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hangover.”
    “Have you thought of adoption?” Luc asked while holding two fingers up to the bartender, the universal sign for make-it-a-double-before-I-murder-someone.
    Sutter’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, if you want children so badly, adopt one and stop treating me like your orphan.”
    “I can’t help it, Luc. You’re such a lost soul,” Sutter said with a sympathetic shake of his head. “I’ll tell you what. See that gorgeous blonde over there?” Sutter cocked his head toward the reps from EuroNow who stood in a loose group across the terrace, dead-easy to spot because most were too overdressed for a rooftop party in Miami. The only two not about to expire from the humidity were the odd couple at the center. Sutter’s blonde wore an electric blue sheath dress and looked as if she just strode off a catwalk while the petite brunette standing next to her just strode into Luc’s next wet dream.
    “She’s too tall for you,” Luc said without taking his eyes off the pixie. He wondered what color eyes went with the auburn streaks in her chestnut-brown hair. It was cut short, barely to her chin, but the ends curled, framing her heart-shaped face. And when she nodded or turned her head, it swung and bounced. Luc needed to touch it. He could almost picture his fingers delving into the silky mass, the tendrils wrapping around his fingers.
    She wore a pale-pink-and-white striped sundress that complimented her looks—but if asked to explain how or why, he wouldn’t have the words. It just did. The flouncy skirt was made for twirling, and the tight bodice showed off her flat tummy. He’d be remiss in not paying proper homage to the cleavage, a hint of rounded flesh, just enough to tease any man with a heartbeat. It was demure but sexy, classy but fun, feminine without being nauseating. Thin straps met in a bow behind her slender neck, leaving her shoulders and arms bare.
    Her skin was rose-tinted cream, smooth and flawless, made to be caressed, to be kissed—
    “Not really,” Sutter said, interrupting his lustful perusal. “She’s wearing fuck-me stilettos that give her a four-inch advantage,” he said, referring to the blonde. “Convince her to bear my children and I’ll abandon your pathetic cause in a heartbeat.”
    Luc let out a low whistle. “I’m only here for an hour, Sutter. I’m not a miracle worker.”
    “You’re not a comedian, either. And you’ve been penalized for lateness. I get an extra half hour.”
    Luc shook his head slowly, part of him hoping it would dislodge his eyeballs. He wasn’t usually one for staring, but the brunette was amazingly easy to look at. And it would be an interesting way to spend the next hour and a half.
    “There are too many in the herd,” he mused, as much to Sutter as to himself. “You’ll only have a chance if you can isolate her from the pack.”
    “That’s what I like about you, Luc. It’s all strategy.”

Chapter 3
    “S o he fired you?” Clara tipped champagne into her mouth, hoping that the alcohol would somehow make Lydia’s story less bewildering. Some former Miss America with a minor in journalism and a cosmetics contract had convinced Kingsley Bartel that Lydia wasn’t needed in her fashion department, but had the nerve to expect Lydia to share her contacts at Prada, Chabot, and the likes.
    “Not technically, no. He did offer me the job as Valentina’s assistant,” Lydia replied and popped a crab puff into her mouth.
    “Bugger. I hope you told him to get stuffed.”
    Lydia swallowed, dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin and said, “My exact reply was, I am Lydia Fucking Truelove. I assist no one . And then I quit.”
    “Oh Lyds, I’m so sorry. Do you at least have your needles with you?”
    “No, damn it. Didn’t think I’d need them this trip. I’ll have to handle my stress the good old-fashioned way,” she said with a laugh, and held her empty glass up for a passing waiter to