowers was walking toward her on male legs.

      Jinx snorted. “The dude does not give up.”

      The flowers lowered.

      Eva’s heart stopped. Okay, not really—that would be ridiculous, because she’d collapse—but it sure felt as if everything inside her and in the whole world had paused to note this auspicious occasion.

      Thick, short, dark hair that looked as if he’d tried hard to style it but the strands refused to lie flat. Deep brown eyes under dark brows. High cheekbones, a lean jaw. Full mouth, with a faint groove on either side. The shadow of masculine stubble. A small gold stud in one ear. Expensive dark suit, subtly patterned silk tie in blue, burgundy and beige. Gold watch. Perfectly shined shoes.

      That was him. Her soul mate. Her man, her One Great Love Eternal, acronym OGLE.

      Or at least he was her next hot fling.

      “Chris here?” Her soul mate put the flowers on the counter, glancing at Eva before he addressed Jinx. She was used to making no impression on a guy like this. But that wouldn’t last long,

      “Chris is not.” Jinx beckoned over another customer. Clearly he wasn’t a fan.

      The perfect man yanked an iPhone from his pocket and poked at it.

      “Hi.” Eva stepped forward, her hand out. “I’m Chris’s sister, Eva.”

      “Uh-huh.” He continued to peer at his phone, reading intently.

      “The woman you’re going to marry. We’ll have beautiful children. I’m thinking five or six. We should get started on that soon, since I’m already twenty-eight.”

      He lifted his head suddenly. Their eyes locked. Well, hers locked. He kind of glanced at her, then did a double take, like, What are you looking at? “Sorry, what were you saying?”

      “Nothing important.” She smiled sweetly, held out her hand again. Just concerning the rest of our lives together. Or, more likely, the rest of the month. “You were busy.”

      He made a sound of frustration. “Sometimes I’m not sure if I own the phone or it owns me.”

      “What’s your name?” She’d bet this was—

      “Ames Cooke.”

      Yup. The pain in Chris’s lucky ass. The entitled, arrogant rich boy, who Chris had neglected to mention was devastatingly sexy.

      Was he cocky businessman through and through? He certainly looked the part, but there was that gold stud glinting in one ear, and his slightly spiked hair. She was already thinking maybe a tattoo in a hidden place.

      A place she couldn’t wait to discover.

      “You visiting?” Ames was looking around, undoubtedly still hoping Chris would emerge from the back of the shop.

      “I’m taking over for Chris for a month.”

      His attention zoomed back to her. “Chris? What’s wrong?